Life As I Know It

I'm one of those people that always thinks the best of others.  I trust. I hope. I believe. This isn't always good.

But, in spite of my inclination to be positive, there are days when it's not as easy as it should be. I've had a few of those recently, and splattered throughout my life; dotted between the highs of children and grandchildren - births, weddings, graduations, missions, performances, or even those rare family vacations or amazing road trips, or when immersed in a good book or soul-touching music or conversations with good friends.

If it wasn't for the highs of faith, friends and family, those dark splotches of disappointment would have blotted my life to a dull shade of gray. And yet, it's so easy to take them for granted. The highs are often underestimated and undercelebrated.

How grateful I am for simple faith, family time, leisurely strolls and honest talk. We spend our lives racing around on the fast track , walking and talking at a rapid pace, and making time for family and faith only when it's convenient.

But then, there comes a moment of clarity as we mature. It's painful. It's hard to accept. But it's real, and it comes...trust me. And in the moment we realize, with a remorse beyond description, that somewhere along the line our focus shifted, our life spun out of control, the darkness took over and we missed the point. We let our life race by, or run over us, or drag us along. We didn't live our life, it lived us. We suddenly realize how much time we wasted.

I've done this. I am guilty. And I am sorry. Sorrier than anyone could ever know, except someone who has experienced this sudden awakening, this reality that there isn't a second chance.

Early in life, you have the opportunity to marry the right person, you have one chance to raise your children, and you have one shot to start early and build a life of  financial responsibility. Once that "one" time has past, all is not lost, but you can never go back and redo what was done, or not done.

I don't think kids realize this. I know I didn't. It was something that I just didn't think about. If anyone had asked, I would have told them that at 56 I would be happily putting my last kid through college, looking for a place to retire, and enjoying time with my grandkids. But life didn't turn out that way, and part of the fault is mine - maybe all of it - because I didn't have a real plan. I could have answered the question, but I didn't have a plan.

I do now. It's too late to go back and redo. It's too late to be less trusting and more cautious. It's too late to enjoy curling my fingers through Kurt's blond curls again, or snuggle in bed with Kollin, or make it to Kelly's parade, or spend more time reading with Kyle, or be home more for Karynn, or listen more carefully to Kalen. It's too late.

It's too late to look at the kid's Dad and say "This isn't about us, it's about the kids. We're a family, let's do this."

It's too late to not rush into a rebound marriage. It's too late. It's done. But as I told my daughter, I can only hope that my kids have learned how NOT to do things because of my mistakes, as much as they may have learned how TO act when I've made correct decisions. It's the only silver lining in this mess of a once-only life that I know. I pray that they learn from my mistakes.

But I refuse to let remorse or sorrow darken the days I have left on earth. I refuse to let disappointment in people whom I trusted send me spiraling into depression or despair. And I refuse to waste even another minute of my life on someone else's dishonesty or immorality or disloyalty.

I still believe in people. I still wake up positive and ready for a new day. I still refuse to let the dark splotches of disappointment and negativity and betrayal and failure - in others and in myself - define who I am.

Because I am happy, I am excited, and I am about to begin the next chapter in my life! And this is the life that I know and love. My life. And I claim it, I own it, I take responsibility for it - the good and the bad. And I have a plan this time, so watch out. I'm going to take charge, but I am going to hold others accountable too.

We all have a moral responsibility to be cognizant of how our lives weave into the lives of others, and to be careful, and respectful, and responsible when dealing with friends, family, coworkers, partners, colleagues, those we pass on the street, employees and employers. And those who don't realize this and live by it, will not succeed. Those who do, are not promised a smooth ride, but at least they can bounce over the bumps with head held high.

It's a new day. And my chin's up.  Bring it on.

Speech is Powerful.

My last blog entry was made when I first became aware of the self-righteous and insensitive Westboro fanatics (I was a little late to the so-called party). Maybe my head-shaking astonishment when facing the reality of this group's hateful actions is what silenced me - I don't know.

And to refresh your memory, the Westboro "church" speaks out, especially at the funeral services for fallen soldiers, to publicize their belief that God hates the United States because of its tolerance of homosexuality. Their sense of heavenly entitlement is stunning.

This week the Supreme Court delivered their absolutely correct decision regarding the Right to Free Speech in our country. However, it doesn't change the fact that although we can litigate rights, we can't litigate kindness, sensitivity, tolerance, respect and common sense and decency.

In the words of Chief Justice John Roberts, Jr:
“Speech is powerful. It can stir people to action, move them to tears of both joy and sorrow, and — as it did here — inflict great pain. On the facts before us, we cannot react to that pain by punishing the speaker.”

If a narcissistic person or group  chooses to "speak" from a self-serving, self-righteous and self-appointed place, they have the right to do so, even when it offends or further breaks the hearts of grieving parents who are burying their courageous son  - a Marine, Lance Corporal Matthew Snyder -who was killed in Iraq, or causes added anguish to already tormented friends and family attending the funeral.

As confusing as this might seem on the surface, the 7-1 decision by the Supreme Court is rock solid at its core. Our freedom of speech  allows discussion, debate, the sharing of ideas. And ideas change the world. We can only hope that an idea will change the hearts of the Westboro "church" members and their leader.

