Rita Buettner

It’s 7:30 a.m. on a morning of our beach vacation. I haven’t even poured my first cup of coffee. And I’m pretty sure I could have used another three hours of sleep.

You might think that a blogger who is on vacation all week would have time to write a blog almost every day. In fact, I thought that myself.

The peaches are ripe! Run, run, run to your nearest grocery store or farmers market and buy some peaches to make a Baltimore peach cake.

“Do you want these left out of the bag?” the cashier says, holding up two bottles of water.
“That would be great,” I say. “We need those for the flowers. We’re stopping at the cemetery.”

Please join me in praying for all those affected by the tragic shooting at the Capital Gazette.

Summer doesn’t always match the picture-perfect image of summer in my mind. Often, instead, it’s full of dripping popsicles, scraped knees, and overtired children who are up way too late giggling under the covers. But it’s full. And there is a richness to that.

As we were walking to our cars, our children were running ahead—the way children do. And we saw them stop to look at what seemed to be a brown leaf floating across the sidewalk.

I started writing these while on an airplane yesterday, but then I didn’t manage to finish them until today. But it felt a little like being in Green Eggs and Ham. “Can you write takes on a plane? Can you write them on a train? In a car or on a tree…?”