The Christmas tradition that nobody sings about is one that nevertheless compels Catherine O'Briant: standing in line to mail gifts.

She beat the worst of the season's stampede for stamps by hitting the Cave Spring post office on Wednesday, when the mailing maelstrom was building, but still far from the crest expected this week.

"I try not to wait until the last minute. That would be even more hectic," she said. The holdup to send kitchen gear to her 80-year-old mother in Reedsville, Ga., was about 10 minutes.

Figure on multiplying those minutes if you haven't lined up yet, because today is Christmas crunch time -- the single busiest mailing date of the year. The U.S. Postal Service expects typical daily volume to rise by 34 percent to 900 million pieces of outgoing mail.

Even though you won't find "Have Yourself a Merry Little Mailing" on any Andy Williams albums, the post office jam wasn't all downtime to O'Briant. While in line, she imagined what her mom will do after unwrapping baking equipment: "I can just see her making treats for the 'pink ladies' who volunteer at the hospital. She loves surprising the pink ladies."

A sense of duty radiated from the mailing multitudes. Their faces reflected a range of emotions that make the job at hand worthwhile: pangs of separation, thoughts of love and friendship left unspoken for too long, tenderness remembered and the joy of sharing.

But like so many other Christmas events, there was a downside, too.

For Joe Devlin, the annual post office task was a trade-off. "My wife did the shopping. This is my part," he said, languishing behind seven other people Thursday at Roanoke's main post office on Rutherford Avenue Northeast.

The justice in this detainment, he reasoned, is that his wife didn't require him to endure the busy stores while she bought the gifts. Devlin even admitted uncertainty about the contents of the three packages, which cost $22.85 in postage: "I think there's clothing for my wife's dad. I don't know about the rest."

Asked what was in her package, Marjorie Griffith took a few moments to recall the gift she sent her brother in Hot Springs, Ark., from the Cave Spring post office on Thursday. "I can't remember what you call it; one of those little blanket things, but not a blanket."

Griffith hailed another hostage for help. "Hey, what are those little covers that you can put across your knees -- the ones on sale at J.C. Penney?"

The passer-by took a guess: "A throw?"

Griffith brightened. "That's it. A throw. I got him a throw. He has everything, so he's very hard to buy for."

Unsure though some may be about what they're sending, there's an inevitability about the post office ritual.

"They'll still be coming here on Christmas Eve," when the doors close at noon, said Skip Carter, a supervisor at the Cave Spring post office. Gifts sent by express mail on Christmas Eve will be delivered to many major markets the next day, he said: "Not in the middle of Wyoming, but in a lot of places."

There'll be no last-minute mailing for Debra Stump. "I'm done," she said Wednesday with a happy sigh after depositing 14 cards to folks as far away as Ohio.

But maybe she isn't. Like many of us, she has people on her Christmas list who don't receive a communique unless they send one first. "I have five of those," she said. Why wait to offer retaliatory greetings? "The stamps cost too much," Stump said.

All cards aren't created equal when it comes to whether to include a family photo. Jane Conlin goes to that extra effort and expense for a select few recipients in her 34-envelope stack. Shots from a recent family wedding will go only to people who knew her stepdaughter, who was the bride, "when she was little," Conlin said.

Then there are those whose Christmas correspondence reaches out to strangers. Sara Miller, toting a package heavy enough to bend her forward slightly, said it's destined for Marine 1st Lt. Jason Hoffman in Iraq. "I don't know him. He's from Tennessee," said Miller, who is a Marine reservist.

She got Hoffman's name and address from a volunteer group that organizes mailings for military personnel serving overseas. Miller was sending "a care package, with cookies and other things, and cards signed by other people who don't know him either. We just thought this might make him feel appreciated to be remembered."

Others mail packages in part so they won't be forgotten. "Sending gifts makes you feel connected," said David Morones, carrying a box big enough to warrant a $37.90 mailing fee. Inside are toys including a miniature automated teller machine. "Have you seen these little ATMs? They're great," he said.

The toys are headed for nieces and nephews in Uvalde, Texas. "We miss them. We'd love to see them open these presents," he said.

Still, frustrations weren't hard to spot among the dispatching droves. One man halted upon entering Roanoke's main post office, dismayed at the line. He muttered to himself it might be better to return later, then reluctantly took up the rear.

But Bill Martin, stretching tape across a parcel, said he copes by fixing on the finish. "You feel so good afterward. You're done. That's it."

He paused. "Until next year."