Natalie Whatley

Don’t let the title alarm you. Physically, I’m mostly fine. Functional even.

Here we are about a year out from National Election Day. I know, already? But it is high time for us to do some massive cleaning out.

I’m a little shaky on whether or not I’m up to the task and especially given we’ll have a full year of non-stop media coverage wherein we’ll dissect prenatal conditions, penmanship, and even the bathroom habits of each potential candidate.

Something very uncharacteristic happened to me after the 2008 elections, and I was hoping to be over it by now. It has been three long years since we had to consider our plight and choose leaders on a national level. What can I say? This girl can hold a grudge if she’s so inclined. I’m not proud of it, just stating a fact.

I must also point out that I’m not suffering from sour grapes even though I did not vote for the man currently occupying the Oval Office.

It goes far beyond my lesser-of-two-evils candidate and party losing. It’s rather some deeply-rooted (I accidentally spelled rotted on the first attempt . . . it fits, too) supposed fruit-bearing trees not coming to fruition, i.e. people who want the job but can’t or won’t produce anything beyond childish bickering. And even that’s on a good day.

In the great words of my maternal figure, Linda Rowe, and as I hold my hand just above my eyebrows, “I’ve had it up to here!” (Yes, the lovely Mrs. Rowe would pronounce that red faced and quite loudly when she’d had enough of us heathens not pulling our load around the house.)

And because I no longer have the stomach for the non-stop political finger pointing, what’s surely coming in the next twelve months is causing me anticipatory illness. I’m already exhausted. I’d call it sick and tired but that’s a bit too cliché.

I used to brag about being a political junkie—prided myself on my habit and knowing all the issues and players along with the various arguments. I was the life of the party and way too much fun to argue with. My family can attest. I’ll send them your condolences.

 And it was delightful in a weird kind of way to be in a public place—say waiting for my oil to be changed—and have people around me start in on politics. Local, state, or national, didn’t matter.  I would let it go for about as long as I could stand before I let my own firebrand roll across my pearly whites—in a sweet, volume-appropriate voice, of course.  Shocked a few people.  Apparently I’m very docile looking.

But something changed and I’m almost embarrassed to admit I quit caring about the whole lot of it. I tuned out. Ignorance has been more than slightly blissful when I can manage to ignore the consequences of apathy. If only I could ignore my conscience, too.

So, I suppose I’ll have to get over myself because in the end I know all too well that it would be ignorant to ignore Decision 2012.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

Ten years ago this morning I stood stunned in K-Mart’s electronics department trying to understand the images on at least 30 television screens airing the exact same footage: a second plane hitting The Twin Towers in New York. It seems like a lifetime ago, and it seems like yesterday.

Having already heard of the first plane “accidentally” hitting on the drive over, I suppose I knew at precisely the same time every other American did: We were under attack. The first one was no accident.

It was a beautiful September morning, much like the ones we’ve enjoyed this past week. The day had promise as I embarked on a shopping excursion in preparation for my son Jeremy’s fifth birthday party scheduled that weekend.

I was on a mission to snag a radio shown in the sales flyer for the birthday boy and gather up party supplies to boot.

My usual modus operandi would have been to make a beeline to secure the on-sale radio first, but for some reason I attended to the other items on my shopping list instead. That turned out to be a wise move.

Watching the fiery explosion and smoke billowing out of the high rises, knowing the horrific fate of the air passengers and building inhabitants, I no more could have remembered what I was there for or even comprehended my own handwritten list.  

Something as important as celebrating the birth of one of my own children all of the sudden seemed trivial and selfish. (Of course it wasn’t, but that’s how I felt at the moment. And by the way, I got the radio. ) And as bad as it was; the nightmare wasn’t over.

Tearing my eyes away from the suffering of fellow Americans, I believe I floated up front to pay. The entire store was eerily quiet.

I vividly remember a whispered conversation with the older lady working behind the register. I can still see her shaken, angry face. She had been around far longer and experienced more than me. I’ll never forget how her immediate resolve assuaged my fear.

Upon arriving home I went straight in and turned on the TV. It didn’t matter what channel . . . the broadcast was the same on every network. I sat down and stared helplessly through teary eyes while trying to wrap my mind around the new news and images of The Pentagon having also been hit. Then came the crash of Flight 93 in a Pennsylvania field.

In George Bush’s book Decision Points, he talks about that day and what was going through his mind as the events unfolded: “The first plane could have been an accident. The second was definitely an attack. The third was a declaration of war.”

