It is the First Day of the Rest of Them...

11:55 pm.

Darkness covered the city like the snow that should cover the ground.  White Christmas?

Bah Humbug!

There's been a lot of Bah Humbug-ging around here lately.  'Tis the season and all that.

No matter what the surveys say, spending has been limited this year because too many people can't afford food.  All these economic indicators indicating spending is up 16 percent have to be studies done by drug addled, economic Pollyanna's.  Or, they've only sampled the investment banking industry.  Those are the only employed people with money this year.

Anyway, rather than spend the day after Christmas, aka Boxing Day, shopping 'til I'd be dropping, I was cleaning my apartment.

At 11:55 pm, I should have been snug in my bed, visions of sugarplums still dancing in my weary noggin.  But no, I was awake, making yet another hand-crafted feast from the pages of Julia Le Chat Cuisine Par ...well par none, if you must know.  My beastly roomie, known to all and sundry as a lovely little cat, has had yet another bout of seasonal indigestion.

It is not my fault he is able to leap 5 feet in the air and catch tinsel that should be decorating the upper branches of the Christmas tree.  In fact, the tinsel was high enough to elude his mouth for each and every one of the prior six Christmas trees.  But this year, tinsel stopping at the precise measurement of 5.5 feet off the ground, the tinsel has been disappearing, only to be dragged everywhere and anywhere.  It's his own version of entertainment.

Being a diligent pet parent, I knew that tinsel is not a good snack for cats.  I'd spent three hours getting the ornaments right, the tinsel looking perfect on jsut a few upper branches, and now I had to remove that shiny, silver cat treat, or else it would be flying through the apartment, carried by a flying cat, and whatever was in his path was hitting the ground.  Hard.

I have lots of "breakage": around here.  So, dustbin rapidly filling, I was just about finished with the cleaning up, and the doorbell rang.

It was the charming delivery person from Ace's Best Chicago Delivery.  ABCD has a reputation for making all its deliveries on time, which in this case meant they had to deliver before midnight.  I knew this because the delivery ticket said just that in bold, red letters.

I gave a dollar to the guy holding the box.  He gave the box to me.  I heard a small whistle from inside the box.  The cat yowled.

I knew what was inside sounded frighteningly like a bird.  You see, I know John Darling.  And he's got a reputation for this sort of thing.  Sending birds and lovely presents, jewelry, pretty boxes filled with items of considerably high price, and generally treating whoever takes his fancy to some pretty fancy presents.

I was, in short, delighted.  A present!  Just what I needed as a reward for the last hours of labor removing tinsel from every branch, ornament, chair, table, couch or surface that could have a simple strip of shiny, silvery stuff on it.  And it was everywhere and anywhere.  I was happy to be done with tinsel.  forever.

After sending ABCD out of the building, I opened the box.  Inside, I found a beautiful miniature pear tree, done in gold leaf, with a pretty little golden partridge resting in one upper branch. The tag read, "Let the magic begin...I love you, John Darling."

Stunning!  Gorgeous!  And, he loves me!

Wow...

The doorbell rang again.  By now it was 11:59.

ABCD was again at the door.

"Lady, you gotta sign for this one too."  His voice could have wakened the dead.  I only hoped that Cosmo, my next door neighbor was still sound asleep, because when I play the stereo, Cosmo calls the cops claiming it's too loud.  In fact, it's not loud, because even I have a hard time hearing the quiet parts.  Cosmo just hates my taste in music.

Oh boy, I thought.  What else could there be?  I had a beautiful pear tree, perfect for the table by the window. 

In the hallway, there it was.  A 3 foot container was resting on a handcart, complete with a larger version of the miniature.

I was looking at a real pear tree.

With pears.

And, one real, live, very upset partridge. 

Make that a very, very, VERY unhappy partridge. All alone, perched in a pear tree. 

A six foot tall pear tree.

Do you know where this is going?

Pardon me, I have to run.  The cat has figured out how to strafe the partridge's perch, which was every so slightly lower than 5.5 feet off the ground.  Sadly for the partridge, there was no tinsel to divert his attention.. . .

Merry Christmas, all..