Me very late mum, a funereal day

Me very late mum, a funereal day... courtesy latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian, sexagenarian, and Unitarian son and modest mastermind maven maverick. Another anniversary of her death occurs upon advent of May fourth two thousand and five, not quite seventy years since her birth November thirteenth nineteen thirty five, nor fifty years a married bride at age nineteen, cuz back in dem days, an unmarried woman at twenty five would be written off as a spinster. Way back before this baby boomer waz astute countless decades before aye became long in the tooth, and also prior tomb ma mouth sporting dentures to boot fond memories rush linkedin to moody blues more than so far back envisioning illusory wind blown steppes (wait...this visage belongs to thine long since deceased maternal grandfather hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev, (now spelled Ukrainian version - Kyiv) or some place thereabouts within the mind of this prevaricating aging "FAKE" barnstorming ole coot preserved records, (those times before cds or dvds) and now rewinds tape when family of origin celebrated Xmas secular Harris house style rendition of Magic Flute, though genealogy steeped in Judaism recollections abound of boyhood mirth devoid of aforementioned rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed Judeo-Christian religion, which essentially means, I did not give or take a hoot nonetheless cherish fond memories, when ma late mum relished making a hoo ha, and got tickled and pickled pink rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents and jamming three knee high stockings with healthy goodies such as fruit cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks, she frowned on giving out sweets particularly to three children she begat, (myself and two sisters) and iced hill easily recall her poker faced feigning complete ignorance and surprise sheep played “dumb” as did father convincingly not giving a hoot puzzled asper neatly wrapped and stacked gifts under decorated tree while distorted reflections of stockings fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws in tandem of nostalgic magic worth mo' than any amount of loot, perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point moot, when some jolly codger (papa) dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer, whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing haphazardly set them on a direct rural route to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated equilibrium with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence (ah won't mention hoof from) that emulated a toot.