When I write a column for the newspaper, sometimes it's hard to remember that there is a time lag between the writing and the reading. Sometimes it really doesn't matter, but other times it does.

For instance, if I talk about the rainy weather, it's usually bright and sunny by the time the newspaper gets to the door of the readers.

So I usually try to focus on things that aren't as time sensitive, like the things I have been doing in general and so forth. But when I sit here at the computer writing this column just a few days before Christmas, even knowing it won't be read until after it's all over, it seems that little else is on my mind. So here I am thinking of the excitement of the children as they open their gifts and the feeling of anticipation that is almost palatable, like the thick taste of holiday egg nog.

Most of all, I'm thinking of hosting my entire family on Christmas Day and trying to make sure all is ready for the revelry. Well, maybe revelry is a bit strong for my family; but nonetheless I am trying to make sure all is in place so that they might have great time.

Since my father passed away, we have opted to move holidays to different family member's houses to take the strain off my mother. I won Christmas.

The newspaper is closed today and I am finishing up a few tasks before going home for a long weekend. My only obstacles appear to be monsoon rain and preparations for the party.

Most of the pieces are in place already. The tree is all decked out in holiday splendor and the wreath is on the door. The lawn ornaments are sparkling and the lights are twinkling around the edge of the roof. The turkey is waiting in the freezer, although perhaps with a little foreboding. It's freezer mate died a horrible death, forgotten in the oven as the family snoozed fitfully with dreams of sugar plums dancing in our heads.

I can tell you that there are very few smells in this world that are better than fresh, hot turkey. I had injected it with my own special mix of flavorings and I had even slipped in a bite or two, just to make sure it was good. I bet I eat more turkey while "making sure it's good" than I do when at the dinner table. Even so, opposite of the good smell of fresh turkey is waking up to a dried-out bird that was forgotten in the oven for several hours. As I think back, I can almost taste the smell of burned bird that so long lingered in our noses. This time it's going to be different.

There are still a few things that aren't ready for the holiday. The tiller and bags of toys that have been confiscated for charity are on the porch, right beside the clothing we still need to separate and donate. I am supposed to get those delivered to their respective resting places, lest the proper parts of the family come and see our 'hillbillyish' front porch. If I don't get it cleaned up, I may be forced to move part of our living room furniture out there. The limbs I cut out of the pine trees are still right where they fell when I turned off the chainsaw the other day. I, as usual, have several messes awaiting my attention. I still have to put the window trim on in the kitchen, finish the ceiling tile installation and clean up around the wood stove. As you can tell, the messes are still messy and the dust is still dusty.

I'm usually glad when a bunch of people are coming over to the house, since it gives everyone an incentive to go that extra mile in making everything cleaner and brighter. The little corners that are sometimes easy to overlook are cleaned and things that have needed doing for a long time usually get done with much haste.

If it weren't for company, I feel sure that my home wouldn't be in half as good a shape as it is in today.

As for the toys in bags on the porch, I took away three entire garbage bags stuffed full of stuffed creatures of all descriptions.

There are things that beep and whistle and talk, things that sing and toot and play music, and even things that do nothing at all. Even so, I can still tell very little difference in looking through the house. In fact, the children don't seem to even notice that the great multitude of playthings are gone on their way to that great charity in the sky. So why remove the toys to start with? To make room for the expected influx that usually finds its way into toy boxes this time of year. A toy's life is short-lived these days, unlike the beloved metal toys of my youth. First of all, there are so many that it is hard for any one to stand out and be special. Secondly, since most toys these days either have small plastic parts that quickly break or vanish and batteries that seldom last more than a few weeks, they aren't much fun to play with after awhile. Television has also gotten to the point that kids can watch exciting shows all day and even most of the night. Of course, the shows include commercials targeted directly at kids to entice them to want even more toys that they will break and discard en route to the next year's haul. Most of the things we packed up to donate are things that haven't been used for months, so its no wonder that they're not missed. Had the items been removed with witnesses, they definitely would have been. As it is, the items disappeared as cleanly as a tooth left under a pillow for a non-existent fairy that has a magic wand and a pocket filled with quarters. That's the way to do it.

I can remember having plenty of toys as a youth, but never like children today. When I was very young, I played with the blocks of wood we used to start fires, pretending they were cars. When that got boring, they became blocks for castles, houses and other creations. If that still wasn't enough, they could become missiles that attacked anything in firing range, building materials that could be hammered, nailed and painted into new creations or even clicking, clacking musical instruments.

Now the kids have remote control, computerized and talking toys that require little or no imagination. I wish everyone could have the opportunity I had as a small child to enjoy the thrills of exploring their own imaginations.

Some things don't change, though. Colored dough still makes a mess, markers are good for coloring your siblings and crayons are still hard to wash off the bedroom door.

Later on, as my family grew more affluent and toys grew more advanced, my toy box also changed. It went from wooden blocks to baseball gloves, taking the leap of technology to Pong before eventually reaching a shiny silver Mustang that I purchased myself after the toys had lost their sparkle. Of course, the Mustang wasn't supposed to be a toy, but tell that to a 16-year-old with a heavy foot and a lack of good sense.

I suppose I'll have to worry about that in a whole new way on some future Christmas, but for now I'll just enjoy the latest round of Yuletide excitement, complete with electronic voices, beeps and whistles that likely won't stop until they fall asleep or the batteries die. Luckily, I prepared in advance by purchasing the cheapest off-brand batteries possible for the noisy toys to make for a happier New Year.

Get more tongue in cheek commentary this week's issue of the Alleghany News!

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