If there was any silver lining to be seen, it was a unified America in the days following.  

A mere two years later, singer Darryl Worley had a smash hit with the title “Have You Forgotten?”

Have you forgotten, how it felt that day? To see your homeland under fire and her people blown away. Have you forgotten, when those towers fell? We had neighbors still inside goin through a living hell.

You took all the footage off my TV. Said it’s too disturbin for you and me. It’ll just breed anger is what the experts say. If it was up to me I’d show it everyday.

Amen, brother.

God bless the families who lost a loved one that day, the President and his staff who steered us through some of our darkest hours, the first responders, and the soldiers who continue the fight for our freedom.

I’ll never forget.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

It used to be the stuff of science fiction: living to 125. Scientists now say it’s not only possible for those born today, but probable. But how about living to 1,000? And if that can be done, why stop there?

Since a little before I hit 40—what I deemed “middle aged” although it has statistically shifted forward— I have spent some time reflecting on my own mortality. I know, not the most pleasant of thoughts, but it’s part and parcel of the human experience. Thus the reason I had to read when I came across an article that caught my eye with living 125 years and then blew me away with 1,000.

When I dug deeper into the subject matter, I found that some scientists have actually been making the 1,000 claim for almost a decade. Don’t know how I missed that.

Dr. Aubrey de Grey, English author and theoretician in gerontology (study of social, psychological, and biological aspects of aging) says that the fundamental knowledge needed to develop anti-aging medicine mostly already exists, but that science is way ahead of funding. In some ways I’m thinking that may be a good thing because we have a few things to sort out.

Aside from my personal feelings about very long life, I couldn’t help but wonder how a massively increased population would affect our planet.  And what about quality of life?

Never ran across anything regarding population. That’s probably a very negative side effect proponents like to ignore or at least downplay.

And many scientists—even those not suggesting we go stretching life expectancy to some crazy-high number—say that the aging process can be stopped and even reversed on a scale unseen by us modern folks. That means quality of life will not suffer. Being greatly “aged” (it all becomes quite relative) will not equal frailty. Forget about the Fountain of Youth; we’re talking immortality.

At what age should we “freeze” everyone?

Would we all be allowed to choose?

How old do you want to be for the rest of time?

When do we “retire”? Talk about worrying over “outliving your money” . . . SHEESH! But maybe we’d work to the age of 980.

Of note, and while I realize mathematically it will take a long time to reach 1,000, is that in recent modern times each year we add about three months to statistical life expectancy. Researchers point to obesity and its related maladies as the only real thing keeping that number down. But with cell and gene therapy it could all become moot making age limitless.

I don’t know. It’s all pretty mind boggling. Imagine the possibilities —or maybe the impossibilities—of having the wealth of our most brilliant minds over that long a time period. Would there be anything left to discover if immortality was?

Of course living in the times I do and having no other frame of reference, it seems to me that a big part of what makes mortal, human life special is that it is finite. Given my tendency to wander off on tangents I’m not so sure I’d ever be properly motivated to get anything done if I thought I had that much time.

I can’t wrap my throbbing mind around it. “Cure” old age and possibly death? For right now, I’ll settle for curing the headache all the questions the topic brings.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

Sitting at Gentry Junior School’s start-of -the-year orientation, I was delighted to hear from school nurse, Gayle Boisture, that the H1N1 virus—otherwise known as the swine flu—had been downgraded and was not the concern it was this time last year. But I must warn you all of the latest threat. On your behalf, I stay on the cutting edge of trends and have been monitoring something creepy for a good while. It’s time for me to sound the alarm.

If you are in the least bit squeamish, or if the mere mention of head lice makes your scalp crawl you may want to stop here. My head’s feeling a bit itchy, and I may not sleep for a week, but I’m highly compensated for such burdens.

An infestation eradicated decades ago is rearing its ugly, bloodsucking-insect head here in the good ole United States of America. I’d seen a sprinkling of news stories with professionals warning it was coming as the problem was getting severely worse around the globe, and tucked it away.

Most of what I ran across sounded “chicken little”, but the headlines are popping up in greater frequency and I recently learned that the Environmental Protection Agency held a summit on the impending crisis in 2009. What has some high-ranking officials bugging out? Bedbugs.

The little critters have caused Ohio’s government and the EPA to scratch at each other over the “proper” use of chemicals, and as is usually the case, the good citizenry is hung in the middle—taking to the sidewalks to sleep at night because sleeping quarters are uninhabitable. Now the Centers for Disease Control and, I kid you not, the Department of Defense are involved in the crisis.  

