Twenty years ago or somewhere there abouts, a week or so before Christmas, my friend Judy received a two pound box of Russell Stover, chocolate-covered nuts from a Bell South (then Southern Bell) co-worker.

While we visited with Judy and family over the holidays, she and I hid with the delightful box two or three times. Out of sight, sound and smell of all others we indulged ourselves. We shared with no one.

I'm not especially proud of the fact, but I'm not ashamed either of being a chocoholic from way back. Of course, more and more I am realizing that I may not be a true addict since I tend to pig out only on good chocolate.

Russell Stover may not be the best, but it is good. I suppose I will never know if it is truly the product or those wonderful stolen moments I had with my friend a couple of decades ago that has made the candy part of my holiday tradition.

Until this year that is. Since we finally have gone "back to the country" where our hearts have been all along, it is a 40 to 45 minute drive to the nearest place that sells Russell Stover chocolates.

Oh, I meant to get them. They were on my list, and I was in Fayetteville on Wednesday the 16th before the Holt Family Christmas at my house on Saturday the 19th. That would have been the perfect time to hide and indulge myself, with 35 relatives milling about throughout the house. I have a big closet. I could have pulled it off. Ah, yes...

But it was not be. Jim Minter has ruined my 20-year tradition. I haven't even craved my chocolates this year. At last, I realize it was not the candy, but the secrecy that I loved so well.

This year, I am sneaking around the house enjoying stolen moments with Jim...

I wanted to wait. I did not want to even see his book until after the holidays. I knew I would be hooked. If I ever saw it and touched it, then I would have to read. There could be no waiting until there was more time. Some things are like that. You knowlike a good box of chocolates.

But there I was in the Banks Crossing Shopping Center walking from Belks to Kroger and it called my name as I walked past Bookland. I briefly fought the urge one last time. I lost.

Thus, 10 days or so before Christmas were spent sneaking around the house with Jim. On two nights, when my husband was sick with some sort of flu thing he was afraid I would catch, I slept in the guest room upstairs with Jim. I read into the wee hours of the night. Could never eat those chocolates for that long.When the alarm went off, you guessed it, I rolled over and grabbed Jim. I was compelled.

Every high school in the south should make it part of their required reading program.

This guy can build a fire on the pages of a book, not with the pages, mind you but with words on the pages that make you want to hold your hands out for warming. You can almost taste the marshmallows he roasts over the coals. And the way he defines the finest of Cuban cigars (the H. Upton which was no longer obtainable after Castro took over) makes this allergic asthmatic long for one exotic whiff.

But the most wonderful thing about the written word that flows from Jim Minter's hand is it makes me laugh. I mean it makes me laugh inside and out, alone or in a crowd. Not everyone, in fact, very few writers or entertainers or just plain people can make me laugh a lot. And I like to laugh.

Jim Minter, newspaper man extraordinaire and country boy from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, has given every true Southerner and deserving transplanta gift for all seasons with the writing and publishing of "Some Things I wish We Wouldn't Forget (and others I wish we could)."