
I’ve always put up a Christmas tree. Despite the halfhearted participation (and groaning) of my boyfriends, I’ve faithfully, right after Thanksgiving, headed out and bought (or here on Vashon, cut down) a tree to lug home. It’s a ritual I rarely miss.
I remember after visiting India some years ago I returned home in the winter and the notion of putting a tree on display seemed absurd. This is a rite of passage for anyone who ventures to India: All of your brain cells are rearranged and you never view your world, or its customs, the same way again. I know that was true for me as a Westerner. Christmas in America, after the dust and squalor of India, felt like a gluttonous indulgence. So I skipped the holidays that year — though I missed having a tree in the house. Read more