Tough times call for tough decisions. But in spite of what seems obvious, this wasn't one of those tough decisions. I am sorry for those who weren't allowed to grieve or bury their dead in peace. But they should find solace in the integrity of their actions and the courage of the son they buried. I am sorry for those who feel entitled through self-dictated, erroneous actions taken in the name of a God who would never stoop to such levels.

This is not about a Supreme Court judgment, it's about unrighteous judgment.

The real lesson isn't about free speech. The lesson is about love. And love is an action.

The actions of the Westboro Baptist "church" have nothing to do with love.

Yet another thing that can't be litigated.

Love, Life, Liberty

Today was a day of reflection. After 21 days in South America, more than half spent working (but always having fun, cuz that's my style), it's time for me to regroup.

As always, the topics that come to mind are Faith, Friends, Family, Finances, Fysical Health :), and Fun, or maybe it's easier to just say Love, Life, Liberty. You may think I'm simplifying with the L's, over the F's, but I'm really not.

Love. It's all about relationships. And honor. Relationships with god, with friends, with family, with colleagues, with yourself. It has to be reciprocal, it has to be respectful, it has to be honest. Relationships can't be forced or pretend. And they must be honored.

Life. It's everything. Simply everything. Choices that make life better, or worse, involve everything and everyone: people, things, places, actions, thoughts. Laughter is truly the best medicine when life gets you down. Life is not a rehearsal. It's a one-time shot. So live, take chances. Learn from your mistakes and keep moving forward.

Liberty. It's about freedom. From guilt, from debt, from disloyalty, from dishonesty, from poor health, from boredom. A safe haven for life. A way of living. The only way to live, actually. Free. Aware of your limitations and respectful of them, but free to live and love. Free, that is,  to live with respect for others. Free to live with honor in your deeds. Liberty. Freedom. A cause worth fighting for. A way of life worth living.

I know who I am. It's taken more than 3 decades to figure it out. I suppose I could continue to be hard on myself for taking so long to "grow up" (I've certainly beat myself up over and over during the past twenty years), but I am choosing to celebrate the fact that I've arrived.

And I have. I'm here. I'm wide awake and smiling. No hiding, no pretending, no false hopes, no selective awareness. I've arrived. I'm here. I'm aware. I'm alive.

Life hasn't been terrible, but it certainly hasn't been what I expected. And at times it's felt like a really long haul, but I made it. I'm here and hopeful, because when one door closes, another opens. Maybe more than one.

Today I am choosing. And I've chosen love, life and liberty. And not just for me.

Flashback

I never did drugs. It's a good thing too because I have enough flashbacks without having taken drugs in my youth.

Some of the flashbacks are whimsical (that was sooo much fun, let's do it again!), some are maudlin (gosh, i hate this feeling, why do i have to relive it?), some are downright scary (did I really do that?), some are tender (aw shucks!), some flashbacks leave a sting of bad memories (can I just crawl back into bed now, please?) and some serve as reminders of things that you never want to forget (oh yeah, that's why I/he/she did that).

I don't avoid flashbacks when they suddenly occur, I usually savor every second of their existence in my mind. They serve as stern warnings, gentle reminders, whispers of hope, a chance to relive something you wish hadn't ended and also as reality checks.

I have been sorting through pictures recently and all sorts of flashbacks have been flying through my mind. They come and go one right after the other, just like the real life events did. My kids grew up so fast.

But today I tasted a recent memory and it's sticking with me. It made me smile and I will savor it for a long while. And ponder it's meaning.

Sarah McLachlan "I Will Remember You"

Forgiveness

What if after appropriate conversation and action and in an effort to allow both of you to close the issue and move forward, you sincerely apologize to someone for something you did that offended or hurt them, and their response is: "What if I don't want to get past this?"

The answer is simple. It's no longer your issue.

So, move right past them with love in your heart and keep smiling!

“To understand everything is to forgive everything” Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism, 563-483 B.C.

The All-American Rejects "Move Along"

Me + Wii = Heart

It finally happened. We bonded, or maybe I should say that Wii bonded. Me and Wii, that is.

It wasn't quick, it wasn't without a few bumps, we had our moments...but we finally did it. We bonded. We are a team. There's no one I would rather spend an sweaty hour with every night.

Nothing can come between me and my Wii.

Sade "Nothing Can Come Between Us"

Bandaged Heart

I have always trusted my heart. I have trusted it to lead me in the right direction. I have trusted it to keep on beating. I have taken it for granted for a long time.

In recent times, I have gained a real understanding of the reality of heart failure, the kind that happens when someone follows their heart, only to find that things are not as they had hoped.

I am also aware of the heart failure that can occur when someone doesn't take care of themself (oddly, often as a result of emotional heart damage resulting in poor lifestyle choices), causing real physical damage to their heart and possibly threatening or shortening their life.

The good news is that we live in the 21st century and there are many treatments, medications, and proven lifestyle changes that can help to reverse (or at least "put on hold") the physical damage caused from years of unhealthy choices leading to the reality of a damaged heart. Once damage is determined, the time for change and healing is finite and critical. There can be pain and discomforts involved as we begin to stretch long inactive muscles, give up foods that are unhealthy for us and bend our abused body into shape. If we are diligent, we will walk away from the healing process with a stronger heart, a better self-image and a healthier body.

