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.”
Years ago, I posted this story more as therapy for myself than anything else. I suffer from a nagging case of Santa PTSB that recurs every December. I want it known that I was fighting terrorism as a six-year-old long before it became fashionable. Reposting this story helps me with my Santa issues like nothing else can. That big fat and jolly SOB is known in our house as Osama Bin Santa and the only difference between him and other terrorists is that Santa loves victimizing young children. With that in mind here’s my scary and terrifying Christmas story straight from 1955.
🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻
As a young child my parents made every attempt to make Christmas memorable for my sister and me. My sister was very young and I was just turning 6 years old. I still firmly believed all the stories about Santa’s elves and all the other good stuff. In the back of my young mind there was a seed of skepticism secretly growing. I was beginning to have serious doubts about Santa and my parents as well. A lot of what I was being told by my trusted family members wasn’t what I was hearing on the street (school yard). My friends had almost convinced me that the whole Santa thing was just BS and that the adults were actually the real gift givers. I think it was at that early age that my trust issues with authority figures first began.
My parents began to suspect I was wavering, and their propaganda was now falling on deaf ears. In a conspiracy involving my mother, her sister, my grandparents, and my dad it was decided that drastic action was immediately necessary to convince me that Santa was the real deal. I’d been acting out a lot and being a little disrespectful to my elders, so it was time for Santa to step in and straighten me out once and for all.
It was the week before Christmas and we were visiting my grandparents. I was being a huge pain in the ass as usual like a lot of six-year-olds can be at that time of the year. It was just after dark and I was walking through the house down a narrow hallway towards the kitchen. It was dark outside and as I passed the window I glanced over and almost had a six-year-old heart attack. There was Santa looking back at me and smiling a frightening smile. My blood turned cold and I got the hell out of there screaming all the way upstairs to hide under the bed. My parents let me know in no uncertain terms that Santa was out looking for those children who were being good and keeping an eye on those that weren’t. I was on the latter list, of course.
For the next few days, I was a complete angel but after dark I was still nervous about looking out the windows. Santa the terrorist had accomplished his mission. I saw him again on two or three other occasions over the next two Christmases, once at our house, and again in the coal cellar at my grandparents’ home. Unfortunately, I’d already consulted with my knowledgeable friends at the playground, and I was officially a nonbeliever by then. I went along with the charade for as long as possible since my parents were the ones giving me the gifts. They finally had a meeting and decided I was just playing them for extra toys and my game was over.
Skip ahead 25 yearsasI was digging through an old trunk in my aunt’s bedroom. I discovered where Santa had been hiding for all those many years. His retirement consisted of being tucked under a pile of sheets and pillowcases in that old trunk. My aunt laughed until she cried when I confronted her with the Santa costume. We relived a very special and scary Christmas memory and thoroughly enjoyed the special moment.
🎄🎄🎄
What I never told her, or my parents was the lingering collateral damage from their well-meaning actions. To this day during the Christmas season, I’m careful in dark rooms and hallways and try never to look out the windows, NEVER! In the malls and stores where Santa is holding court, I stay the hell away. That guy still scares the bejesus out of me. Terrorism is no joke.
I’m feeling a little lazy today because I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching my better-half also known as the Christmas Elf lose her mind. She’s been pulling containers of Christmas memorabilia from the attic by the arm load. I know if I stand still for more than 5 minutes, I’ll be draped in garlands and blinking lights. We’ve got a huge assortment of lights purchased over the years, we got a mile of garlands, and an incredible number of little elves and holidays knickknacks on every available surface. I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not. I’m hiding in my man-cave attempting to keep a low profile and to keep Christmas from overflowing into my private space. I’ve been successful so far, but I hold little hope that it will last. It’s not that I’m a Christmas Grinch but I’m nowhere near as nuts about the holiday as she is.
I tried to hide yesterday but she kept finding me. Before I knew it and before I can say too much, I was assigned the duties of putting up the tree. Then there were the endless Christmas carols that she was singing to me while she prepared boxfuls of goodies that she’s sending to people and family all around the country. She’ll probably spend more money on shipping those boxes than she did on the gifts contained in them. I’m sure she sees it as her contribution to keeping the Postal Service profitable and I’m sure they’ll really appreciate her concern and generosity. My only contribution so far to the Christmas spirit of the household is contained in this cartoon from a few years ago that I saved and it pretty much describes my thoughts on this entire matter. LOL
“A gift is pure when it is given from the heart to the right
person at the right time and at the right place, and when
we expect nothing in return.”
