ROANOKE TIMES 
                      Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times

DATE: Monday, December 25, 1995              TAG: 9512260024
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1    EDITION: HOLIDAY 
COLUMN: Ben Beagle 
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE

WITH APOLOGIES TO DICKENS, HERE'S CHRISTMAS AT THE BEAGLES'

I know. Writing a Christmas column is like shooting fish in a barrel.

I try to avoid such free shots. My dog Millie could write a Christmas column.

But I try to be a good person and a good father and all my children came to me - I'll never forget the tears that stained their innocent faces - and asked me to write a Christmas column.

They've never forgiven me for letting Charles Dickens write "A Christmas Carol" first or for forcing them to listen to my dramatic reading of portions of this classic. I owe those kids something.

Right. Christmas.

Well, take it easy on the country ham, pilgrim. I read the nutrition label on a bag that one came in and I wrote this column early, in case I wouldn't be here all day after all those calories from fat.

Nevertheless, I plan to stand up at breakfast this morning and say, sometime after we're sure the biscuits came out all right and provided we are all not unconscious from egg-nog seizures: "We who are about to fat ourselves to death salute you."

It won't be a perfect day. You know that somebody somewhere is going to ask that ancient Christmas question: "Gee, I wonder why Hiram gave me this really heavy book about civilization in the Fertile Crescent when he knew I really wanted that Mannheim Steamroller CD?"

Listen, pal. Relax and forget about reading the nutrition label on the egg nog carton.

And pretty soon now, you won't have to go around changing

the bulbs in the electric candles in the windows every night. And the live tree you got this year probably will die before you have to dig a hole the size of the Breaks of the Cumberland.

No more standing in line with a $3.49 giant gift bag while the cashierperson scans about 147 individual pieces of phony holly, ivy and other merry things the lady in front of you is buying to make the season bright.

I don't know how much all that merriment cost. I got into another line. I waited while the cashierperson and another lady argued about the price of a bundle of socks and certain check-cashing procedures.

Mo more hiding presents under the bed and then worrying about whether the bed is going to fall down and smash them while you're doing your back excercises.

That's it, kids. I always told you a Charles Dickens I am not.

By the way, I hope you like those nice heavy books on Druid culture I gave you this year.

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