And the good news is that the emotional damage from heart break can also be healed, but it sometimes is slower to respond and requires more time. Meds are not the answer for emotional heart ache. Some change in how we make choices is probably appropriate, and exercise and lifestyle changes can certainly help our emotional state, but this indefinite time of change and healing for an emotionally damaged heart can be a slow and painful process of introspection, rather than physical exertion. If we are diligent, we will walk away from the healing process with a stronger heart, a more honest self-perception and a healthier outlook on life and love.

Although quick fix solutions will sometimes get us through the necessary comings and goings of daily life as we redirect and reassess and rebuild our hearts and lives, in the end it will take more than a band-aid to truly repair a damaged heart.

I am not going to stop trusting my heart, it has served me well (most of the time) as I have ventured here and there during my life. I am, however, going to be more attentive, take better care of myself physically and emotionally, and always carry a band-aid. Just in case.

Heart "Alone"

Testosterone Dudes

Men. Ya can't live with 'em, ya can't live without 'em. After all, your life began because of a man (with the help of a woman), so the question becomes, will you spend/end your life with one. And also, who's in control, them or us?

There's no question that men are woven into the fabric of our daily lives, they are an important part of who we are, specifically, who I am. The significant men in my life have been a random cross-section of male personalities, traits and testosterone levels. Great men, good men, not so good men. In an act of self-preservation and an exercise of self-discovery (which I am bravely sharing with the world), I have been thinking about this male/female topic for some time now. Today I have chosen to review the most significant men in my life, beginning with my Dad...

My Dad. Joel Ray Baugh. Tall, skinny, creative, artistic, handsome, ever-searching, tolerant, curious, married to my Mom (Marilyn Jean Frederick) for nearly 50 years (until his death) but separated for almost half of that time, father of 3, dapper dresser, not religious as a result of his Dad and unresolved religious questions, never smoked, a journalist with a temper, unconvinced Christian.

My Grandpa Baugh. James Wesley Baugh. Huge -Texas rancher huge, uncommonly devout, photographic memory, intolerant, baritone, frisky (my grandma's word), never smoked or drank, southern through and through although transplanted to the southwest and California in his mid-30's, married to my Grandma (Zora Middlehouse) for over 70 years, father of 7, a devout Nazarene with a penchant for prayers long enough to run off two sincere LDS elders (mid-prayer).

My Boppy. Harold H. Frederick. Small, quiet, huge smile, dedicated to my Mimi (Jessie Eliza Parkins) and married to her until his death, birth father of one son who died at birth, adoptive father of 1 (my mother, Marilyn Jean Frederick), mid-western through and through, dapper dresser, always wore a hat, smoked a pipe, lifetime employee of Paxton, Illinois' one and only men's clothing store, community church member and regular attendee.

My Brother. James Frederick Baugh. Tall, skinny, handsome, creative, artistic, compassionate, tolerant, native Californian who was born, lived and died there, window designer for Saks and Nieman Marcus in Newport Beach, baptized a Mormon when he was 18, musician, artist, considered my kids as his own, adored, conflicted on his sexuality until he was an adult, died of AIDS in 1985 after being diagnosed just 6 months earlier.

My Uncles. Dad's three brothers. Wes, Glen, and Leo Baugh. Wild, rebellious, fun, with great belly laughs, one with red hair, one bald, one so handsome and successful he dated starlets, all married and divorced at least once, not religious because of their father's overly zealous religious demands, all fathers, some successful, some not, a butcher, a bartender and a rancher.

My Sons. Kurt, Kollin and Kyle Avarell. Three hard-working, spiritual and honorable young men who have made choices in life that will make them successful, comfortable in their own skins, and joyful. Two former LDS missionaries. They inspire me every day.

My Sons-In-Law. JR Jorgensen and (soon) Logan Washburn. Two hard-working, spiritual and honorable men who each chose one of my daughters to spend their lives with. I love them and appreciate them both.

My Grandsons. Daelan, Kiel and Jespen Jorgensen. These three young men inspire me daily with their zest for life, their energy, their enthusiasm. Just the thought of them makes me smile. Regular church goers, probably future missionaries.

