Me Late Mum, a Holly Day Mastermind Maven Maverick

Way back before this baby boomer waz astute countless decades before aye became long in the tooth, and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot fond memories rush 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, or some place thereabouts) within the mind of this prevaricating aging "FAKE" barnstorming ole coot preserved records (those times b'fore 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 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, 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, 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 route to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence (ah wont mention hoof from) that emulated a toot.