The Scottish Myth.

I remember being told as a child that Scottish people take little notice of Christmas, but reserve their celebrations for New Year’s Eve – or Hogmanay as they call it. And I further remember thinking how awful it must be to grow up in Scotland where they miss all the magic of Christmas and then go wild over a date that just happens to be a date.

Christmas Eve was all about carols and candles and crispy darkness, and the glass of sherry left out for Santa Claus on the hearth, and the fear of being unable to sleep so there would be no pillowcase full of gifts at the bottom of the bed in the morning. And if the sky was clear, it just might be possible to see Jupiter or Venus through the bedroom window before climbing into bed, knowing that it was the very star which had guided the Wise Men all those years ago. New Year’s Eve was nothing more than the boring old change from December to January. It was a mere fact devoid of meaning and I couldn’t understand why anybody would want to celebrate it.

And so I felt sorry for the Scottish children, and I couldn’t understand how the Scots could miss something as special as Christmas. And later I learned that it wasn’t true anyway, at least not to the extent that it was presented to me. Another myth faded with the progress of time, and by the age of eleven there were none left.

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And this post is made so the month’s count will be 40. I dislike 39 because it’s 13x3 and I’m superstitious.