My Friends and More. Wally Cook, kissed him on the bus in kindergarten which created quite a ruckus and required a note from the bus driver to my Mom concerning my behavior, my first lesson in love. John Barker, my Mom loved John because he had perfect table manners and knew how to correctly eat soup from a bowl by pulling the spoon toward you, rather than pushing it away from you; typical heart-throb guy, later played the guitar and sang in clubs; a real heart-breaker; lost him to a friend with a knock-out figure - my first lesson in the reality of male hormones aka testosterone; Grif Thomas, great friend from 4th grade on, quiet spirituality, musical, talented, smart, we dated quietly and randomly in high school/college, my first lesson in how NOT to win the guy, he married a great gal and I still keep in touch with Grif, Sue and their family. Charlie Goodspeed, long-term boyfriend through high school, spotted him at a Community Hall "concert" featuring a local band in the summer of 1969, reconnected at our high school football game the following year and dated him from 1969 until 1974, a brainiac with a penchant for technology before it even existed, tall, dark, handsome, devoted, in control, educated, doubting spirituality, first lesson in what kind of guy I wanted to end up with, he married a redhead named Jan and they are still happily living in northern California. Kory Avarell, the father of my children. Tall, handsome, white eyebrow, BMW's, funny as heck, played the guitar, talented, smart, served a Mormon mission in Guatemala, baptized me in Lake Arrowhead, shared the best years of my life (he had me at "hello"), together for over 20 years, married for nearly 18 years, divorced in 1993. He still makes me laugh. Roy Jespersen, a great friend since 1976, talented, handsome, educated, self-assured, smart, funny, creative, tolerant, in control, philanthropic, spiritual, father of 3, a huge influence in my life over the years and a great example of a successful marriage (with Anne) following devastating divorce, I consider Roy and Anne friends for life. Kim Belcher, the friend I shouldn't have married, and I (we?) knew it immediately (on our honeymoon) but still gave it a short, but too long, run. Hal Krisle, "the man I had been waiting for" was my immediate thought when I first saw Hal; tall, dark, handsome, devout Mormon, hard worker, opinionated, devoted, uber-patient in some things, not-so-patient in others, supportive, smart. Married in 1998, I will always love this man. Bill Hunt, my 25+ years friend, the husband of my best friend, Dee, and my boss for several years at Suncadia; a good man with a good heart, hard working, successful, in control, semi-tolerant, self-assured, father of 3, converted Mormon, charming, handsome, tall, smart, educated, a great mentor, I consider Bill and Dee friends for life. Neal Ackerly, the PhD that showed me more in a few years about some aspects of life than I had learned in the past twenty; in control, supportive, naively spiritual, karma-seeking, unassumingly charming, handsome, intelligent, redneck, tolerant, self-assured, archeologist, over-educated, father of one son, a friend for life. Miscellaneous, the many men who have befriended, counseled, chastised, educated, supported, loved, left, advised, played with, mourned with, celebrated with, and basically kept me going from birth to this day through quiet acts of kindness, moments of rare selflessness, road trip therapy or outright generosity, some from my youth, some from my young married life, some professional relationships, some from this more mature place in life, and even some newly formed friendships; former teachers, bishops, pastors, neighbors, co-workers, classmates, church leaders, professors, boyfriends, friends, and chance acquaintances.

So many different men, so many different personalities, so much influence on me. Funny. Smart. Tolerant. Educated. Spiritual or Religious. In control. These are the very few commonalities. Well, and testosterone, of course.

Interesting: Funny. Smart. Tolerant. Educated. Spiritual. In control. Hmmm.

I love the male species. I have learned much from this bunch of testosterone dudes and I am grateful for every one of them. However, I have to admit that I love some a lot more than others. There's a reason we are supposed to partner and live our lives "two by two", and it's simple - we like testosterone, and they simply can't live without us!

The male species. Ya can't live with 'em, ya can't live without 'em. How to sum this up? As I said in an earlier post: It's a zoo out there! The animals are going wild. The testosterone is raging. The dudes have come out to play; some are hiding behind hormone-supported walls, but most are charmingly boyish behind that aloof yet commanding veneer.

So wait, who's in control?

I honestly don't know, but I do know this: If it's a man, I hope he has a loyal (and patient) woman by his side to help along the way!

Village People "YMCA"

Joel Ray Baugh aka DADDY

When I think of my Dad, I remember his laugh. He had a great belly laugh, something I don't believe I appreciated until after he was gone. I loved my Dad. I wish I had known him better.


It's interesting, as I look back and remember whispered warnings and comments about my Dad's temper (usually from my Mom) - and I know that my Dad had a temper, I saw it and experienced it a few times in my life - I never think of him that way at all.


I think of him laughing.


And I think of him making Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream in his San Diego apartment, long before Belgian waffles were the waffle of choice.


And I remember how proud he was of his grandkids, and how he was even more proud of his two daughters. I specifically remember attending Uncle Leo's (Dad's brother) 80th birthday party with Melanie and Dad. One of my favorite pictures is of the three of us at that party - he had Melanie on one arm and me on the other and we were dressed up, all three of us. He looked like one proud man. And I was a proud daughter, cuz he was a handsome, well-dressed dude. In cowboy boots, to boot! I love that memory.


Dad was a journalist. Media writing was his vocation. He loved to write and he passed that love for words along to his children. He was a newspaper editor by profession and I can remember the very thorough and complimentary-but-mandatory red-line editing I received on every book report, essay, creative writing project, poem and term paper I wrote between 1st grade and high school. He also helped with college papers when I asked. I appreciated it then, without any understanding of how it would help me throughout my life, and I am grateful now.


Dad was nominated for the Pulitzer in the late-60's, for a "Help!" column he created at the Press-Telegram, one of the first columns of its kind. It was quite an honor to be nominated, even if he didn't receive the Pulitzer. My favorite column that appeared under his byline over the years was "Baugh Humbug". Dad was very good at what he did, he loved words, he loved details, and he was a trivia buff (before TRIVIA games came along) simply from all the editing he did.


