I’ve been a homebrewer for more than thirty years. I’ve made thousands of bottles of wine over the years because I’m just not a big fan of beer. My few attempts at making beer were miserable failures or that’s what I’ve been told by the “Beer” people. It was a fun hobby and mostly kept me at home and out of trouble for years. When I notice something related to home brewing, I always save it for later use. This post has been in my files for a lot of years, and I can’t even remember where it came from, so I dusted it off, and here it is. Maybe next Christmas it might motivate some of you “Beer” people give it a try.
“TWAS THE HOMEBREWER’S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Every creature was thirsty, including the mouse… The steins were empty, and the bottles were too The beer had been drunk with no time to brew.
My family was nestled all snug in their beds While visions of Christmas Ale foamed in their heads. Mama in her kerchief lamented the drought, She craved a pilsner and I, a large stout.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. Away to the kitchen, I flew like a flash, Opening the door with a loud bang and crash!
I threw on the switch and the lights, all aglow, Gave a luster of mid-day to the brew-pot below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear But Gambrinus himself, the patron of beer.
With a look in his eye, so lively and quick, He said, “You want beer? Well, here, take your pick.” More rapid than eagles, his recipes came As he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
“Now, Pilsener! Now, Porter! Now, Stout and Now Maerzen! On, Bitter! On, Lager! On, Bock and On Weizen!” “To the top of the bottles, the short and the tall, Now brew away, brew away, and fill them all!”
As dried hops before a wild hurricane fly, And then, without warning, settle down with a sigh, So towards the brew-pot, the ingredients flew, Malt extract, roasted barley and crystal malt, too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard it quite plain, The cracking open of each barley grain. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Into the kitchen, he came with a bound.
He was dressed like a knight, from his head to his toes, With an old family crest adorning his clothes. A bundle of hops, he had flung on his back, And the brewing began when he opened his pack.
His hops were so fragrant! His barley, how sweet! The adjuncts included Munich malt and some wheat. The malted barley was mashed in the tun, Then boiled with hops in the brew-pot ’till done.
Excitement had me gnashing my teeth, As the sweet smell encircled my head like a wreath. Beer yeast was pitched, both lager and ale, The wort quickly fermented; not once did it fail.
It was then krausened, or with sugar primed, And just being bottled when midnight had chimed. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I’d be shortly in bed.
He spoke not a word but kept on with his work, And capped all the bottles, then turned with a jerk. And laying a finger alongside his nose, He belched (quite a burp!) before he arose.
Clean-up was easy, with only a whistle, And away the mess flew, like the down on a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he left me the beer, “Merry Christmas to all and a HOPPY New Year!”
To continue the Christmas theme for this week I thought a few comments and cartoons concerning the holidays was badly needed. This short poem from the late and great Benny Hill should start things off properly.
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren’t for Christmas
We’d all be Jewish.
🎅🏻
He was no Edgar Allen Poe, but he always seemed to get his messages across. These next two tidbits were a contribution by our oldest favorite writer and poet, Anonymous.
The three stages of a man’s life:
1. He believes in Santa Claus.
2. He doesn’t believe in Santa Claus;
3. He is Santa Claus.
🎄
“Christmas is Christ’s revenge for the crucifixion.”
⭐
And finally, a few quotes from celebrities or former celebrities.
“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mother took me to see
him in a department store, and he asked for my autograph.”
Shirley Temple
✨
Santa Claus has the right idea: Visit people once a year.”
I’ve spent most of my day dealing with a belligerent computer program that refuses to do its job. I shouldn’t be too upset since it’s a program I purchased about 10 years ago. I suspect that it has finally gotten to the point where my new computer is more than it can handle. It was a program used to write what I spoke. Now I’ll be forced to step back a few years and begin typing everything myself. I suppose I’ve gotten a little lazy over the years relying on that software. That being said I’m posting a few limericks today that were originally written sometime prior to 1960. Enjoy them unedited.
As you are all aware collecting strange facts and stories is my life. It was also a hobby of one of my favorite writers, Isaac Asimov. I’ve mentioned him many times through the years because he was not only a prolific writer but a huge collector of obscure information. Today’s post will be information he collected about the deaths and actions of some interesting individuals. You need to remember that while he collected a lot of information, he was also a big history buff as well. Much of his information concerns people well-known from many years ago. See what you think.
The city morgue in the Bronx, New York, has been so busy at times that next of kin are required to take numbers like they’re in a bakery and then wait in line for their body identification call.
