Natalie Whatley

I doubt that anyone reading needs to be reminded, but in the event you somehow managed to escape the constant barrage: Election Day is this Tuesday, November 4. It can’t come and go soon enough for me.  Am I alone in feeling we’ve been on a winding cross-country road trip, stuck behind the media driving the whole way with their left turn signal on?

Navigating life is sometimes difficult for the opinionated person who chooses their own route. A degree of irritation ensues when detours are forced by the likes of those whose claim to fame is “analysis” of polling data collected on polling data. What’s funny about that is that they’re just now starting to catch on to the fact that some people are not truthful in answering polls. I stopped responding to such calls, but have fantasized about picking up the phone and toying with the pollster on the other end. I resent the “from on high” arrogance…just give me the facts, and I’ll decide what they mean. I can’t help not wanting to be told what I should think; it’s embedded in my DNA. How’s that for shifting the blame?

I refrained from breaking out into full blown political rants here for various reasons. The primary one being that I respect any individual who has taken the time to learn about the issues and form opinions – even if they don’t square with my own. I can’t hear you yell at the newspaper; although, I wish I could. While I admit to being hard-headed (also embedded in my DNA), I’m not too proud to change my mind when presented with hard facts and intelligent argument. Sparring partners are hard to find, and not because there’s a shortage of intelligence, but rather a shortage of people who can keep their heads. I can walk away from a heated discussion and still consider the dissenter a friend.  I’m undecided on whether that’s a blessing or a curse.

Spirited debate and lively conversation with those who have opposing views is actually a form of recreation for me. (Feel very sorry for my family.) The dinner table at my house has been rather boisterous given my children are forming opinions of their own and voting in mock elections at school.  I apologize in advance to teachers and my children’s future mates, who will no doubt deal with the minds I have “corrupted” by pushing them to defend their stance.  Future Thanksgivings ought to be a riot.

History tells me we’ve driven through trying times before. Still, this election feels like a very pivotal moment – one historians will review long after our days. No matter which direction we collectively turn, history will be made. Only the test of time will tell if we got it right, and even then there will be argument.  Some of us will look back and say we had no choice but to move with the flow of traffic. It is an inescapable fact that we’re all in this together.

Regardless of where we find ourselves come Wednesday morning, the good news is that each one of us will remain in the driver’s seat of our own destiny. Have a destination in mind, know how to get there, and most importantly, don’t follow the dope driving with his turn signal on.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Last week, my friend and fellow columnist Bert Marshall wrote a fine piece entitled “We are what we consume” where he played with the old saying “you are what you eat”. He pointed out that the statement correlates to much more than physical sustenance alone.  We consume through various channels; for better or for worse, that consumption determines who we are, and who we will become. While digesting Bert’s words, some pretty profound thoughts began eating at me.  

I’m suffering ever-increasing ambivalence when it comes to being a consumer. It’s hard to square my feelings given I’m one of capitalism’s biggest fans, but it has not escaped me that I spend my days in either of two ways: consuming (shopping), or managing the consumption (making lists for future shopping excursions while cleaning and organizing items already purchased). It’s a never-ending cycle. I’m weary from it. I even stand in line and pay hard-earned money to participate in such madness. The tail is wagging the dog, and this dog is nauseated.

I suppose it’s a little strange that I have such sentiments given that I came of age in the ‘80s with the tune of Madonna’s “Material Girl” telling me how life should be.  What a difference 20 years, jobs, car payments, a mortgage, three children and a dog make.  Funny, I feel almost blessed to have found out it was all a lie.  

Currently, a visit to any store reminds me that I should be preparing for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years…simultaneously. That daunting task must be performed with a happy spirit, stylish attire and seasonally appropriate home decor. I’m failing miserably on all fronts. It’s a personal matter for now, but I know all too well those failings become very public. Inquiring minds want to know. The sad truth is that I’m struggling too hard with the basics – clean socks/underwear and meals – to be excited over the holidays.  I get heartburn just thinking about them.

One of the basic tenets behind advertising is to create “need” for products. Once you’re convinced your life will be greatly improved by disposable toilet brushes with a retail price of $4.99 for a package of three refills and $9.99 for the “starter wand”, why you’ll never again be forced to own one that costs a fraction of the price and lasts for years.  It’s that very force that brought me to realize what we’ve all been sold:  “you are what you consume” …and if you consume nothing, you are nothing. It’s a sad state of affairs.

