And one more Oopsie, MotherOwl. Among your
Keepers You had:
Birthdays - of people known and not so known, mostly poets and writers. I like to cite and celebrate.
and yesterday, Friday, January third, was the 133rd birthday of one of my favourite writers: J.R.R. Tolkien! MotherOwl! You had
ONE JOB!
I am as I may have told, still trying t improve my drawing skills by drawing the prompts from the Facebook-based group
365 Days of Drawing Prompts. The prompts for Thursday and Friday were Best Memory and Creativity. I let out the "Best" part and combined them to show some good blogging / creativity memories, that I miss: The
TUSAL (Totally Useless Stitch-A-Long) challenge hosted by
Daffycat every New moon (
More explanation here). But since May 2021 no more TUSAL posts were posted on her blog, everything went over to
Facebook. And as I am not a big fan of things happening on Facebook, sadly and
reluctantly I stopped my participation in this fun Stitch-A-Long. I still miss this challenge - and many more of the same sort from when the blogosphere was more of a a place for lighthearted stuff and fun challenges than it is today.
Yesterday I drew a New moon with a ball of yarn hanging from its upper horn, and an ORTs jar half hidden behind the lower ... Well, why not just show you?
And all this a very long detour to tell why I choose
The Man in the Moon Stayed up too Late for this year's belated celebration of Tolkien's birthday.
The Man in the Moon Stayed up too LateThere is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
and there they brew a beer so brown
that the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.
The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
he cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.
They also keep a horned cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
and makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.
And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
and these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.
The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
the cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.
The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat;
"The white horses of the Moon,
they neigh and champ their silver bits;
but their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!"
So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
while the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
"It's after three!" he said.
They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the Moon,
while the horses galloped up in rear,
and the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with a spoon.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
the cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.
With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
and the little dog laughed to see such fun,
and the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.
The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes:
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!