I know, at first glace and from up on a cleanliness pedestal, filth comes to mind. You may want to hop on down, because this is a problem for any one of us who doesn’t reside in a hermetically-sealed bubble. One can pick them up in just about any public place, and bring a happy bedbug couple to reside and start a family in their dream home: your bed.

Back in the day when pesticides were pesticides (I know some have been proven harmful, but in my humble opinion the pendulum has swung too far the opposite direction. Save the hate-mail for someone smarter than me.) DDT wiped out this nuisance in the developed world.

Since about 1995, they’ve been re-emerging: resistant to DDT and any other weenie-fied chemical we now have at our disposal. Some statistics show the infestation doubled between 1995 and 2001 and that the bedbug population has continued to grow as more pesticides used to counter other pests while peripherally killing bedbugs were removed from the arsenal.  

Luckily, extensive lab testing shows that bedbugs are not likely to pass disease from one human to another. However, they can be extremely harmful to mental health. I know some of you are already in a panic and will no doubt soon be suffering from delusional parasitosis, whereby you’ll be certain you are infested with a parasite that isn’t present.

I suppose the world just isn’t right unless we have a certain level of paranoia to contend with. I sometimes lie awake at night wondering what to obsess over next. I bet you’ll do it now, too. Good night, sleep tight; don’t let the bedbugs bite!

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

There isn’t a day, week, or month left on the calendar that isn’t set aside to observe, commemorate, or otherwise notice a cause, individual, or group. Some are worthy of ignoring, such as National Grouch Day, but one commemorative week I was unaware of needs a little attention.

The second week of November, which will officially begin tomorrow, is Pursuit of Happiness Week. I know it sounds a little odd, but the purpose is to remind everyone, as stated in the Declaration of Independence, that all men and women “are endowed by their Creator with certain unalieanable rights, that among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” It would be unpatriotic not to recognize this one. You’ve got from November 8 – 14 to perform a search. Feel very fortunate if you don’t have to look long or far.

Happiness is defined in different ways depending on who’s providing the definition, but Webster’s says it is a state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment, love, satisfaction, or joy. And pursuit: Until I looked it up, I never realized an important piece that sets it aside from simply following something is the intent to catch.

Since I have been on a mission of sorts to find my place in the world while my children explore the things that bring them joy, it occurred to me that sometimes hunting for happiness involves not chasing after some things, or possibly bringing other things to an end. If capturing some empty space opens up a spot for something that makes me smile, why not?

Those in the business of studying happiness say much of our disposition in that regard is genetic and to a large degree formed during childhood. It’s also a lot of work. But the good news: Happiness is a choice. It’s tricky for sure, but we all know it’s possible as most of us are acquainted with someone who is happy despite some crummy circumstances.  Some say life is 10 percent events and 90 percent how we react to those events. I believe there’s a great deal of truth there.

Once we decide ourselves happy, we have a real proverbial bucket of cold water to deal with in a phenomenon known as hedonic adaptation. I know, big words for a Saturday, but you’ll thank me for explaining how it works. Knowing is half the battle. Maybe you can keep this from dampening any new-found joy.

Hedonic adaptation occurs because humans are very adaptable – some of us more than others— and as soon as something better than our “normal” becomes habit or a routine part of our day, it loses its shine so to speak. Think past lottery winners who manage to become miserable despite having money troubles wiped away.  And raise your hand if you’ve reached a goal you thought was going to bring the epitome of happiness, only to find that happy feeling was short-lived. We’re always raising the bar. I don’t know when the concept of contentment was lost, but I know I don’t see enough of it – too much of the grass-is-greener syndrome going around if you ask me.

Gretchen Rubin, author of “The Happiness Project” says that one way to combat hedonic adaptation is to cut back on luxurious enjoyment. (That almost sounds un-American.) Also, try stopping each day and just being grateful for the things in your life.  Avoid including external things – look to your inner resources. Take pleasure in the little things.

Get out there and go after something delightful . . . and intend on catching it!

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

Happy Halloween! I hope this finds you all scaring up some fun – even if you don’t officially celebrate. It’s difficult to escape all that surrounds what has become a cauldron filled with a mixed brew of beliefs and customs.

That said an entire industry has been built around the day and people’s enjoyment of fear. To be fair, there is also a whimsical side – adults would rather not be awakened by frightened children – complete with festive thank-goodness-it’s-finally-fall fun.  There’s something for everyone.

