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HOLIDAYS : He Shops, She Shops : Buying perfect presents doesn't take a lot of money, just a knowledge of your loved ones' deepest wishes.

November 25, 1994|PATRICIA WARD BIEDERMAN | TIMES STAFF WRITER

The theory is simple. Great presents persuade the recipients that this is exactly what they wanted, even if they didn't real ize it until the wrapping flew. The trick, though, is knowing the secret heart of your recipient, not always easy when family and friends live a continent away.

I got the jump on Hanukkah and Christmas this year by spending two weeks visiting my mom and multitudinous sibs on the East Coast. Thus, buying family presents should be a cinch since their likes and dislikes, their needs and moods are so much clearer to me since I've seen them so recently in the flesh, instead of experiencing them as I usually do, through a phone darkly.

We have never spent large sums of money on gifts for one another and aren't going to start now, lord knows. The gift-giving laurel has always gone to the Ward who comes up with the present, however modestly priced, that causes its recipient to behave the most like a 5-year-old who just found his or her first two-wheeler under the tree. Our motto has always been, "If it won't induce a goofy grin, don't buy it." Another consideration when shopping for the family: Gifts have to be easy to ship. Nobody wants a boxful of shards.

First on my list and closest to home is my son, age 20-something. "Eric, what do you want for Hanukkah?" I asked recently. "Nothing," he answered. Now you and I both know that's a half-truth, at best. But not to worry. This child has always been easy to buy for, not the least of which reason is considerable generosity of spirit. I like to believe it's because he always got enough good presents but, for whatever reasons, he always acts as if whatever you give him is terrific. He reads and so believes books are fine gifts, he is always happy to get additional software, and he thinks of gift certificates to the Virgin Megastore or whatever as an opportunity to buy precisely what he wants, not as a failure of the giver's imagination. Probably he would still really like the puppy he began asking for early in the 1970s. But he's not getting Rover again this year. A TV set is a possibility, so he can watch MTV and I don't have to. But I'll probably give him shares in a no-load mutual fund, perhaps the growth fund Berger 100. Call me sentimental, but I think nothing says loving in an uncertain world like teaching your child about dollar-cost averaging.

From a gift-giving point of view, my mother is a toughie. She is an accumulator who would rather have a kidney removed than throw anything out. None of her offspring feels comfortable adding to the store of stuff that she has to spend so much of her time and energy dealing with. Another problem is that she is not really happy about the fact that she is older than the rest of us, and she doesn't care to be reminded of it, thank you. If Whistler's mother would have liked it, my mother will hate it. And mom won't hesitate to tell you what you can do with your lap rug, either. So this year I'm giving her the biggest bottle I can find of her favorite perfume, Chloe, and one thing she isn't expecting. I'm going to make it a point to spend more time with her. Not for her. For me.

I have one sister, four years younger, and I know exactly what to get her. A one-time history major, Chrissie has a favorite monarch the way some people have a favorite singer or actor. She is mad about England's King Charles II. Chrissie can quote you chapter and verse about his bawdy reign (1660-1685) and provide you with fingernail sketches of actress Nell Gwyn and the other lovelies who amused the Merrie Monarch.

What Chrissie doesn't realize she wants most for Christmas is her very own copy of "Forever Amber," newly released on videotape. What an utterly perfect big sister I am to give her a copy of the classic Twentieth-Century Fox film (1947) starring Linda Darnell as the fictional royal mistress, Cornell Wilde as the heartless cavalier who ruins her and George Sanders as King Chuck. Amber pays an unspeakable price for her indiscretion, but the Ward girls have always been notorious fools for love, and I know Chris will treasure it.

The older of my younger brothers, John, is uncannily like my late father and so is easy to buy for. My dad was greatly gifted about everything except staying alive--fly fishing was only one of the dozens of things he did enviously well--and so you could always buy him something that related to one of his talents, thus, making him, as well as you, feel grand. My brother John, his namesake, is the kind of person who walks into the back yard of his 150-year-old farm house and says to his 3-year-old daughter, Hannah, "Let's see if we can call the birds." And then, unbelievably, he starts to make chickadee noises and, even more incredibly, chickadees start gathering in the nearby trees. Did I mention that he built the dulcimer he plays?

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