Have an abba salute lee yabba dabba do swell birthday, which just so happens to occur on the last day of Hanukkah, which debut of our whip smart first born daughter attested by an exemplary curriculum vitae and out of this world positive stellar impact across the global spaces ye did courtesy varied roles ye did present amazing grace, when initially as a bundle of joy fate assigned to us (perhaps thee considered me stranger than fiction), nevertheless we felt blessed being like a mentor, who gave wise counsel to family, friends and even random passers by delivering her gestures touching hearts, minds and spirits beaming with a beatific smile, a darling dazzlingly display of acculturation living within the urban jungles of civilization and affecting all creatures (especially deux Tortoise Shell felines, and a very companionable counterpart, whose steadfast holy matrimony) as well as every living thing that happened to chance across your path infusing our family with certified B Corporation (B Corp) fortified, and indemnified without stinting on genuine, humble and innate justice, where care and concern of brethren (including fauna or fauna other than Homo sapiens) encompassed your credo, dogma, ethos... and subsequently enhancing the lives of all, and secondary, tertiary, quaternary, et cetera ripple effects impacting living entities who may be unaware of lucky charm who delivered measure for measure all's well that ends well and especially linkedin to thee in He (she) brew mother ("Ima") and father (abba).

The years leap by at lightspeed, (or such seems to be the case as I get older) decrying abhorrent unavoidable senescence, and the eventual permanent rendezvous with the grim reaper, who makes no bones about whet dreams occurred to me regarding being fleshpot of the netherlands, which lurid imaginary concupiscence petered out after countless years relying on nine prescription medication at long last brings a respite from roaring testosterone allowing, enabling and providing figurative breathing room, and delivering a sigh of relief) after hormonal secretion took a kamikaze nose dive to the extent that yours truly vaguely imagines nonexistent sexual disposition of a eunuch, though I could never countenance getting myself castrated even though celibacy characterizes me marriage vastly and analogously flipping the switch off videlicet my libido, which relief as iterated above a dogsend cuz during adolescence and emerging adulthood an inescapable torturous predilection towards physical intercourse hounded me night and day, and ofttimes premature ejaculations occurred before, during, or after rapid eye movement cycles, hence giving up the ghost, whereat the personification of death would take his leisurely time - casually waving back and forth that trademark scythe while skeleton generally known as a black hooded robe, a mourning robe, or simply a grim reaper cloak, symbolizing death, the unknown, and echoing funeral attire from early times delivers a dark shadow as if the edge of night suddenly dawned making a killing with another mortal heading toward the outer limits of the twilight zone becoming enjoined to the spiritus mundi, a universal, collective consciousness or memory of humanity, a concept popularized by poet W.B. Yeats, who saw it as a divine, shared wellspring of inspiration, symbols, and universal truths, similar to a collective unconscious, providing inspiration for artists and writers, often featuring ominous visions in his work like The Second Coming.

The mystery regarding the afterlife pricks the inquisitiveness of many an (uber) rational mind such as the one writing these words, who exposed to Unitarianism remains a skeptic and threescore and six years ago, when a seminal moment occurred and found Harriet Harris gravid with child a second time at twenty four years young, and the mother of a baby girl, who did not in the least seem piqued nor displaced by becoming other than the focus of maternal attention soon after yours truly the recipient of being expelled from the birth canal and immediately lavished with me young mother despite being a tangle of arms and legs, and an inconsolable wailing infant son, who evinced no indication of the enfant terrible he would become decades into the future, but during tender infancy no one except the mother could soothe writhing as if being tormented videlicet quasi morose newborn, whose tear ducts issued profusion issuing voluminous outpouring of secretion that rivaled old faithful, and impossible mission to fathom what triggered profusion of grievous state of existence solely placated by being held courtesy mommy dearest immediately apparent after day one after being propelled from the womb, and interestingly enough as I got older (past childhood's end) nostalgic pang as a mama's boy defined the only important parental relationship, which exclusion of birth father no doubt affected him with distress, and later in the rapport between the two of us became severely strained as if a palpable gulf existed.

Interestingly enough an emotional estrangement exists (in my perspective) between unnamed eldest daughter (alluded to up above the webbed, wide, world so high) and me, the birth father linkedin to adulterous shenanigans about a dirty deeds done dirt cheap years ago, which when discovered visa vis courtesy the spouse (when we lived at 724 West Railroad Avenue within Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania) analogous sent the sh*t to hit the fan, but even prior to lascivious behavior of mine, first born videlicet the star student (smart as a whip) intuitively discerned the Casanova wannabe of he who types these words, and no doubt felt utterly appalled and embarrassed (at the least, but also most likely angry as a red bull in a China shop) seeing the name Matthew Scott Harris, who awaits posthumous fame and fortune for surviving widow, but truth be told, I did an online search and beheld screen after screen of said birth name of mine, a cast of characters from all walks of life, whose countless friends of our successful offspring possibly knew first, middle, and surname of a papa the philanderer, who engaged in illicit, objectionable, scandalous, polygamous,  gumptious, devious, and amorous affections to women other than his wife.
I exhausted energy and time in an inexcusable objective extramarital trysts to seek out liaisons with veritable receptive women who vocalized consensual physical intimacy with a married male (me), whose young life of mine (evident when graduating from Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School (housing one classroom per grade) highlighted severe psychological depression when matriculating at Methacton Junior High School fraught with severe inability to adapt to the academic demands, which environment so much more horrendous for the sexagenarian now sitting here and reflecting arduous and rigorous curriculum to adjust (necessitating psychiatric intervention and prescription medications for elavil and mellaril to counteract suicidal ideations and extreme introvertedness courtesy Ted Goldberg linkedin with Collegeville Counseling), which mental strain sabotaged, jack-knifed, forfeited, et cetera ordinary female friendships and "Fuhgeddaboudit" (or "fuggedaboutit") a slang expression from New York/New Jersey speech, a phonetic spelling of "forget about it," used to dismiss something as impossible, undesirable, or already decided, meaning "don't even think about it!" meaning in my case  the supposedly normal experiences of dating be damned, (whereby heterosexual rights of passage self denied for yours truly) during the pubescent stage of life, when childhood's end segues into metamorphosis of manhood, hence when becoming familiarized with our first family computer (a COMPAQ PRESSARIO), an immediate exploration within chatrooms motivated a salivating desire to meet fecund persons of the opposite gender from mine took precedence over allocating energy and time to then two little girls I helped beget, and a wife challenged with the role of motherhood.