Dad loved to work with plants and to create beautiful landscapes; our yards were always unique, with a touch of southwestern flora (no wonder I love New Mexico's landscape, Dad was born here and never lost the southwestern influence). He was very creative. At the holidays our Christmas tree was a thing of beauty and the house was decorated fully - not with silly, cheap, typical decorations, but almost 'designer-quality' decorations created by Dad from odds and ends. One year we had an ice cream cone tree - he used real ice cream cones, soft pink satin bulbs and then sprayed them with flocking and glitter.
My favorite centerpiece (one that I still have) was made from toilet tank floats, each one covered with sequins and pearls and jewels that were individually attached with a straight pin into the porous material of the float. He spent hours on that project. One year, he sold rock faces for a local fundraiser and then gave them for Christmas gifts later, finding an 'expression' in the natural rock shape and hand-painting features onto the stones himself. We went rock hunting to find special rocks on several occasions that year. I sprained my wrist on one of those trips.


Dad was strict, but he also wanted to spoil Mel and I, which on a journalist's salary wasn't really possible. That said, I think he managed to do just fine. We never felt as if we didn't have everything we wanted - at least I didn't. We were always taken shopping (and to lunch) for beautiful new dresses and shoes at Easter and Christmas. We always did back-to-school clothes shopping in August or early September, and then again - but not to the same level - in late February, sometime around Washington's birthday. And Christmas was always a time of giving and receiving, I don't remember ever feeling that I didn't get what I wanted at Christmas - although Dad gave Santa the credit.


One weekend Dad took Melanie and I shopping. I honestly don't remember the occasion, but he was going to buy us new clothes because of some extra money that had come in. As we walked out the door of our house, I remember Mom pulling me aside and whispering, "Be careful while you are shopping, Jeannie, your Dad will want to buy you and Melanie everything, it's very hard for him to say no to the two of you....but we really don't have that much money." So off we went, two little girls and their Dad, and we did shop, and I remember to this day the outfit that he bought for me. It was one of my favorites for a long time. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't designer brand either (did they even have designer brands in the late 60's?). I was careful, Mom was happy and Dad was glowing.



My Dad loved my younger brother Jamie. As Jamie grew into his teens we called him Jim, but to all of our immediate family he was always Jamie, and he was loved by all who met him. Jim died at 23 from AIDS, one of the early cases and long before any hope of survival had been found, and Dad took care of him during the last month's of Jim's life - feeding, bathing, clothing, medicating, moving and caring for him morning and night.

I know a piece of my Dad, and my Mom, and of me and Mel too, died when Jim passed. He had been a shining light since the day he was born. I remember how proud my Dad was when he finally had a son; he would now have someone to 'carry on the family name'. He had been concerned that the Joel Ray Baugh line would die out with Mel and me. Life simply doesn't work the way we think it will sometimes.

Jamie was the only boy in our family, he was born 8 years after me and 6 years after Melanie. Totally unexpected and unplanned, I believe, but wanted and adored from the moment we knew he was coming. We didn't know he was a boy, of course, this was pre-designer clothes, pre-trivia games and prior to this generation's need-to-know in utero gender testing. But we hoped. We all wanted a boy.



When Jim was born, in the wee hours of the morning, Dad dragged his proud but exhausted body home from the hospital and painted with a wide brush on a 4 X 8 piece of plywood in huge letters of blue paint, "IT'S A BOY!" In the middle of the night, when Mom went into labor, Melanie and I had been whisked to our dear neighbors - Dick and Verna Pehl and their four kids - who lived across the street, and of course we all woke up early the following morning wanting to know if our new baby had been born (the Pehl family woke up at 5 AM every morning anyway - even when not anticipating a birth across the street - and did some family bonding by diving into their (unheated) backyard pool. Nude. All of them. This was 1962 mind you. Mel and I had been instructed to not participate AND to not look!). We raced out of the house, careful to NOT look at the pool and with every intention of barging through the sun porch, through the front door and up the stairs of our white clapboard two-story home across the street to ask Dad if we had a baby! The adrenaline was pumping and we were on a mission, one of us a sassy redhead with braids flying in the wind behind her and the other a sassy blonde in a short boy cut (she hated that) but most likely with skinny little arms and legs flying all over the place as she ran.

"IT'S A BOY!"

The sign was HUGE. It stopped us in our tracks, took the sass right out of us. We had a little brother! Elation! We now had no reason to race home and wake up Dad! Disappointment! (I didn't even stop to think about how my Dad managed to get that 4X8 piece of plywood UP onto the shed roof over the first story of our house until years later - I still don't know how he did it.)


We took our sassy tanned and freckled little bodies back into the Pehl's house, praying quietly to ourselves that they were out of the pool and clothed so that we could open our eyes again (and yet also hoping maybe we would get a glimpse of this wild and primal activity) and shared the news. We had a brother! We were so excited! And Dad was elated. He had a son.

My favorite family vacation was a two week road trip in our brand new white (with black vinyl top) Chevrolet Caprice. We started south and headed north, touring all the California Missions. It was so much fun. Melanie and I have silver charms from every mission along the way and I still have my charm bracelet. We had a car accident on that trip, and both Mom and Dad ended up in neck braces. I was too young to know how that all panned out, who was at fault, etc., but thankfully nothing was too serious. Another family vacation was when we camped south to north at State Parks, I loved that trip too.


