Complexity simply designed. That is the goal. Float like a swan, peddle like a mad woman. Get it done without showing how you sweat!

Sometimes the work is harder, but it’s worth it. Bringing to life someone else’s dream. Making life easier and more productive.

It’s what we do. All those people behind the scenes. Each a genius in their own right. The person tapping on their phone, walking in to the store, the patron at a restaurant, the audience at the play…we do it to make them smile and have their needs met.

That’s what drives us…those of us behind the scenes.

Nerves on edge, feeling like constantly failing.

Knowing I am learning, but never succeeding.

Maybe I should step back, do my old role.

Or run away and start something else.

But I know the mature thing to do,

Step away and take a few moments,

Sip some tea and gather my thoughts,

Then in the morning, start anew.

He rested his head on her lap. It had been an exhausting day. Both breathed out a sigh as the sofa welcomed them.

He looked up at her with those eyes. She caressed his head and smiled at him. Slowly his eyes closed as the stress of the world faded away.

Music ballads from their youth played while a single candle flickered away on the coffee table. Her socked feet swayed a little, keeping the beat.

As the evening wore on, tiredness overcame them. She shifted a little, trying not to disturb him. She curled up into him and laid her head on his chest.

Sweet dreams, my love.

The little field mouse ran through the flowers on the rolling prarie. The dew dripped from a large daisy, so he paused. Up on his hind legs he went, stretching for the petal.

Finally he reached it. He gave a hearty tug.

Splash! The water rolled out and soaked the little fella. He sat on his haunches and dried himself off. No point in crying over split water.

Off again he scurried. His nose started to twitch as an enticing odor wafted on the breeze. Campers left him a little delight… Cheese!

Smack! She flinched having hit herself. A small drop of blood dripped and smeared across her leg. One less mosquito in the world.

Palm fronds blocked the path, snapping back after each hiker pushed through. The heat from the early morning sun was not yet oppressive, but sweat formed and hair curled.

Squishing noises rose from underfoot. Yesterday’s rains left normally sandy trails muddy and slick. Today was not the day to leave the hiking poles behind.

The squawk of a blue heron echoed through the waterway. A warning to another to leave. One takes flight in search of a new branch.

Out in the lake, a large alligator swam with his tail out of the water. Soon, another appeared in the reeds, enjoying the sun.

Finally, turning away from the lake, a canopy of oaks provided shelter from the rays. Zebra, monarch, and yellow sulfur butterflies flitted among the flowering scrub brush lining the last bit of the trail.

Wiping brows and looking forward to breakfast, we wrapped up our saunter and packed in. It was a nice way to start a new week.

Crunch, crunch. Snow crackles underfoot. She follows the path they made earlier this evening from their cabin, around the workshop, and to the fire pit.

The pit is now in embers following this evening’s s’mores fest. The air, once filled with laughter, is now quiet. It is the night of the new moon, nary a light in the sky except for distant stars.

The tripod’s legs scrape as she extends them; the cold has made the plastic hard. Gently she snaps the camera into place and waits for the show to begin.

She wipes the fresh dusting of snow from her Adirondack and settles in. A blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate keep her company. She and the grandkids made a big pot for the evening and now she gets to enjoy the remains.

She can smell the wood burning in their fireplace. He’s tucking in their little visitors while she waits. She spun up a tale for them before bed and now it was time for him to have one-on-one time. She loves how he loves them.

Brilliant stars glow in the night sky. This alone is enough to keep her entertained, but tonight weathermen predicted the aurora would make its way south enough for them to see.

She sips from her thermos. The liquid is warm and sweet on her tongue. She tucks her feet up and settles in. The breeze nips at her cheeks, but she finds peace in these moments. A smile spreads across her face.

Soon, she sees a glimmer of light over the mountain peaks. She pulls out her phone and texts her husband to come outside. He chills easily and prefers indoors at this time of year, but this moment is special. She hopes he joins her.

