Santa Has a Death Wish
Five lessons of my first solo Christmas tree
It’s my first Christmas tree in five years. A growing puppy discouraged a tree from 2018–2020.
Last year, my father was dying, and I was just beginning to peel back the layers of my husband’s iniquity. Yuletide cheer was in short supply. So no tree in 2021 either.
This year, as I found myself driving through Westchester, I made a game-time decision to get a tree.
I pulled into the garden center and realized this is the first Christmas tree I’ve done solo in…Ever. For me, tree purchase and setup has always been intermediated by man: Father, boyfriend, fiancé, husband, husband.
Now on my own, when the nursery proprietor named a price, I instantly agreed. First, it was half of what I would have paid back in Manhattan. Second, I had no partner there, one who seemed to believe haggling over the price of a spruce is as intrinsic to the season as plum pudding and partridges in pear trees. I paid and shoved the tree in my hatchback.
Back in my apartment, time to erect the tree. This was another exercise, I recalled, that involved much cursing at…
