I had the most terrifying dream right before I woke up this morning. Absolutely horrifying. And I still can’t shake it off. I’m not prone to bad dreams – they happen rarely – but this one, this one was so vivid, so real, that I felt like I had to pull myself out of the depths of the dream to some sort of consciousness, and even then, I was half-in, half-out of it. Horrible.

This may be a three cups of coffee day.

Three balloon flowers opened the other day. This is such a sweet plant.

I know I’ve been posting less often on my book blog, Just Let Me Finish This Page, but I’d sure appreciate your stopping by when I let you know that a new review is up. During the past year, with the death of my father and Scout, I simply couldn’t attend to both blogs as diligently as I would have liked to. Since MHC is the one I write every day, the book blog suffered. I’m doing my best to post more often and I hope you still find it relevant. I used to get more comments on that blog, which leads me to believe less and less of you are reading it and that saddens me. Ah, well.

I posted a review this week that you can find here.

I post a lot of photos of pretty flowers, but I find aging flowers equally beautiful and I’m going to take more photos of them. This pink zinnia was one of the first zinnias to bloom this summer and it’s still hanging in there, less than perfect, but beautifully dignified.

This red beauty has a couple of shriveled petals, but the rest of the zinnia is gorgeous. At least, to me.

I’m going to make another cup of coffee and try to shake off that dream. Oh, it’s a strange time. Good things on the horizon in terms of my professional work, my dad’s birthday next week, the anniversary of Dad’s death next month, and the change from summer to fall. Not to mention the election. Good and unsettling, at the same time. (The dream had nothing to do with my dad, by the way.)

Feeling melancholy on this Friday.

A big thank you to those readers who have donated toward our GoFundMe campaign for our friend. You didn’t have to – you don’t even know her – and I find that incredibly moving and life-affirming. Bless you.

Happy Friday.

Let’s start with last night’s spectacular sunset:

And move on to this morning’s fog:

Taken from the point-of-view of a morning glory. I’ve dubbed this photo: Foggy Morning Glory.

I do love a foggy morning, something that seems to happen in the fall in these parts. Fog is mysterious and wonderful; the world is slightly out of focus, and memories of foggy mystery stories come to mind.

I’ve ordered some basic wooden dollhouse furniture handmade by a seller on Etsy  for Little Z’s dollhouse. It will take a week or so to get here, but I really like the idea of buying from someone who makes the furniture by hand.

A newish zinnia with a little bug. I often take pictures, not realizing at the time that there’s a bug on the flower.

The same thing occurred with this morning glory.

Okay. I have a question for you. How do you feel about tattoos?

Personally, I can’t stand them. Neither can Don. When we see a picture of someone with lots of tattoos, we invariably say, “Yuck.”

I don’t need to have Don’s name permanently inked on my body. I know who he is and I’m quite confident that he’s my husband and the love of my life. Neither would I want him to have my name on his body. It creeps me out.

I fully realize this is a generational thing. When I used to work for a local vet, a couple of the younger staff members loved tattoos and kept going back to their favorite ‘inker’ for more.

I didn’t get it. But that’s because it’s not my thing.

I often work with actors who have tats.  They have to be artful about where they’re placed. You can’t be working in the theater and have designs all over your arms. And some of our family members have highly intricate tattoos covering a great deal of their appendages. Again…not attractive to yours truly.

First of all, that’s a lot of money to sink into inking one’s skin. Think of it. They’re putting a foreign substance on their skin and that skin has pores.

Also, as a member of another, albeit older, generation who can see the larger picture, it ain’t going to be pretty when those arms start to sag and wrinkle. And they will.

You can get a tattoo removed, but it’s painful.

I’d rather buy some earrings. Or a bracelet. Or, even better, a good book.

But you may view tattoos as art, as many people do. They may be a part of your life or your loved one might be sporting them. Your opinion might be very different than mine.

What are your thoughts?

New book review on Just Let Me Finish This Page. It’s for M. J. Arlidge’s newest Helen Grace Thriller, Little Boy Blue. Click here.

Happy Wednesday.