Listening to the radio for a few minutes will garner several locations within driving distance where you can pay to enter and enjoy a fearful adrenaline rush. Those venues come with names like Phobia, known for featuring clowns of all things; Screamworld, and of course all the haunteds  . . . woods, houses, etc.  I suppose phobophobiacs, those who have a fear of fear, avoid those. I’ve never attended any, but have heard the scariest parts are often the lines and wait to go through. No thanks.

If you’re one who would rather place your money on actual goods versus an experience, retail data shows Halloween only second to Christmas in home décor and the third largest party day of the year. Those in the business of making a profit off the day are quite spirited by the fact that despite the lagging economy, most of us were in the mood to spend more this year than last Halloween.  

Retailer Steven Silverstein, President of Spirit Halloween costume stores, says sales increase by 30 percent when Halloween falls on a Saturday and that Halloween should be officially moved to the last Saturday in October, regardless of the date. He and like-minded individuals descended on Capitol Hill earlier this month asking Congress to do just that. I can think of other things I want my elected officials working on.

Silverstein’s movement termed “Halloweekend” is currently circulating a petition. He claims “the recession can be ended, jobs created and Halloween will just be more fun”. While a staunch believer in capitalism and free markets, I’m not so sure this could get us out of the mess we’re in. I like his spirit, though – far better than the apparition of our government officials announcing just this week that it appears the recession is over.

Yes, the economy grew at 3.5 percent in the third quarter, ending four straight quarters of contracting economic activity. But . . . and it’s a big BUT . . . that “growth” was spurred by brisk federal spending and government-supported spending on cars and homes.  Think Cash for Clunkers and federal tax credits for first-time homebuyers. Sigh. Those willing to remove the masks are already stating it will be difficult to sustain such a recovery after government support for the programs end. Is it really a treat if we trick ourselves?

On a much lighter note, if you will be hosting trick-or-treaters at your home, be on the lookout for the vampire-costume trend.  We have once again (it goes in waves), due to the popularity of some books and movies, become entranced by vampires. But it’s different this time. They don’t look so scary any more. In fact, they’re quite good-looking and overtly seductive – be careful not to look them in the eyes.

After costumes, it wouldn’t be Halloween without jack-o-lanterns. Have you seen some of the elaborate designs? I’m amazed at what some can do with small tools and too much free time. I mean, it is going to rot. My children bought some rather large pumpkins to carve and plan on scooping out the innards of one and draping it out of the mouth to appear as though Mr. Jack O’Lantern has either a) partaken of too many confectionary delights, or b) spent a little time with me discussing the “end” of the recession. I know just how he feels. Have a Happy Halloween!

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

With the April 15 deadline for filing federal income tax returns looming ahead, it’s time to gather the W-2’s, 1099’s, etc. and sit down face-to-face with our monetary contributions to the greater good.

I usually complete and mail ours the first week of February. I ran a little late this year. I was procrastinating because I didn’t even want to look at it, but finally sat down on one of our recent, rainy days and got down to business.   

Much to the chagrin of professional tax preparers, I complete our return. (I know, I’m busted; recall a couple of weeks ago where I semi-proudly confessed to skipping out on my children’s math homework. I, too, stand in disbelief that Jeff hasn’t caught on that I’m able to navigate the maze that is the IRS and our tax return while brilliantly feigning ignorance when it comes to math homework.  Am I good, or what? And, no, we’ve never been audited.) There are plenty of people who don’t want to touch their taxes, so I figure I’m not doing too much harm to the economy in saving a few bucks instead of a headache.

Some wonder why I put myself through the torture of reading Form What-Ever, being directed to Schedule What-the-Heck and finally routed to Publication Who-Knew?  Others would say I’m intentionally inflicting pain upon myself. I do it because in the age of direct deposit, who really sits and pores over a check stub anymore? I used to look at mine way back in the day as I waited in the drive through at the bank. It was a bi-weekly reminder of what I was giving to Uncle Sam. Now, I know the exact dollar amount that will be deposited every other Friday, and there is no need to study it further. Ignorance is bliss!  

The taxing task was particularly stressful this year. We’re tightening our belts while our federal government dines on an unprecedented amount of pork. I wonder how much longer those of us who actually know how to hunt and slaughter swine will continue producing their fatty meals. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind paying for services rendered, but it seems fewer and fewer are being forced to pay for our government’s “benevolence”. But I digress . . . sigh.   