On a different occasion, I remember walking out of the front door of our home in Rialto, California - on Home Street, no less - and seeing my Dad on the driveway, the door of his Volvo still open with him laying beneath it. It was one of the scariest moments of my life. I remember him telling me to go get Mom. Then he told Mom to call an ambulance. His back was out. My Dad's back gave him problems his entire life - he wore braces and supports, he spent weeks in traction, he took pain medication, he took muscle relaxants, he probably had every treatment and med they knew of at the time, and each of them is a treatment they would NEVER recommend now. It wasn't until he was in his 60's that his back actually improved - he was exercising. Imagine that. And think of the difference that knowledge and action might have made in his younger days. He was 4-F, an enlisted man but not one who could be called to active frontline duty - not because of his back, but because he had flat feet, but it was during an exercise in basic training that his lifetime of back trouble really began.

Dad was a redhead, that's where I got my hair. Wait, no that's not right. Let me restate.


I thought Dad was a redhead, and that I got my hair from him....until I was in my thirties.... not until I was three, or thirteen, but not until I was in my THIRTIES did I learn the truth! I heard someone make a comment about him dying his hair right before a certain photograph had been taken in his late twenties (the photograph I had looked at my whole life with a nonchalant possessiveness). I was stunned. Who WAS this man? Who was I? Suddenly my entire self-perception changed. I didn't look like my Dad, I looked like HIS Dad. Grandpa Baugh was the redhead, not Dad. Let me just say that this was not a welcome piece of knowledge and to this day I am not certain why he dyed his hair red in his twenties, but apparently he did.


Manners were important to Dad. We enjoyed family dinners filled with laughter and conversation, around the antique table and chairs that he had found in a second hand shop and refinished himself, and beneath the mustard colored chandelier that he had painted. And we were taught manners; if we didn't remember our manners at the table, we were asked to leave the table, our food was removed, or we were told we might as well go outside and eat with the dogs. He was serious about manners.


Dad had a few absolutes (these kind of crack me up today, but at the time I took them VERY seriously). Melanie and I were not allowed to consider waitressing as a job, let alone a career. We were told that early on. His sisters had worked as waitresses and he knew that it was low-paying, hard work. We were not allowed to ride in VW bugs. They were too small for safety. We were to plan on junior college before a university. We could not take overnight trips with our boyfriends, unless there were responsible adults tagging along too. We were to drop the fifty cents (two quarters) he gave us every Sunday into the collection plate at First Lutheran, and NOT stop at the drug store (conveniently in our path as we walked to and from church).


I can honestly say that I never rode in a VW. I was never a waitress. I attended junior college before a university and I didn't go on an overnight trip with any boyfriend without adults being present - not necessarily sober or paying attention, but they were present.



However.......I have to admit that the drug store on the way to church was a huge temptation and Melanie and I succumbed a few times, quickly eating the candy bar of choice before arriving at church and carefully dropping just ONE quarter into the collection plate in a way that Dad wouldn't be able to see that we were a quarter short. I still can't believe that they didn't smell our chocolate or peanut butter or sweet-tart breath. Maybe they did, but what can you do when sitting properly on a pew in a perfect row of Sunday best near the front and just beneath the lectern of the 1st Lutheran Church? What would Mom think looking down from the organ bench where she was playing beautiful hymns with those skilled fingers and in stocking feet? What would Pastor Karl Johnson think if we made a scene? (Actually, he would probably have laughed, he was rather jovial and informal himself) The last time I saw Pastor Johnson was at my Dad's memorial service. I suppose that is a kind tribute of sorts with threads to those good times on Home Street, in Rialto, CA.


Life with Dad wasn't always easy. He had terrible mood swings and fought depression his entire life, not always winning. He knew how to use a belt, and did a few times, but Mom usually just threatened us with "the belt". I remember him once telling me "You aren't going to pull the wool over my eyes, Jeannie, don't even try." (I don't know if I pulled the wool over his eyes or not, I didn't even know what that phrase meant when he said it!)


Dad drank too much at times, he wandered off at times, he did have a temper and had very little patience with some things, but there was one thing we never doubted: he loved us. He had been raised by a Texas rancher and was tough when he needed to be (I still don't really get that, I can't find any traces of Grandpa JW Baugh being in Texas for very long, but he WAS big like Texas ranchers tend to be). Dad wasn't perfect, but he loved his kids. We - Jamie, Melanie and I - knew that he loved us and that he thought we were the best thing that ever happened to him. He was Papa to his grandkids, but he was Daddy to me.


I miss my Dad. I think of him often. I wish he was here. I wish he could have lived to see my kids as they have grown into adults and parents themselves. I wish he could have lived to see his grandsons become Dads. I wish he could have lived to see his great-grandchildren.


I wish I could hear that belly laugh once more. I wish I could hear him call me Jeannie again. I wish I could wish him a Happy Father's Day.

Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there, especially my sons and son-in-law who are all GREAT Dads.


I have some special things in my house that were Dad's. Some of them have a history that I am aware of, some I just love because I remember them always being part of Dad's world.



Joel Ray Baugh. He was my Dad. There's not much more to say. I love him, I miss him, but I still feel him around - after all I have a lifetime of memories and I have his belly laugh...and of course, I also have his red hair.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

Dad's Fav - The Yellow Rose of Texas

From the Heart

Love is a many splendored thing. Love means never having to say you are sorry. Love makes the world go round. LOVE.

Love is from the heart.

Today I had good news and bad news from the doc. I have changed my diet and exercised more and my blood pressure is way down, that is the good news.