Bhagavad Gita
🤪🤪🤪
Joke of the Day #1
Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates. “In honor of this holy season,” Saint Peter said, “You must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.” The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. “It represents a candle”, he said. “Very well, you may pass through the pearly gates,” Saint Peter said. The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, “They’re bells.” Saint Peter said, “You may also pass through the pearly gates.” The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women’s panties. St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, “And just what do those symbolize?” The man replied, “These are Carol’s.”
☘️☘️☘️
Limerick of the Day
Old Santa had such a lovely beard,
Who once said, “It is just as I feared!
Two owls and a hen,
Four larks and a wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!”
🤡🤡🤡
Joke of the Day #2
One Christmas Eve, Santa was under a lot of stress. He and Mrs. Claus had just had a fight, it was nearly time to leave, and his sleigh wasn’t loaded, and the elves were talking about going on strike. Then an angel walked into his office and asked, “Hey, Santa, what do you want me to do with this Christmas tree?” And so was born the tradition of there being an angel on top of the Christmas tree.
I know that most people have all of their attention with Christmas involved with the buying and wrapping of gifts. While that is important to all of the kids, as an adult I’m in it for the food. For me Christmas is just a second Thanksgiving with gifts and a new list of foods for me to pig out on. Candy canes, cookies, fudges, brownies, pies, little cakes, and SUGAR, SUGAR, SUGAR!! Bring it on Santa, I’m ready to devour it all. So, folks, here are some limericks about food from a serious and chubby “foodie”. Enjoy!
It’s important to maintain a sense of humor with all of the anticipated stresses of these holidays. Here are two quotes and a hilarious joke that will hopefully put a smile on your face. Enjoy . . .
***
A guy decides to buy his new girlfriend a pair of gloves for Christmas. After all, they’ve only been dating for three weeks so it seems like the ideal gift – romantic, yet not too personal. He asks the girlfriend’s younger sister to accompany him to buy them then so she can point out a pair she’d like. They go to the mall and the sister points out a pair of white gloves which the guy then buys. The sister then picks up a pair of panties for herself and buys them. But during the wrapping, the clerk mixes up the parcels without anyone realizing. As a result, the sister gets the gloves, and the guy takes home a gift box containing the panties.
***
“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.”
Shirley Temple
***
Without checking, the guy rushes the gift to his sweetheart, but only after drafting this loving and helpful note to accompany it: “I chose these because I notice you are not in the habit of wearing any when we go out in the evening. If it had not been for your sister, I would have chosen the long ones with the buttons, but she wears the short ones that are easier to remove. These are a delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from showed me a pair she’d been wearing for the last three weeks, and they were hardly soiled. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart.
***
“I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included.”
Bernard Manning
I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time. There’s no doubt that other hands will come in contact with them before I have a chance to see you again. When you take them off remember to blow in them before putting them away, as they will naturally be a little damp from wearing. Just think how many times I will kiss them during the coming year. I hope you will wear them for the coming Christmas Eve.
P.S. The latest style is to wear them folded down with a little fur showing.”
I’m not sure how everyone else was raised to celebrate Christmas but for me it entailed much more religion than anything else. My late Mother was Catholic through-and-through which translated into sending religious Christmas cards, attending midnight masses, and donating time to local organizations involved with decorating town areas. Being a kid, I was unceremoniously volunteered to help with almost everything she did whether I liked it or not.
As we age things tend to change a little and my approach to Christmas certainly did. I was never all that interested in the religious portion of Christmas, but I went begrudgingly along just to please my mom until I reached the ripe old age of 13. Then I became what some people might call, difficult. I must have been way ahead of my time if what I’ve learned in recent years is any indication.
A few years ago, my three-year-old grandson came to make his annual Christmas visit. It was the first time he’d actually seen our decorated tree and all the trimmings. We’d been very busy wrapping gifts and there was a pile of them under the tree. I was sitting on the floor next to him when he quietly whispered to me “Are those our prizes?” I told him they were presents for everyone brought here a little early by a busy Santa. He gave me a long sideways glance while he thought about what I’d said. He must have decided Santa was still a real possibility, so the conversation turned right back around to the presents under the tree. I was again corrected by the little guy with “Grandpa those are prizes not presents” and “can we open just one.” I told him they couldn’t be opened until Christmas day but he insisted one of them had to be for him so we should open that one right now. Being chastised by a three-year-old takes some getting used to but I persevered and again refused his request.
