WESTHAMPTON - Some people announce in November they have only a few presents left to wrap.

Not me. When I announce, a week before Christmas, that I haven't started my shopping yet, others stare in horrified disbelief.

For many years I berated myself for waiting. I promised to be more organized and had visions of tucking presents away in closets and bureau drawers.

But that's not my way.

The Christmas spirit doesn't hit me until the lights are up, the streets are jammed and all the really good deals are gone from the shelves.

This Yuletide timetable has made me remarkably good at getting the job done quickly. Of course, there is little room for error.

One Christmas Eve around 8:30 p.m., after our three children had gone to bed, I was getting ready for our usual marathon present-wrapping session when I realized I'd forgotten all about the stockings.

I rifled the cupboards and refrigerator for Christmas-stocking wannabes, but gave up as I pictured my children's disappointed faces as they pulled plastic baggies filled with chocolate chips and raisins or shriveled oranges from their stockings.

Not much is open on Christmas Eve, as you can imagine. But as I turned the corner onto Main Street in Florence, I saw the lights of Cooper's Corner shining like Rudolph's nose. I walked through the door 11 minutes before closing time and grabbed a red plastic shopping basket.

If I hadn't been at wit's end, the choices that ran through my head as I scanned the shelves would have amused me: ketchup, salsa, a loaf of bread.

In the end, I left with more suitable choices: lots of candy, nail clippers, pens, colored pencils, rubber bands, glue, scissors, notepads, playing cards, Magic Markers and paper clips. For the toes of the stockings, I even found some tangerines, a tradition from my childhood.

To spice it up a bit, I ignored my misgivings about gambling and bought three lottery tickets.

Back home, when we finally got to bed around 2:30 a.m., I could relax knowing that the presents were under the tree, Santa had eaten the cookies on the table, and three overstuffed stockings lay at the end of each child's bed.

The stockings were as big a hit as ever, especially with our son Joe, then 8, who wandered into our bedroom around 5 a.m. to announce he'd won $100 on his scratch ticket.

Merry Christmas.

Phoebe Mitchell is the associate news editor at the Gazette. This essay appeared earlier in a print version of the Gazette.