Gentle Reader(s), I have returned. No, I have not been languishing at Death's door (front or back), nor have I been abducted by Aliens, illegal or otherwise, or kidnapped by Bigfoot, Mr. or Mrs.. Nor have I fallen into an Arctic crevasse, Ant- or otherwise, or been afflicted by amnesia, appealing though that may, at times, seem. What can I say other than I just felt that I needed a break from pumping out Ye Olde Matador Playliste(s). The Inky travel has been coming fast and furious—nothing new there (the image above is from Your Humble Narrator's most recent trip to the Heartland to visit Inky Mum)—but throughout late summer YHN was suffering mightily from severe Election Season Fatigue. I was obsessing over the horror of Dumb Drumpf advancing in the polls while trying to maintain my increasingly fraying faith in the essential Common Sense and Decency of the American Body Politic. Now that the Drumpf seems to have offended mainstream American sensibilities sufficiently to start tanking I might be able to muster fortitude sufficient to the task of applying finger to keyboard and reestablishing the connection betwixt and between mind and matter.