I wasn't around that afternoon, and, even if I was, I wouldn't have been at the meeting. The way the office chooses to celebrate the holidays isn't really a concern of mine. Tell me who I have to buy a gift for, when to bring in the cookies, or which day I don't have to bring lunch because we're having the office dinner, and I'm covered. I don't care about particulars. It isn't really my thing.

I participate for a few reasons. Everyone is giving gifts, so I'll take one, too. Last year I got a music gift certificate, which funded my perpetual CD buying habit. This year we're scaling down the gift thing (fearful of a recession, I think), and it's a blind gift of no more than $5. Of course, we still have to contribute for the boss's basket of gifts (there is no limit for the boss, but my plan is to chip in $5--why change the rules because he owns the company?). The holiday dinner is set for the last day I plan to work this calendar year.

When I got all of this information the day after the big meeting, I was happy all I'd have to do was buy a cheap gift and make some cookies in the next couple of weeks. I don't despise the holiday season, per se. All religions have winter solstice celebrations of some sort. It's as old as the comprehension of the seasons. Give thanks that we haven't frozen to death yet. Give thanks we made it through another year. Give thanks we got our yearly bonus and it didn't somehow shrink from last year.

I'm not a Christian and haven't been for about the same amount of time I haven't claimed to be an Eagle Scout. Sometimes beliefs you had as a child don't fit your adult life--both Christianity and Boy Scouts (interrelated as they are) were shed in the early 90s. My parents, of course, are Christians (of the Presbyterian type), but when they visit Albuquerque for the holidays, it's one of the most secular celebrations you've ever seen. Usually, instead of reading from the Bible (as we did when I was younger), we read Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas. If there was a religion based around the writings of Seuss, I'd probably think about joining up.

I do believe in holidays, though. Days off with pay are my favorite work days. Cheap meat and fixings for a big, exhausting meal is appreciated. And I still buy my friends and family gifts, but I give them unwrapped or wrapped in old newspapers. They are end of the year gifts. We made it through another year, and every year that goes by means more and more to me. But it isn't in celebration of something that happened many, many years ago (unless you're talking about the invention of the modern calendar). It's more like, we still enjoy each other's company and thanks for still talking to my cranky ass.

It's not even the religious implications of a Christmas tree (which isn't really related to anything in the Bible, because I'm pretty sure there aren't too many pine trees in the Middle East) that I object to. The last couple of years my cousin and her mate have been kind enough to cut us a tree when they go out tree hunting. The smell of a fresh pine tree is refreshing, and I do love to trip on the little blinking lights from time to time. It's really about personal space.

My office mate told me Thursday afternoon that he'd jokingly said at the big meeting that it would be okay to put a Christmas tree in our office. The kid is young and possibly didn't realize that no one in the office understands sarcasm (we work in advertising and take everything too seriously, which is sad--but also another topic). Friday morning the box holding the five-foot-tall fake plastic Christmas tree was in our extra chair. I made a few passing comments that maybe our office was too small for the tree (we have the smallest office with two occupants, plus three computers, two big desks, two huge red filing cabinets, three chairs, a bookshelf and various other scattered remains of work), but these comments were poo-poo-ed almost immediately.

I registered my absentee vote to the situation, but I'd lost the contest already. I knew I'd lost and I conceded, moved the bookshelf over and resigned to two and a half weeks of working in a space smaller than the front seat of my car. Aside from offhand grumbling, I do not plan to appeal the situation. My problem isn't particularly religious--I just don't want more crap in my office. Just four months ago, I had the office all to myself, and now I can't move around without knocking something over. Talk about a demotion.

This is not even the only Christmas tree in the office. There is a larger one in the lobby. And a smaller one in a few of the other offices. The lone Jewish lady is so sad about being left out (she's more Jewish by birth than by actions, although she did fast for Yom Kippur), I think she's getting one, too. I told her she could have ours. I'm not sure what all these Christmas trees mean to everyone else, but I feel I should briefly reach back to my religious upbringing and offer a few thoughts:

There is a story in the Old Testament about when Moses went up to get the ten commandments. While he was gone, his people forged a golden calf to worship because a golden calf is much more interesting to pray to than something you can't feel or see. Nowadays we seem to be doing the same thing. We put up the Christmas tree, place our elaborately wrapped gifts underneath and thank God for these things we've bought for ourselves. We worship our things rather than the actual reasons these holidays exist. Maybe, instead of making sure there is something Christmas-y peaking out of every window, everyone should try to remember what we're supposed to be celebrating.

Matt Worley isn't a Scrooge, he just doesn't like seeing crass consumerism masquerading as some type of higher belief.