Quaker Pagan Reflections

I'm sitting here next to a baubled, gleaming evergreen tree, with a skirt of environmentally-obliviously wrapped gifts swirling around its feet. Neither as a Quaker nor as a Pagan is this supposed to be my holiday, but here I am. And I'm _not_ wrestling with deep philosophy, so much as I am waiting for my daughter to wake up and come downstairs so we can open all the pretty boxes... Neither my desire for Pagan purity nor my Quaker leadings toward simplicity have saved me from really, really wanting to open up the presents, and the fact that my daughter is now of an age where I need to wake _her_ up to unwrap gifts is as unwelcome to me as the fact that my in-laws have the self-control and patience to eat breakfast first. This is especially ironic given the fact that, only a few years ago, I wasn't celebrating Christmas at all. Before my daughter reached the age where school was not to be missed, and before both my husband and I took jobs that make taking time off befo...