Someone asked recently how I can justify getting my Yule on with so much enthusiasm, when I'm a proud, card-carrying member of the I-don't-believe-in-God Society. And I don't know if I can justify it, but I'm going to try anyway and if you're still confused you can go and ask Walt Whitman to explain.
I quite like the Christian Christmas story. The idea of a poor family denied any kind of welfare and having to give birth in a barn is appealing to a bleeding-heart lefty like me. And the bits about the star, and the wise men - awesome. The stuff good stories are made of. And it is a great story, whether I believe it really happened or not. Also, there are some great Christmas carols about it, and I do love to get a little bit carolly at this time of year.
But Christmas isn't about religion to me. Mum and I went to Midnight Mass one year in Adelaide (just for something to do), but it was really hot and there was standing room only and I fainted just before Communion.
So for me, Christmas is about family, friends, food, glittery things, fairy lights, gifts, and something else that is strange and magical, which I suppose some people call God but I prefer to think of as the entirely non-supernatural spirit of Christmas.
Anyway, I'm going to be blogging about some Christmassy things over the next couple of weeks, so Scrooges should probably go and count their lumps of coal until the 26th, because I'll be unashamedly soppy and full of cheer.