It looked like a San Diego snowfall in my living room as I wrestled with my little tree.

Flocking was everywhere.

Though the second year of its existence, THIS year, frustration overwhelmed me.

To offer context, assembling my Christmas tree or anything can trigger me. My Mark never met a fix-it challenge he didn't perform masterfully. 

During our years together, my job was to procure; his was to assemble.  And our home always looked like a perfect winter wonderland straight out of a Hallmark movie.

As you can imagine, his death in 2021 left me bereft of holiday spirit. I left town to spend Christmas with my San Diego cousins.  This great escape planted the idea to eventually move west.

In 2022, when the house we shared sold, I also sold everything in it. Except for my clothes and some basic utensils, the new owners purchased every piece of furniture, window and wall adornment, and an attic containing three (!) Christmas trees and two decades of decorations.

Fresh start, indeed.

My first Christmas as a Californian couldn't have been more Grinch-like. The holidays were hijacked by my first bout of COVID. 

Bedridden, my cousin deposited care packages on my doorstep. I stayed in my pajamas through the New Year.

In 2023, eager to make up for lost time, I clicked for the biggest tree my tiny apartment could hold on Amazon.

Continuing with the fresh start theme, I selected a flocked tree; a festive look I had always admired but never owned.

Shortly after constructing it, I seriously questioned my judgment.

Flocking is no joke!  Embedded in my hair, my shaggy rugs, and found in every available crevice, it seemed to multiply just like kernels of a popcorn over heat.

Still, I proudly called it my Thanksgiving tree and had a perfectly lovely holiday.

Somehow, between 2023 and 2024, gremlins invaded the Christmas tree box.

Several hours in, I STILL couldn't find the connectors that made the lights work.  I fondled every branch and needle, searching for the elusive plugs, to no avail.

At one point I even considered going without the lights.

But what's a Christmas tree without lights?

They were there!  I know they worked last year!  But I just couldn't find the connectors to light them! 

Finally, I surrendered to the inevitable.

I had to take it all apart and start over.

Not my idea of a good time.

More flocking flung, beads of perspiration forming on my brow, and a few choice expletives on the tip of my tongue, my mood grew darker.

The storm clouds were compounded by my aloneness.  Complaining isn't nearly as satisfying when there's no one to hear you!

Realizing if I didn't nip this mood in the bud, it would steal my day, I talked sense to myself.

"Getting upset doesn't make matters better, Brenda.  You did this last year.  You can do it again."

It helped mildly.

Then I talked to God.

"Could you please help me do this?"

My Christmas miracle didn't involve a nativity, wise men, a drummer boy, or a manger.

But the Savior definitely showed up, because for no earthly reason, the plugs were suddenly in plain view and easily connected.