Before the nitty-gritty hard part, it’s always necessary to clean out the financial files of the Whatley Estate.  As I go through each folder gathering the most recent statements and necessary papers, I throw all the outdated items in a special pile. My heart begins to race because I know the fun part is coming.      

With pertinent papers set aside, I drag out my trusted friend: the shredder.  We have loads of fun together. It’s quite cathartic to review what once was on the 401(k) statements and then send them through the grinding teeth.  It’s almost as if our balance hasn’t been cut in half . . . the proof is gone.   

I finished the job as the “stimulus” package was signed into law – what a warm, fuzzy feeling that was. I’ll bounce back because I believe in America and Americans. But right now, self-responsibility, capitalism, and the very fabric of this country are being forced through a shredder. Take a good look at who’s enjoying a catharsis in doing it. If we as a country allow this to continue . . . all we’re going to have left is hope for some spare change.

Since I went on such a rant last week about what I perceive as the unfair TAKSation of students, teachers and parents, it’s only fair that I come back and spell out the parental shortcomings that caused my children to show up at school unprepared for educational enrichment. Their educations are extremely important to me. I could get all mushy about how I want them to reach their full potential and . . . blah, blah, blah. Honestly, I just want them to reach adulthood and be able to support themselves in full, happy lives – outside of my home.

First, as I’ve now heard from countless experts, I allowed too much technology into their young lives. Scientists say that I negatively and permanently changed the way the synapses fire in their brains by allowing television, computers, and gaming systems to be a part of our days. The moments of sanity I enjoyed while I had two in diapers came at a heavy price. The guilt is incredible!

Next, I don’t check all their schoolwork all the time. Horrible, I know.  When the oldest started school, I was on top of everything. With my youngest, I’m on top of nothing. Call it lazy, but I tell you I’m just wore out.

Sometimes my kids go to school without eating breakfast. I realize this one is particularly disturbing, but school starts at a certain time every day. What’s a mom to do when she’s bouncing between three bedrooms . . . one gets up, but sneaks back in bed the moment she’s gone, and the cycle repeats itself until there are just enough minutes to dress and catch the bus. (Hi, Mom! I know you’re reading; don’t laugh at me. It’s not funny!) On top of that, I’ve got one who swears she’ll be sick if a morsel of sustenance touches her lips before ten a.m., Monday through Friday. Because she made a believer out of me, I stopped forcing the issue.

School projects: I helped way too much and mostly because it pains me a great deal to have an entire weekend ruined over something that could be done in a couple of hours. Enough said.

Then there’s the availability of my children’s grades online. It’s a wonderful service, but I found myself with a bad habit and came close to entering a 12-step program to break the addiction. “Hi, my name is Natalie, and I checked my children’s grades daily, OK, several times daily, until I drove them and myself nearly crazy.”  In a very liberating move, I taught them how to login and check their grades themselves. They know what needs to be done and what the consequences will be when report cards come out. LOAD off my shoulders.

Homework: My children are well-versed in “don’t ask Mom to help with math homework.”  I can look at the textbook and figure it out, sometimes before midnight, but Jeff handles it all with the greatest of ease. Math is his department, and I have no interest in being cross-trained.  Just this week Jeff explained to me how to find the area of a circle. “Area equals Pi times the radius squared. A = Pi   r  squared.” Because I don’t even want to know, I replied, “Pies are round”.

There. I owned up to doing some things I knew were not producing the desired results. I’m anxiously awaiting Texas’ legislators doing the same in regards to standardized testing.  

© 2009 Natalie Whatley  

If there’s a school-aged child in your life, you’re no doubt aware it’s TAKS season. (TAKS: Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills – Texas’ brand of school standardized testing.) I’ll drag out the biggest soapbox I can find. Feel free to join me. And know my rant is directed beyond the local level; those toiling in our communities are hamstrung while a select out-of-touch few sit from on high and tax the minds of our greatest commodity.

There are stirrings of new educational developments here in Texas.  A group of school superintendents and administrators interested in education reform comprise what is now called the Public Education Visioning Institute. They’ve been meeting for a few years and last summer released a 48-page work-in-progress report entitled “Creating a New Vision for Public Education in Texas”. It’s an interesting read, and the ideas and concepts explored are quietly making their way to people willing, able, and ready to start a revolution.

Sociologists, psychologists, and educators are converging on a theory that the way the human brain processes information is changing due to young children’s exposure to technology in their everyday lives – long before they sit behind a desk in a classroom. Instead of working to change the way education is delivered, much time and money has been spent making sure each individual is accountable for one-size-must-fit-all standards. There’s a disconnect, and it’s easily apparent to any layperson who visits a classroom.  Creative teachers do what they can, but they’re fighting a losing battle against a massive push to sameness.