In the most literal sense, it is true that we must have nourishment to survive; we don’t, however, really need most of what we’ve been led to believe life wouldn’t be worth living without. I’m not sure when or how it happened, but I suppose a long stint of prosperity delivered this one. I can’t help but think it’s what also led to the economic issues we’re seeing today.  We’ve all got to have it all, and at what cost? Indigestion and an upset stomach.

While I don’t invite the issues that come along during economic downturns, I’m sort of looking forward to the possibility of simpler times. Times when it won’t seem so terribly uncouth not to be consumed by looking for the next bigger and better [insert your choice here].Times when the contents of a man’s character account for far more than the contents of his shopping cart.

There are only 60 shopping days left until you know when. Pass the pink stuff; I’ve got a lot of consuming to do.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Here it is October in Texas. It doesn’t get much better in my book. The cooler days tempered with the perfect amount of sunshine cause most of us to find an excuse to be outside. Just for you, I’m toiling away indoors. Please don’t feel guilty. I’m sitting by an open window enjoying a most pleasant breeze along with the sights and sounds of the many birds and squirrels sharing my piece of real estate.  Lucky animals. They care not of last week’s presidential non-debate, upcoming elections, the Wall Street bail-out, or the impending political “October surprise” we keep hearing pundits warn is coming.  That’s the life.

I’ve heard some say we’re in a financial crisis at least equivalent to the Great Depression. So, I’m not much in the mood to do any fall decorating which includes adorning my flowerbeds with mums, pumpkins and other items that will find their way to the trash immediately following Thanksgiving. I may need the money required for such frivolity to feed my family. And, at some point I may be forced to forage with my little furry friends.  I have a survival advantage in that I’m watching where they’re burying the acorns, and I’m bigger. (Mental note: research acorn recipes when this week’s writing complete.)

Thank goodness my children are beyond the point of wanting highly-marketed, cheaply-made, but still very expensive Halloween costumes.  I learned years ago what the real October surprise is for new parents: the price tag for dolling up little cherubs so that they can mingle with all the other little cherubs at fall social events.  The joke is on you, Mom and Dad. The pricey costume will spend the evening draped over your arm because it’s too itchy, too hot, scratchy, hurts, broke, ripped, etc.  

 After getting over the crafting and sewing inabilities that kept me from being chosen for the “my-child-has-the-best-costume -ever” competition team, I learned that kids can be pretty darn frugal and creative when left to their own costuming devices. The sickest parental participants are those gifted enough to make great-looking costumes. They don’t mind telling everyone within ear-shot, “Oh, I just threw it together over a weekend with some scraps left over from the curtains I fashioned out of garage-sale bed sheets.”  There’s a special place for people like that. No, not THERE…the psychiatric ward. It’s too bad hot glue guns would probably not be allowed in the padded rooms. That’s a shame. Pardon me for not being more sympathetic.

Speaking of guns, how many of you recall dressing up for Halloween and going to school alongside GI Joe, a mobster, or a cowboy complete with a toy replica of the appropriate firearm?  It really did happen back in the day, right here in Baytown. I have the 1983 Gentry Mustang yearbook, complete with incriminating photos to prove it. Times have changed. Show up at school like that now, and you’ll not see the light of day ever again.

In these trying times, we must all do our part to keep the economy afloat. Please purchase large quantities of cavity-inducing confectionary delights. You’ve got a few weeks to stock up. It’s necessary that we load the little darlings down with goodies, and then make sure they consume it all sparingly. If we are indeed about to see Depression-era-like times, today’s children, and myself for that matter, are not going to know what hit them.  In that kind of world, I bet acorns taste like chicken.  

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

I’ve been in a real funk this past week.  It’s not a side I generally allow the public to see, but since you’re becoming like family I figure it’s okay to let you view the not-so-flattering, and hope you’ll tolerate me anyway.

It all started with a phone call to the Public Utilities Commission, and the mailing of a $700 check to my now former electric provider. I called the PUC because my now former electric provider was “experiencing heavier than usual call volume”, could not take my call, and asked that I please try again at a later date. I did just that, and I bet you already know I never spoke to a living soul.

