My wife and I recently took in our local parade of lights followed later that evening by watching a televised broadcast of “Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer.” This means that it is now officially Christmastime.

We had fortunate weather for the parade, with light winds and temperatures in the mid-30s. Just a few days earlier the mercury had plummeted to the single digits with a howling wind that drove the windchill to well below zero. Better to be lucky than to be good.

Scores of kids turned out to watch the parade from the curb, calling out to Santa as he floated by on a float. Despite the dim light, parents allowed their offspring to scramble out to pick up the candy tossed by parade participants. I was glad that the kiddos were able to collect their sugary treats without running the risk of frostbite.

You know that you’re in farm country when Christmas parade entries consist of a weed sprayer or a tractor festooned with strings of colorful LED lights.

For me, the only thing that would make this a Christmas trifecta would be to rewatch “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” I always empathized with sad sack Charlie and his woebegone little Christmas tree. Charlie reminds me of me when I was kid. So did the character Pigpen.

What can I say?

I grew up poor with a deep-seated aversion to bathing. Even our family’s weekly baths — wherein all eight of us kids used the same bathwater — seemed like an untoward obsession with cleanliness.

Sadly, I am old enough to remember when both of those TV shows premiered. Your age is showing when things from your childhood come to be known as “retro” or “classic.”

Figuring out what to buy for Christmas has long been the bane of my existence. I never know what to give anyone but have learned that jewelry is always an appropriate option for my wife. She’s the easiest person to buy for as long as it involves precious metals and/ or gemstones that are sparkly and have been cut and polished in such a way that they have numerous facets.

Buying something for someone such as an uncle can be extremely problematic. For instance, I had an uncle named Dale who was a bachelor farmer. We celebrated Christmas with Dale and his parents (my grandparents) every year, a sprawling, raucous family gathering that included the exchange of gifts.

It’s extremely difficult to figure out what to get for a bachelor farmer. He probably already had everything he wanted, and my paltry buck-a-week allowance precluded buying him a new tractor or combine. Faced with this unsolvable conundrum, I would punt and purchase something like a tie clasp or a bottle of cheap cologne. He probably didn’t have any use for either of them, but it was the thought that counted. Or so I was told.

I didn’t give this a second thought until many years later when a friend of ours gave me a pocket square for Christmas. It pained me to realize that I had become the sort of guy for whom it’s difficult to buy presents.

Our friends and family petty much have everything they want. This makes it difficult for my wife and me to find Christmas gifts for quite a few people, so we have decided to make a present of our presence. In other words, we have opted to make a gift of our time, to give those we love a measure our undivided attention.

For example, my wife and I recently spent an afternoon visiting with our friends Myron and Nancy. We yakked for several hours but never ran out of things to say. It was a very pleasant way to spend the day.

This was the sort of thing that adults commonly did when I was a kid. I could never fathom how people could talk for such a long time without exhausting the topics for discussion.

The visitors would eventually declare that it was time to go, so they would stand up and say goodbye. The goodbyes would continue throughout the house, onto the driveway and through an open car window. These marathon gab fests would finally conclude with farewell waves from the car as it motored away and calls of “Your turn!”, meaning that it was their turn to visit our house.

I couldn’t understand this as a kid. I have long since come to fully comprehend and deeply appreciate such extended, long-winded interactions. It’s funny how things can work out.

I could continue with this topic, but it’s time to go. See you again soon. It’s your turn!

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com