She stands up and makes sure the camera is focused and her phone is paired. Everything is set. Gently, she backs away to keep the camera in place. Soon she hears his footsteps.

The glow of the aurora intensifies. It is the first time she gets to see this amazing sight. A quiet “oh, wow,” slips from her lips.

He wraps his arms around her and whispers, “I’m glad I finally get to share this with you,” and he softly kisses her on the cheek.

She sinks into his hug. “Me, too.”

Ever trace your roots or research from where you came? I heard stories and tales, and my curiosity ebbs and flows about my ancestry. Like many, I am an American mutt…the land of the melting pot runs through my veins. My features are fairly non-descript, nothing points me to one typical line.

For a long time, I believed myself to be mostly of Irish and English descent. But I was born with slightly olive skin, eyes of coal and a midnight mane to match.

As a child, I easily tanned with freckles, but rarely a burn, but unexposed skin turned paler than pale. As an adult, my Anglo Saxon traits took over and now sun block is a must.

My mother couldn’t deny me, our faces are strikingly similar, but I didn’t get her hazel eyes, blond hair, or amazing metabolism! So, I often wondered where did the rest come from.

In his youth, my birth father was asked if he knew how to speak English when he went for his driver’s license. Imagine their surprise when that southern twang came out of his mouth, along with the raised eyebrows. His hair, dark and slicked back, and his skin darkly tanned from working in Grandpa’s garden confused many people up north.

I started tracing what I could find. I’m not ready to do the DNA thing, but still, I am curious. As I worked up and down the eastern US records online, tracing births and deaths, so many of the later generations were less than 100 miles apart, but finally, the lines started to move.

One line faded into rumors of Native American blood but no one had proof…a woman married into the family, but no one could trace her parents. The last name however is connected to French and Germanic lineages.

Finally, a few lines officially took off to Europe. Soon, in addition to English and Irish lines, Welsh, Scotch, and Germanic lines came into view. At last count, I had traced one line to thirteen generations!

I couldn’t believe my luck! One day I need to organize my findings into something more concrete and dig a little deeper. Maybe it will even stir up some exciting stories and tales!

Warm waves rolled ashore. Toes and feet sink into the sand. Facing into the wind, her linen dress flutters behind against tanned legs.

She yells out his name to the gods, to the birds, to the sea, to anything that would hear her plea. Her hands wrap around her waist and she collapses to her knees. A broken heart releases some of its pain as her cry dissipates to the sky.

She would gladly let the sea swallow her whole, but knows she can’t give in to her despair. Her face is salty from the sea and tears. The sand, usually powdery soft, is rough on her shins. Shards of shells cut into her knees as her body continue to sink into the quicksand like shore.

Finally her tears cease and she recovers. As more waves come in, the frees herself and finally stands. She brushes the water from her hands, then wipes away her sadness.

The sun finishes rising as she reminds herself, today is just another day. She survived the past, now it’s time to face the future.

Thwap. Crackle. A peal of thunder, then a boom. Lights flicker and the house goes dark.

Pounding on the roof grows louder as the storm rolls in. Scurrying little creatures slink along the floor, tails pouffed out full. A bawl echoes as the boy cries out.

I pull up the throw and soon both my babes curl in close. No room for even air between them and me. They shiver at first, but finally calm and break into purrs.

The air in the house is cool tonight and my socked covered toes remain chilled. Humidity is a double edged sword…curly hair when hot and frigid digits when cold.

At least the phone has charge and connected. I scroll through WordPress, looking over a few conversations and posts, then off to Pinterest. It boggles my mind how it selects some pins for my feed…I never looked or spoke of certain topics, although it’s in the back of my mind. Surely Pinterest isn’t that clairvoyant?

Finally the lights return and the internet connection is restored. My mate decided to find something for us to watch.

The storm quiets and my little ones once more feel safe to wander. I rest my head as scenes play out on the tv. Tomorrow is another day, and we’ll have another round of storms. Such is summer in Florida.