Seems many folks were pretty roasted (literally) over the 49% rate increase. The PUC had already heard my story verbatim from countless others. Long story short: Make sure you know your current rate, and when it will expire.  If you’ve not “locked in” on a rate, providers may charge whatever they like, and are not obligated to notify you of an increase – not even of the 49% magnitude. But, “thank you for being a valued customer, who always paid your bill on time, and have a nice day.”

On top of that, there has been way too much economic news that I just can’t peel myself from.  It’s hard to ignore the fact that you and I are going to shoulder even more  as our government plans to bail out yet another large institution that has been geared towards making homeowners out of people who would have been turned away in years past.  It’s maddening, I tell you. 

As an odd coincidence, I happened to be reading a rather interesting recently-published book titled House Lust by: Daniel McGinn.  It comes on the heels of what some are calling a real-estate market bust, and is a fascinating read on how those of us in middle-class America have been marketed to by developers and big-box home improvement stores. We’ve been sold that what was once a dream is now a necessity. 

As I read, I saw the pattern that began to develop right around the time I first became a proud homeowner in 1995.  By today’s standards, my home is sadly lacking. In some eyes, I guarantee we’re downright “slumming” it.  I really don’t know how we’ve managed without granite countertops or a master bath befitting royalty, but I’m told that in the very least I should be unhappy about it.

At the time of my purchase, I worked in Houston with several who saw pictures of my new abode, and teased me about owning a mansion. They lived in West University, where what I paid here would have netted a postage-stamp-size lot, with no improvements.   I thought I had a good thing.

Mulling over our economic woes, and the vast short comings of the place I don’t mind calling home, a silver lining presented itself.  An article entitled, “Is frugal the new black?” by Allison Linn caught my eye. It said my penny-pinching ways are now in vogue as increasing numbers are being forced to at least explore some degree of frugality. If I’m now so cool, why am I burning up? My guess would be to avoid sending another $700 to my now former electric provider.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

At the beginning of this year, I set out on a mission to locate the parts of me that became dormant as I traveled back through early childhood with my children.  Each day, I nudge my three fledglings out of the nest and remain “on call” should there be any in-flight problems. They rarely need me during the weekdays, so I’ve had some time to work on “getting a life” and making some changes to some fairly long-standing routines.

Starting a personal campaign for change during a high stakes national-election year was not at all good timing on my part. I must first confess to being a political junkie. It’s a piece of genetic code I’m sure some close to me wish hadn’t crossed the cell wall. Even worse, legal training has taught me to poke holes to the point of irritating even myself. Recent local and national politics has been more than enough to keep my mind occupied.  In essence, I’m far too distracted by all the external stimuli, and can’t get focused on my own agenda.  

Nationally, we have the war on terrorism, immigration, energy woes, and healthcare weighing on our collective minds as we move to elect a new leader. The polarization over solutions to those colossal problems has been astounding.  I’ve watched the primaries in utter amazement as stalwarts on both sides of the aisle crossed over to vote against the candidate viewed as the more formidable opponent. I’ve not seen anything like it in my voting tenure.

Locally, our new city manager and sitting council members are aggressively pursuing much-needed change. There’s angst over garage sales, crime, the hunt for a new police chief, Texas Avenue, upcoming city council elections, possible barge terminal,  and thrown on top for good measure: Goose Creek CISD’s  opening of a third high school. We can at least be thankful the rezoning process is complete – I’m afraid that would have been the coup de grâce. Looking at the reactions, Baytown is a textbook case in resistance to change.

Within my own walls, I have a teen getting through his first year of high school, and learning to drive; a fifth grader leaving elementary in mere weeks; and a little girl stressing over taking the TAKS test for the first time. The teenager flips back and forth between being an adult and a child; I never quite know which one I’m dealing with, and I’m starting to see symptoms of spring fever in all three. Then there’s me fumbling around in a stupor searching for a long lost alter ego. It‘s difficult to motivate others in maintaining focus, when I’ve been unable to do it myself lately.

Russian writer, and author of War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy said, “True life is lived when tiny changes occur.”  That explains my inability to hone in on what I’m looking for, and points to why I’m feeling so overwhelmed. Too many big things are up in the air and the winds of change are gusty.

I think I’ll borrow my son’s kite and head outside. “Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.” ~Winston Churchill

© 2008 Natalie Whatley