Thank You, Mr. Postman

So, my husband comes up the stairs and brings me a package and says, "Here.  It was outside.  Did you order anything?"  and I say, "Nothing that I can remember, but it's always possible."  So he gives me a media-mail envelope which CLEARLY feels like a book, perhaps from my Amazon wishlist, and sure enough, it's The Age of Homespun.  There was no note, no message, and no one told me I was getting anything.  Thank you, O mystery book gifter.  I look forward to reading it over the holiday.

On the mad present crafting front, my coworkers liked their gnomey ornaments, and yesterday, J and I made decorated molded sugar flower-cubes, and decorated sugar cubes with Christmas-y flowers.  We also made bathbombs.  I dare say I added a bit too much liquid and the domes now look like silicone breast implants.  Oh bother.