February 4, 2014
10:55 p.m.

Feeling better today. I actually made it down the back steps and back up again without making a bunch of sounds that might make one think of barnyard animals.

Since I'd bought some items I wanted to play with the day my back and hip decided to take a hiatus, today I dragged out my bins and made a couple of things. It's always a better day for me if I manage to create something, even if it's only chaos.

Last month I spent 3 weeks with my parents in Green River, Wyoming. It was wonderful to be near family for a while. I got to see all my siblings, and it was the first time we've all been in the same place at the same time in ten years.

I appreciate the good relationship I have with my family. Over the years I have met a lot of people who don't have that, and I'm sad to see it. When it all comes down to it, we are who we came from. Genetics, you know.

During my visit, I was able to read through the Shablo family history that my aunt has spent a good deal of time, energy and money compiling. The research involved in doing something like that is staggering to comprehend. It really is a labor of love. I found the whole thing very interesting. It traces the Shablo family history in the United States, which aroused my curiosity about the European roots. And of course, now I'd like to read the whole history of my mother's family.

My aunt had asked each of her siblings to write up some of their stories and memories, and after I read through everything, my father started pestering me to contribute. He reminded me that I'm the writer in the family. I reminded him that my brother Frank is also quite a good writer. He argued that if he--Dad--could write a story, surely I could do the same. I hemmed and hawed and made no promises, other than that I would think about it.

Well, I came home, and I thought it over. I finally realized that I had no objection to sharing stories about childhood and my grandparents, but I'm not at all ready to tell the story of being married and divorced and trying to raise my four children alone. There are plenty of people who know that story, but not my aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.

Maybe that sounds funny, but here's the thing: I love my family, but I don't know them well. I grew up in Wyoming. My father's siblings stayed in Colorado, except for a brother who moved to Minnesota. So I saw my aunts, uncles and cousins once a year at best. We'd spend a few days visiting, playing, eating and singing, then say our good-byes until the next year.

Suffice to say that I got divorced and I raised my kids. That's all the story I can tell about that part of my life at this point in time.

But I did sit myself down in front of the keyboard, and I wrote several stories about growing up and spending time with my parents, siblings, grandparents, etc. I sent them to my aunt, and I'm so happy that I did. My willingness to participate in her project to continue adding to the family history has made her so happy. That makes me feel really good. She asked if she could include one of my drawings and one of my poems, and I agreed to that. Hopefully all will be well received.

All in all, a pretty productive day.

I'd like to add that I think we have enough snow for now. What do you think?

Good night!