Alive Wreath Hardy Laurels

Nope!, this aint a (non) commercial Christmas plug for ye, nonetheless, a greeting of joie de vivre buttressed with (wreath) in this ole foreign nicked saint wannabe awash with spiritual awakening unexpectedly alighting boosting, and catapulting, the mood of this dog gone intro spective atheistic he then for merely "actively listening," sans texting to me, (thine youngest daughter) hook confided a circumstance, that found her teary eyed, whereat papa (meself) galvanizing enervating, and bold facing (italicized optional), a decades long glee (son) doting dada, (me) hood did earlier today underwent spiritual reawakening experience, where poignant see movie ling ushered emotional concessions prithee lee transcending, and super see ding ordinary ho-hum (oh so yesterday...) psychologically (or psychically) escalating euphoria juiced being a humble papa yes sir re: vicariously afflicted when, Shana Aubrey (said nineteen year old pro genie), (who lives under auspices of mine kid sister in Bend, Oregon – Voluntarily) painfully shared her recent (first) beaming, blooming, and budding romance rendered null and void primarily duet who wah bajillion geographical miles from Colchester, Great Britain, where she (mine offspring) under parental care of thee guardian (angels) Shari Todd, and George Andrew Dunning supreme qual lit tee aunt and uncle respective lee) spent propitious year, whence har mo' knee me lass struck up, and young lad o' a louver she discovered without visa vis, where, the young chap (Zak) broke off (figuratively smote) long distance elle la gee. Gnome hatter at my helpless state hive hilt that being privy at any rate which parental aye deed eek quate with darling daughter as a mature primate.