Christmastime In the Library

There aren’t really any Christians in the 32nd Century, but the 21st is positively teeming with them.

I’ve had a hard time getting my head around the philosophy of the religion. It seems quite bizarre and contradictory. Many religions are, so that’s not unique to it, though few have been appropriated so effectively for the widespread promulgation of hatred and destruction.

It’s also part of a series of books about the same deity, but it’s like a serious case of broken fan base.

Anyway, with all due respect, I’m not really that interested in Christianity. It’s Christmas that matters to me.

Now, I’m dimly aware of some kind of ‘put the Christ back in Christmas’ movement. But again, not my thing. I mean, it’s not like Christianity really had much to do with Christ, either. And Christmas as a festival was taken wholesale from other religious traditions, so it’s all this kind of morass of winter festival and solstice celebration. That’s getting closer to what I know and care about.

It starts with light. Everything starts—and presumably ends—with light.

In this case, tiny pink and blue and yellow and green lights. Well, I guess they weren’t that tiny. I was tiny. The bulbs were huge, and they got pretty hot, so it wasn’t safe to touch them. Probably it wasn’t safe to have a ‘live’ Christmas tree either, but we did. It smelled quite lovely. The lights themselves put off some kind of scent, too, as did the decorations, which consisted of globes, garland, plastic strings of fake candy. Eventually Aunt Leone gave us these Christmas ornaments that were plush figures of the nativity scene. She made a set for everyone in the family, but they weren’t identical. The character patterns were the same, but the fabric colors varied. So it was kina neat seeing a familiar one on my grandmother’s tree or Aunt Gail’s tree, but they were each a bit different.

Here in the Library, we have many trees. I’m not sure who put them up or who maintains them. But they are quite varied in quality, size, and aesthetic. It’s wonderful. There’s this huge richbitch one in a grand foyer that I’m not crazy about. And a scraggly little one in a utility closet that makes me sad. But even those; I’d rather they be there than not.

Happy Christmas, babe.