Gifts and Presents are Really Prizes
My first thought was who put the word “prize” into his head. Neither my better-half nor I would do it and I’m certain his parents wouldn’t do it either. That leaves just his friends at the daycare center that he attends almost every day. That small herd of little people who have nothing better to do all day than to play, fight, wrestle, nap, and tell each other the facts of life as translated from what they’ve heard at home. Somewhere along the way someone slipped in the word “prizes”, and it seems to have stuck.
There was no mention of Jesus, his birthday, the Magi, church or religion. It’s taken less than two generations to wean the kids from religion at Christmas to a more secular and materialistic outlook. I suppose in another few years we’ll be calling Christmas “Prize Day”. If you’re a good little boy/girl, you win a prize but if you’re a bad little girl/boy you’ll get one anyway. We wouldn’t want you to feel like a loser.
Having Christmas as a religious holiday gave me a fun and interesting childhood. It’s sad to see society steal away some of the youngster’s fantasies at such a young age. I’m not religious now but the memories I have of my family when I was young still make me happy. Christmas is a holiday for the little children and not so much for the adults. It took me a number of years before I made the decision for myself that Christmas wasn’t for me. Let’s let the tots have their fun, they’ll be plenty of time in the future for society to screw with their heads.
Santa comes down a chimney one Christmas Eve and to his surprise finds a gorgeous brunette waiting for him, wearing the sexiest lingerie imaginable. “Santa,” she purrs, “Can you stay for a while?” Santa says, “Ho, Ho, Ho, I’ve gotta go! Have to deliver toys to children, you know!”
She comes close, starts playing with his beard, whispers in his ear, “Santa, don’t you have a gift you would like to give me?” Santa says, “Ho, Ho, Ho, I’ve gotta go! Have to spread Christmas cheer, you know!”
The brunette takes off her straps, giving Santa a view of her breasts and says, “Santa, are you sure there’s no gift you’d like to leave?” Santa says, “Hey, Hey, Hey, might as well stay. I can’t shimmy up the chimney looking this way!”
As a young child my parents made every attempt to make Christmas as memorable as possible for my sister and for me. I was almost 6 years old when this incident took place back when I still firmly believed the tales of Santa and his elves and all that good stuff. But in the back of my young mind, I secretly was beginning to have doubts. A lot of what I was being told by the family wasn’t what I was hearing on the playground. My friends had almost convinced me there was no Santa and that my parents were actually the real gift givers.
My parents apparently began to suspect that was wavering and that their propaganda was falling on deaf ears. In a conspiracy involving my mother’s sister, Annamae, they decided drastic action was going to be needed. I’d been acting out and being a little disrespectful so it was time for Santa to straighten me out.
It was about a week before Christmas and we were visiting my grandparents. I was being a huge pain in the butt like a lot of six-year-olds can be. It was just after dark and I was walking through the house to the kitchen. As I passed by a window I glanced over and almost crapped my pants. There was Santa standing there staring at me and smiling. I was terrified and quickly ran upstairs and hid under the bed and refused to come out until the coast was clear. My parents let me know in no uncertain terms that Santa was out looking for those children who were being good and visiting those that weren’t.
For the next day or so I was a perfect little angel but after dark I was afraid to look out the windows or to enter a dark room. Santa the terrorist had accomplished his mission. I saw him on two or three other occasions during the next few years, once at our home, and again in the cellar of my grandparents’ house. Unfortunately, I was already a nonbeliever by that time but went along with the charade to keep peace in the family and not to scare my little sister. By then I knew my parents were the ones I needed to suck up to and I did it in grand fashion.
Many years later while I was digging through a trunk in my aunt’s bedroom I discovered where Santa had been hiding. His retirement consisted of being hidden under a pile of sheets and pillowcases in an old trunk. My aunt laughed like crazy when I confronted her, and we both enjoyed the moment very much while I modeled the hat and beard. It was a real Hallmark moment for both of us.
What I never told her or my parents was that there was some lingering collateral damage from their actions. To this day during the Christmas season, I’m careful in dark rooms and try never look out the windows. In the malls or stores where Santas is holding court, I walk on by without making eye contact. The guy still scares the bejesus out of me. LOL
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