Keith Sockwell, CEO of the education consulting firm Cambridge Strategic Services says, “When we look at our public schools today, I’d say they’re doing a dadgum good job of preparing our kids for the twentieth and nineteenth century.” How unfair is that to a person charged with getting us through the twenty-first century?

Educators at local levels and school boards alike blame the loss of local control and autonomy in their respective schools, while state and federal agencies want accountability in exchange for tax dollars sent. Our children and our future hang in the middle. The new vision report by Texas educators states that the current accountability system has indeed narrowed curriculum. It was refreshing to read such an admission. I think we’ve all heard it categorically denied.

I’ve sat through many parent nights where standardized testing was an instructed-from-above talking point. There’s always at least one renegade parent making his displeasure over “teaching to the test” known. The rote response is always the same. “We can’t really teach to the test because we don’t know exactly what the state will include each year.”

While it may be true that the content of the new test each year is somewhat of a surprise, those of us with school-aged children know all too well that fact doesn’t stop the how-to-TAKE-the-test instruction.  The code word for that: strategies.  And “strategies” leave no room for any thought process other than the one the child is told to have.

Forget having strength in a particular subject area and being able to reason your way through to the correct answer. Not allowed.  And weakness?  That child will need extra practice circling, underlining, bracketing, “erasing” irrelevant information and finally solving the problem. On the test, all that matters is getting the correct answer . . . not good if you’re a nine-year old who gets too bogged down in the “process” of test taking to ever reach that answer.

With educators who know the system leading the charge, maybe the time is right for a revolution of sorts. Parents, teachers, and administrators whose lives are intertwined with children daily know this isn’t working. The world’s problems won’t be solved with homogenous thinkers armed with little more than No. 2 pencils and scan tron answer forms. Communities need to get behind this group and with one loud voice state, “No more TAKSation without representation!” 

© 2009 Natalie Whatley     

Ever have one of those weeks when everything seems all out of sort? One where you have a lot on your proverbial mental plate and you can’t get focused on even the most mindless of tasks? (Cough…Like writing a newspaper column.)  That’s exactly where I was this past week, and I’m finding it difficult to give that location a name.

The only word that comes to mind is discombobulated.  (My children fuss at me frequently for using big words in my column. They read and want to know just what in the heck I’m talking about. I hand them a dictionary. They roll their eyes. I smile because it is my pleasure to annoy them . . . turnabout is fair play.)

I decided to consult Webster’s before using the term to be sure it was indeed a real word and an accurate portrayal of my state of my mind. I have this quirky little habit of making up words; then I use them frequently enough that they become real to me. Thus the reason I was unsure of discombobulate’s status.  

A couple of my trusty dictionaries didn’t have a listing. Upon consulting additional bound paper reference sources, I finally found an entry. Much to my dismay, it appeared I was discombobulated over the meaning of discombobulate. And you thought you had problems.

Discombobulate: to confuse or disconcert; upset or frustrate, has been noted as a fine example of the speech of the Wild Frontier. The word came to use some time in the 1830’s. There is no particular individual credited with inventing the word, but those who study these types of things (etymologists) say it must have been someone who enlarged his (etymologists chose the masculine pronoun) vocabulary by grossly disfiguring the innocent elements of the English language. I guarantee this “man” occupies at least a twig on my family tree.  I know this will fly in the face of conventional wisdom, but this is also proof George W. Bush does not have the market cornered on bungling our language.

I thought discombobulated meant that I was feeling out of sorts and disconnected. It’s not going to sound nearly as intelligent to tell you I was feeling a bit scatter-brained this week. In the end, I located an online dictionary entry that showed discombobulated to mean exactly what I originally thought –disconnected and unbalanced. There was no mention of confusion or frustration, but I’ll certainly add those to my discombobulated repertoire.

I started this little disjointed journey feeling a bit like my head was detached from the rest of me. After wasting precious minutes of your life reading this, you’re all probably ready to search me out and make that feeling a reality.

The truth behind my unsettled thoughts is that my own personal world is changing almost more rapidly than I can stand, and the swirl of what I view as my outer world is scaring the daylights out of me.  I’m torn. I desire success for our new President because the continuation of the greatness of the United States of America depends on it. But I can’t wrap my mind around policies set on taking this country away from the ideals of our founding fathers.  On that, I’m completely combobulated.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley