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"

Bean Pie and Red Socked Donors

I'm at a rather intellectual fundraising conference on wealth and philanthropy, but I am thinking of beans and red socks. Not donors.

I am in Beantown, also known as Boston. And I love this town. It's my second visit and I like it even more on my second time around. The conference is at Boston College which is amazing all by itself.

This Beantown conference has a lot of philosophical information relating to donors and foundations and why people give to causes and to others. It's all about philia - friendship love - which could bring Philadelphia and philly cheese steak into this discussion if I really wanted to follow that line of logic, which I don't.

Have you heard the monologue that wonders if there was a convention where cities had the opportunity to choose an official food? Supposedly Chicago chose pizza, NY chose the hot dog, and Boston chose..........beans. Beans. Really? Beans? Amazing.

Tonight was about philia. Not Philadelphia, not philly cheese steak sandwiches, but philia. People loving people. People loving baseball. People loving a team. People giving time and money to sit in the rain and watch a bunch of guys swing at and catch a hard white ball. The Red Sox Foundation was there, actively soliciting for donations and with people waiting in line to give. It was a ballgame. In Boston. At Fenway Park. With tens of thousands of fans. And lots of great food. It was philia in action.

I, and thousands of other fans, saw the hot dog city and the bean city matching wills on an amazingly green field flooded in blindingly bright lights and surrounded with cheering people in layers of Red Sox logowear speaking with funny accents. All of this amazing view was shrouded in a continuous layer of mist that descended on the crazed crowd relentlessly all evening long. It was a wet game.

Yep, you got it. I was at Fenway Park watching the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees. Or, the beans and the hot dogs. Soggy beans and hot dogs, to be exact. Thankfully I had a raincoat and an umbrella and enough enthusiasm to not care if I was damp from head to toe, but the players were sopping. I made friends with the folks sitting around me. There were kids everywhere in literally layers of Sox logo wear - t-shirt, sweatshirt, rain/windbreaker, hat - it was something I had never really seen before. Great fans. Great spirit. Great accents!

I guess it kind of makes sense. It all goes together in some highly overthought way - typical "Jeannie-logic". Fundraising might be loosely described as beanraising, I suppose.

But everybody loves hot dogs, or at the very least an event that features them, like baseball. And almost everybody loves baseball. Everybody at this game tonight certainly loved baseball. We were sitting in the rain, watching two teams battle it out on that bright green field under the really bright lights and we were cheering and jeering and waving wet Red Sox foam fingers and loving every minute.

And just to maintain an even playing field, many of us ate pizza and philly steak sandwiches while watching the beantown favs and the hot doggers.

I love America. I love Beantown. I love Fenway Park. I love all the crazed fans. I love baseball. I love hot dogs. I love my family. I love my friends.

Friendship. Philia. Philanthropy.

Baseball. Mom. Apple pie.

Caring. Giving.

It all makes sense, in a "Jeannie-logic" kind of way - again. (I love being me.)

Back to the conference....(oh, and the Sox beat the Yankees)! Note that I could have said the Sox won the Yankees, but long ago my Dad asked me, after I said something similar (Frisbie JHS won Rialto JHS), "Oh, really, did they get to take them home then? Since they won them?"

No, it's not won, it's beat. (Which makes me always want to ask, "Oh really, did they leave bruises? Since they beat them?"

Semantics. Ok, enough of that. Dad was correct. I am silly. (Did I mention that I love being me?)

Now there is only one thing left to do....

PLAY BALL! Or back to the conference...and thinking about donors. Hmmm, aren't they kind of the same thing, in different venues....(And I would like extra green peppers and onions please, beans on the side. Thank you very much!)

Red Sox Song - Sweet Caroline