Through the door and windows, would-be assassins poured 73 bullets into Leon Trotsky’s bedroom in his fortresslike house in Mexico City. Thanks to a moment’s warning, Trotsky and his wife escaped unscathed by hiding under the bed. Later in the same year, which was 1940, Trotsky was slain by one man, using an ice pick, who worked himself into the confidence of the old Russian revolutionary. The assassin went by the alias Jacques van den Dreschd, but his true identity remains unknown to this day.
Someone maliciously shouted “Fire” at a copper miners Christmas party in Calumet, Michigan, in 1913. Panic ensued and 72 lives-mostly children’s-were lost.
Calumet Fire Disaster
Stephen Decatur, US naval hero of the Tripoli campaign and of the war of 1812, was challenged in 1822 to a dual by a fellow officer, Commodore James Baron, who was seriously nearsighted. To accommodate his opponent, Decatur agreed to exchange shots at only 8 paces. The duel began and Baron then killed him.
Francis Bacon (1561-1626), The Elizabethan champion of the scientific method, died in pursuit of a better way of preserving food. He caught a severe cold while attempting to preserve a chicken by filling it with snow and later died.
George Eastman (1854-1932) was born poor and had little chance for schooling. Thanks to the profit of the company he founded, Eastman Kodak, he was able to contribute over $100 million to various educational institutions. Eastman committed suicide rather than spending his last years in loneliness and without the prospect of further accomplishments.
President Garfield Assassination
Alexander Graham Bell devised a metal locating tool to help find the assassin’s bullet in President James Garfield in 1881. The capture device was workable, but didn’t work on this occasion because no one had thought of removing the steel spring mattress the president was lying on. Metal, it turned out, interfered with the devices search. The unsanitary methods used in attempting to locate the bullet caused infection to spread throughout Garfield’s body and he died shortly thereafter.
Here are the final words of a favorite: Oscar Wilde
Here are a few limericks concerning food. They aren’t that bawdy, but they should still be considered “food for the soul”. So, enjoy them all especially the one with those juicycantaloupes.
I can tell that today is not going to be a fun day. First of all, this is a “change of season” month, and I find from years of experience that “change of season” months usually suck. The clouds are gray, the sky is gray, the garden plants are all dead, all the “cool” birds have headed south for the winter, and I’m hip deep in effing leaves. Here’s my good survival tip for living in Maine. You must always and I do mean always have an electric blanket somewhere nearby for heat emergencies at this time of the year. Last night I earned a “7” out of ten on my electric blanket. I was awakened at 5:30 a.m. not for my normal bathroom visit but because my teeth were chattering so loud, I was waking up the cat. I’m just not ready for this crap weather and the coming winter. Maybe it’s just old age creeping up on me which tends to be happening more and more these days.
As the years go by, I’ve given a lot of thought to my final days, and I’ve discovered that only two things really matter at that point. If you want to leave some sort of legacy all you need to do is leave two things: a self-written epithet for your headstone or (for you urn people) a really cool quote for your final words. Today’s post is a list of the final words of a few well-known people. Some are profound and some are not, you be the judge.
H. G. Wells (1866-1946) stated to his nurse: “Go away. I’m all right.”
Brigham Young (1801-77) stated “Amen”.
George Washington (1732-99) stated to his doctor, “Doctor, I die hard, but I’m not afraid to go.”
Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919) “Please put out the light.”
Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) “Drink to me.”
Elizabeth I (1533-1603) “All my possessions for a moment of time.”
So how would you all like to have a homework assignment. If you’re so inclined, send me your epitaph and last words and hopefully by then I’ll have mine done and will I’ll post them.
I thought today would be a good day to post some poetry by youngsters. I’ve read all of the most famous poets, but they don’t give me the same kind of rush that poetry by younger people gives me. These were obtained from various English-speaking countries around the world. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.
✍🏻
THE GRASS by Warren Cardwell, age 8, United States
The grass seems to dance,
It seems to walk,
It seems to talk,
It seems to like to
Have you walk on it,
And play with it too,
It seems to be stronger than you or I.
✍🏻✍🏻
THE JELLYFISH by Glenn Davis, age 11, Canada
Dome-like top, speckled, comets converging.
Gold-green flesh, wave edges urging.
Jellylike globules, soft lattice arms,
Spiked fury, leather lash meting out harm.
Golden-smooth rods, waving whiplike with water,
Beauty and danger, the jellyfish slaughter.
✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻
DEW ON A SPIDER WEB by Michael Capstone, age 10, New Zealand
I thought I’d start the month of October with a bang. Over the years I’ve posted thousands of limericks, and I hope I live long enough to post 10,000 more. I tried to pick a topic today to make these limericks a little more interesting. So, the topic for our October limericks is MOTHERHOOD. I’m sure all of you mothers out there, both male and female, will appreciate them.
everyuselessthing.com 