I also learned that I have an irregularity in my heart, nothing that's going to kill me, but if it wasn't discovered I suppose it could have, and that would be the bad news.

It seems that my heart contracts as it should, but takes a bit too long to relax before contracting again. This can cause dizziness, or sudden death; fortunately I have not experienced either.

Oh geez. No worries. This could explain the weird "heart" thumps I have felt for most of my life and have mentioned to doctors repeatedly over the years, with no comment or diagnosis beyond "Most people have some irregular heartbeats on occasion, nothing to worry about."

Uh huh.

So now, I am on a beta blocker. This can cause dizziness, but prevents sudden death. I suppose that's an improvement. I also get to return to childhood memories and pop an orange-flavored baby aspirin daily. I guess there is a silver lining in every cloud!

It's amazing how even something that is supposedly controllable with meds can suddenly make you think about life from a new vantage point and cause you to see with immediate clarity who is important to you, you will be there for you, who you love - from your heart.

And for me, it's simple. I love my family. And I love my friends. And I love that I have a deep faith. And I love myself, I am happy with who I am. I have made a lot of mistakes, but I have few, if any, regrets.

And I love life. And I plan to stick around for a long time and continue to drive everyone crazy - and hopefully share a few laughs along the way.

And I love - easily, fully, with complete trust, unconditionally. And I am thankful for that. It may have given opportunity for disappointment and heartbreak in my life, but I would rather experience those things than live life with doubt and mistrust governing my thoughts and actions.

And I live from the heart. Life is good. But life with love is better.

True love is eternal.

Bryan Adams "Straight from the Heart"

Simplicity

What can you say about someone who loves you unconditionally - especially when you are me?

Lots of things, I suppose, and it's not a simple answer.

Life isn't simple. I am not simple.

Relationships aren't simple. Marriage is not simple.

Somehow I think I missed the instruction booklet on relationships. I actually have done better (even with all the mistakes I made) at raising 6 kids then I have done in relationship(s) and marriage(s).

Yes, (s). As in more than one.

Sad isn't it? More than one marriage...I mean really, even those who are happy and love their marriage would say that ONE is enough!

But not me, oh no. I keep thinking I can learn from my mistakes and be more successful the next time, but that isn't the answer. It's like starting from scratch all over again. This is not the way to do it. I am certain they spelled that out in the instruction book I missed.

So what's the deal?

I am not overly difficult. However, I am not overly easy either.

I am a redhead. (yes, that says volumes)

I am relatively intelligent.

I am fairly quick thinking.

I get bored easily.

I love to be on the go.

I love to laugh.

I trust completely. (which means I am completely vulnerable)

I can laugh at me, myself and I...and the rest of life.

I can forgive.

I have a quiet faith. I have learned to trust in God, not men.

I can love. Sometimes too much, sometimes not enough.

I am not too far off the track, am I?

No, at least I don't think I am. So, I am confused. Why isn't it simpler?

I know that one thing is for certain -

Relationships aren't simple. Marriage isn't simple. It takes work, compromise, honesty, patience, humor, forgiveness and unconditional love.

I have the pieces down, I can do all of those things, almost effortlessly. I just can't seem to put them together in the right place and the right time and in the right order to complete the whole puzzle. There's always something missing, that critical piece in the middle.

Except for that one piece, all the rest of the pieces seem to be here, but I can't get them to fit right.

So, no, it's not simple. And that's a problem.

Because in the end, that is what I want - something a bit more simple. Not something easy, something simple. Not something effortless, something natural. Something pure. Something true. Something honest. Something that fits.

I want a relationship that is calm yet fun, steady yet exciting, dependable yet spontaneous, trustworthy yet breathtaking.

I want a companion. I don't need to be bowled over, I just need my hand held. I am strong, but not that strong. I am independent, but not that independent. I want to enjoy life with someone.

Simplicity, in a world of chaos. It MUST be in the box somewhere; some of the pieces are almost perfect, but not quite. If I really pushed hard, I could MAKE them fit, but that's not how it should work. It should take effort, not force.

I am not asking for a miracle. I just want all the pieces to fit together, and I want that one center piece that has always escaped me. The real one. Not an imitation. Not a substitute. The real McCoy.

My fear is that in the chaos I have made of my life, I might have already found it and then lost it.
Or maybe I should just acknowledge that I did find it and then lose it. No fear needed. Just own up to it.

Or maybe it's just waiting to be found for the first time, or rediscovered after being lost, or appreciated after being taken for granted.

I know this much, whatever it is, it's not simple.

So, what can you say about someone who loves you unconditionally - especially when you are me?

A simple "thank you" would be a good start. "I love you" could follow, but only if it's from the heart.

And instructions, simple instructions would help too.

Find. Love. Hold on, not too tight, but hold on. Love. Commit. Love. Don't let go. Love. Appreciate. Love. Enjoy. Love. Support. Love. Share. Love. Have Patience. Love. Renew Often. Love. Respect. Love. Live. Love.

That should do it.

Maybe I need to write AND read the instruction book.

Simplicity, huh? If only it really was simple.

Whitney Houston "I Will Always Love You"

Run, Kalen, Run!

In my dreams, I am a runner. I jog through parks, along streams, over bridges and under low branches. There's a gentle cadence to my step and a sparkle in my eye. Sometimes I wake up and my shins feel taut, like they did before I hit 45.

