Elevenses Anyone???

That noble hour, somewhere between brekkies and luncheon, filled with possibility of a good snack, but not quite as good as tea.  Elevenses is the meal that tides one over between breakfast at or before the crack of dawn and high noon, which is never a good time to seek food in a Chicago restaurant anyway.  Elevenses are a sort of carryover of breakfast.  Toast and jam figure prominently.

Leaping Lords, on the other hand, expect Elevenses.  Suddenly, at precisely 4 am, there were twenty lords.  Leaping.  Along with another set of additions including another nine ladies dancing, eight more milking maids, with cows.  This time, it looked like the countrified gents also known as the Lords, leaping, would have to get their countrified gentleman farmer genes in high gear and milk the cows.  Lots of maids, lots of buckets and fewer and fewer knew the business of getting milk out of the poor cows that were getting truly distressed.

The yogurt batches were coming along well, and another was started up before 6 am, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  Teh delivery trucks arrived, depositing the cows into the back parking area, which was beginning to look like a feed lot.  After Lords, Ladies, Maids and such, there were another set of swans wanting for all they were worth, to swim.  But, no pool today.  This batch would have to share.

Have you ever thought of the difficulty there is in convincing an irritated swan that it had to share its swimming space?  If you haven't don't.  If you have, rethink it, because it is a recipe for disaster.

There were another half dozen geese laying a half dozen eggs.  There were four calling birds, this time with the Verizon guy, and the phones to match.  Lovely.

"Can you hear me now?"  Even the birds, and I swear this is true, had their own bird voices doing just that, in the Queen's English, no less.

Finally, there were another three French hens, with their own eggs, two turtle doves that had turtled enough to produce their own egg, and a beautiful pear tree, with pears.  And a partridge.

That was it.

Everything was off loaded and the truck pulled away.

I started running for the corner to intercept the behemoth that was becoming far too much of my own life.  There was something missing. 

I yelled for the driver to stop.  I screamed.  I heard windows opening above me and angry voices urged me in words that cannot be repeated on a device monitored by Homeland Security, the CIA, the FBI, or the Federal Comminications Commission, to shut up.  Well, it was more shut the XXXX up.  But, the semi-trailer truck just kept rolling on.

And on.

Suddenly, I was the proverbial deer in the headlights.  In front of me was another truck.  Sounds were coming from the truck, and there could be no doubt of what was inside.  Either it was a shipment from the Edinburgh Tattoo, or it was the Gordon Highlanders in person.

You guessed it.  Eleven pipers piping. 

Make that ELEVEN PIPERS PIPING!!!!

By the time they were off their truck, which did have all eleven of them in perfectly turned out Gordon Highlander gear, except the tartan was not Gordon at all, the sun was up.  The leader, who had the really fancy cords on his pipes, which were full sized Great Pipes, reached into his sporran and handed me a rather small box.  Inside, another collection of five, thank goodness, Five GOLLLLD Rings.

I pocketed the rings, and welcomed the pipers to the asylum.  The maids, with the help of the Lords, who really looked odd in today's getup of morning coats, ties and top hats, milked all the cows and the girls were happily munching on hay and feed. 

The entire mass of my 'gifts' carried everything that belonged upstairs, up to my flat.  It took five trips in the elevator, which got two of my neighbors irritated due to my hogging the lift.  Thanks to all that is good and fair, the damnable song didn't have  a hog in it, or I'd have been too easily lumped in with greedy porkers.  Or Congress-critters.

Anyway, I promised the neighbors a lovely assortment of cheeses and yogurt.  I even promised them I'd babysit if they would not let the landlord know what is going on where I live.  There were about seventy people crammed into my flat by this time, and with the additional birds, the building itself was probably in danger of total collapse from the additional weight alone.

In all, my head was splitting.  I asked the pipers to pipe down and get themselves some food.  One said he was chief cook for the regiment in Scotland, and so he was immediately in charge of the kitchen.  Another said he'd been in the quartermaster business, so he was put to work finding hotel rooms for all and sundry.  I told him to bill John Truelove, who'd been making every newscast for the past three days, and had been shown in shadow only, but could be found.  Later today, I knew justice demanded he pay for the rooms himself.

Finally, I put a third piper onto the task of arranging a large party and concert, with Leaping Lords, Dancing Ladies, Piping Pipers and a parade of animals to rival the entrance onto Noah's Ark.  Except my sets of animals were not two by two, but now had gotten in to tens by tens.

I went to get myself ready for court, which was at eleven am.

Elevenses. 

Crikey, I'd be missing elevenses again. 

The Leaping Lord that had the task of selling the cows was still in negotiations.  It seemed that I didn't have the proper ownership documents for my growing herd.  Another thing to settle in the courts.

It was going to be a long day. 

I also needed a new pair of shoes.  No matter how careful you are, geese can foul, or fowl the footpath in ways totally unimaginable for the city dweller.

Time to face the legal music.  As I left, I heard the pipers warming up.  The sounds of Scotland the Brave followed me all the way to the Elevated stop, a half mile from my apartment.  I needed brave.  I also needed the identity of Truelove. 

And a noose.  It was coming to that.  Enough guests, birds, more birds, cows, birds, trees, birds, leaping, milking or other persons, and more birds was not being properly compensated by a collection of gold rings.  And, I needed to get to the University of Chicago to get the rings translated, if they really did have runes on them.

Court first., then the ring translator, then a meeting with Truelove in a dark alley with a tree suitable for a lynching.  Face it, I was not in a good mood.

Someone greeted me warmly, and since I wasn't paying attention, I'll pass it on to you...

Happy Christmas -- and may your 12 Days be filled with Peace.