The stockings are hung with care ... but where did I hide those gifts?

Each holiday season at least one purchase molders, forgotten, in its clever hidy-hole. With luck, it'll resurface about the time Punxsutawney Phil checks his shadow.

Last year it was a couple of gift books I fiendishly hid in plain sight -- in my bookcase -- then forgot about.

To say nothing of the candies I bought for stocking stuffers because I loved their Victorian-style tins printed with vintage Santas and festive holly. They were so pretty, I got three different patterns, each carefully chosen to match the personality of the recipient.

I think my husband and kids really would have liked them.

Unfortunately, I came across them last summer under the sewing cabinet in my study.

To stumble upon these "found" objects months after the fact is to recall Dan Quayle's immortal words: "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful."

Stress has been fingered as a cause of memory lapse, and the holidays are full of it. I can plead added dispensation since my daughter has a December birthday. (Me, too, but, giftwise, that's not my problem.)

Just last week I panicked because the J. Crew turtleneck Laura wanted for her birthday hadn't arrived. Yikes -- was it on back order? The helpful phone rep checked her computer and said no, UPS delivered to our front porch on Nov. 19 at 4:42 p.m.

"Could it be behind a plant?" she asked sympathetically.

She held the line as I frantically yelled at my husband to check the porch. Nada. What could have happened to it?

I was kicked up to the customer-service manager, who noted all the details so she could put in a claim with the carrier and resend the item. To avert disappointment, I warned Laura she wouldn't be opening the turtleneck for her birthday.

Two days later, when I went to inventory the growing holiday stash behind a chair in my study, I stopped in my tracks. Three inches from my eyeballs, at the top of the heap, was a flat, brown carton. It was labeled J. Crew.

The turtleneck! How did that get there?!

Feeling like an amnesiac whose prints are all over the crime scene, I called J. Crew and said that I, ahem, wouldn't need to pursue the matter after all. I resisted the temptation to say, "The thief returned the package to the front porch" and instead offered, "Sorry about the mix-up."

"Don't worry about it," the service-center operator said with a smile in her voice. "It happens a lot."

In fact, it happened last year, when I bought the chunky black boots that topped Laura's birthday list. After arriving home, I successfully smuggled the box out of the car. Then I hid it in a corner of our bedroom, next to Goodwill bags and assorted wardrobe flotsam that rendered it invisible, like E.T. in a closetful of toys.

It was out of sight, out of mind. Very much out of mind.

Which explained Laura's awkward pause after she'd opened the last present and offered her thank-yous.

"Uh, I don't want to spoil any Christmas surprises," she said gingerly, "but were you still planning to get me those boots, because if you aren't, I want to buy them before they're gone."

"BOOTS!!!" I cried, sitting bolt upright. "Aieee!"

I beelined upstairs and there they were, in all their unwrapped glory.

But, really, I don't think this brain drain is all my fault, and you shouldn't blame yourself if it happens to you, too. The fact is, hiding gifts is an art.

Even if no one actively snoops, accidental sightings are a risk of sharing close quarters. You've got to move fast -- sometimes faster than the old memory neurons can fire -- just to sneak big, crinkly shopping bags through the door and into a secure drop zone before anyone looks up.

I've found that, for stowing small packages, the back of a file drawer is a slam-dunk. It's also a potential black hole of forgetfulness, so approach with caution. Maybe e-mail yourself a reminder.

Jack's battered VW camper van is a great place to store unwieldy presents for our son, Elliott, who has been ordered to keep his distance. Who could forget about a gift that places an entire vehicle off-limits?

Since the van is Jack's baby, I hide his cumbersome gifts in the basement, jumbled among storage boxes and artfully draped with a disheveled sleeping bag. Here's where the messy lifestyle really pays off.

In the course of this subterfuge, I often stumble across a misplaced box of tree ornaments or a long-lost token of my children's early school years, allowing me to close out some other missing-object file. See? The system works.

Actually, it works a little too well, because now everyone else is poaching on my turf. I expect we'll cross paths in the basement some day and catch each other red-handed.

Now, that'll be a Christmas to remember.

P-I reporter Cecelia Goodnow can be reached at 206-448-8353 or ceceliagoodnow@seattlepi.com.

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