This sure ain’t the Marriott. I woke to a fly buzzing around my head like I was roadkill.

Piles of clothes and towels are accumulating around the RV. I have managed to keep everyone fairly clean but cannnot confidently say the boys have brushed their teeth. At all.

We live in a development full of single family homes but lacking both trees and character. The campground has both in buckets full. Inhaling sight, sound and smell in great, big gulps right into my very soul while gladly taking in extra oxygen courtesy of abundant plant life.

A nice lady from Kansas just mosied by and asked if we “come from California.” It must be my black yoga pants and oversized sunglasses. I gotta go find something denim to wear.

The morning air is fresh and my coffee is hot. And I am reminded of this little sign I saw in the Cracker Barrel country store. A clever (and maybe a little corny) quip but chock full of truth. Grace be with you, my friends.