This past week I have been running like a crazed woman, jogging through life at a fast clip to catch up with bills, with correspondence, with work, with blog posts, with family, with my emotions, with friends, with time. Now I wake up and my shins are just fine, but my head hurts.

I hate headaches. They are painful. They take all the fun out of whatever you are doing. For drinkers, the next day is payback time; for the overly focused, downtime can be a killer; for the guilty, they are silent reminders; for procrastinators, stress-induced headaches are like calendar reminder beeps on your cell phone: Headache? What did I forget? Where should I be? How late am I?

Pain can be a motivator or a wet blanket.

For those with fibromyalgia, pain is often a mixture of both, and it doesn't go away.

This past year, my youngest daughter Kalen was in Brazil on a Rotary Exchange. What a life changing experience! A foreign language to master, wild parties to attend, early morning instead of late night curfews, tropical heat, and the pain of fibromyalgia.

The diagnosis was irrefutable. It was echoed by 3 doctors individually. It was real. Kalen was thousands of miles away and facing a reality at the age of 17 that seemed impossible. She had to face it alone. She had to accept what seemed impossible. She had to understand it. She had to deal with it.

Who would have thought this amazing time in her life would also deliver such unexpected news?


This was gonna be the race of her life.

In Forrest Gump, we were taught that "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

Kalen "got" fibromyalgia. But she also got beauty, brains, a stubbornness that will be her strength and a zest for life that I haven't seen in too many.

Exercise, diet changes, medication, sunshine, better rest, lots of water and more were necessary.

So she started running....again, and more, and still. Using the pain to motivate her, to pace her.

And she felt better - not good, but better.

Oh, she still has pain. She still has headaches. She even gets shin splints. But she's better.

Kalen's home now, wistfully leaving her second country and beloved friends in Brazil behind. She is happy and beautiful and yes, she has fibromyalgia and pain, but she is headed into the next phase of her life with a smile. She is focused. She is determined. She is Kalen.

Her homecoming was a celebration: "Oiiii, Kalen Marie! Beijos!" We are glad to have her home.

And now, in her dreams, if Kalen ever wonders what that soft noise is that almost wakes her, it's just me - jogging quietly along beside her with a gentle cadence, shin splints and a headache from doing too much, but with a proud and supporting smile.

Life is just a box of chocolates, and I got Kalen.

Lucky me!

Forrest Gump Original Theme Song

BLING! BANG! BLING!

It's hard to imagine accepting a diamond engagement ring from a kneeling man while holding a gun in your hand.

It's harder to imagine a man kneeling behind a woman who has a loaded gun in her hand.

But it's easy to imagine Kelly and Logan together forever.

The proposal was proper. Dad had been asked, Logan was on his knee, the ring was sparkling and Kelly (unaware of the proposal) was probably the only thing not exactly in proper form. After all, she was wielding a pistol when she turned from her target practice to find Logan down on one knee behind her and holding a ring.

What's a girl to do in this situation? Are there etiquette books about this kind of proposal? I don't think so.

Kelly's instincts kicked in, almost as quickly as the tears started flowing, and she quickly (and carefully) tucked the gun behind her while offering her left hand to accept the blinding diamonds.

Now, we don't know what was actually said during those sentimental (and armed) moments, but I can tell you this - Logan must trust Kelly. And there is no doubt that Kelly trusts Logan.

There weren't any witnesses that I am aware of that day, but there were certainly sparkles and grins and tears and love, and yes, ammunition and weapons.

Thank heavens these two found each other.

Now they can write the first etiquette book for proposals on a rifle range, and include a special chapter about accepting a diamond ring from the man you love, while holding a gun in your hand.

Clear!

Transplants "Diamonds and Guns"

Stupor to Stupendous

Sometimes I wonder about myself. I question my ability to love unconditionally and forgive so easily. I am doubtful about the wisdom in opening my heart without any armor in place.

Then there are the times that I remember the joy I have experienced as a result of these risk-taking traits. Oh sure, I have been hurt because of them as well, but my memories are heavy laden with joyful connections, happy reunions and gratitude for relationships of all kinds, in all stages.

This Memorial Day Weekend has been one of those "Stupor to Stupendous" experiences...beginning in a life-stalling, disappointment induced stupor and ending in a stupendous display of loving friends, circled around a campfire with me, laughing and talking and sharing tales while lounging comfortably in our camp chairs.

Life is one step at a time, even at my age, and I am grateful for the small successes as I work my way through. A favorite quote from long ago: "The only way out is through."

Ok, then. Onward and upward and through - with a little help from my friends.

Joe Cocker "With a Little Help from My Friends"

When the Sun Sets in the Land of Enchantment (everyone is watching)

I have missed too many sunsets in my life.

I remember seeing the Arizona Highways magazine on our coffee table as I was growing up. My Dad was born in the southwest and his appreciation for desert fauna and flora, along with the breathtaking sunsets, was obvious.

I hope to see many more New Mexico sunsets. They take my breath away. They are a process, taking several minutes, allowing the mind to review the past day and ponder tomorrow's possibilities.

"Never let yesterday use up today." I love this favorite phrase from my new friend, Karen.

It's a good motto for life.

Marques Houston "Sunset"