Natalie Whatley

With the new year still fresh and folks aiming to form new habits for a few more weeks before giving up a little saying came my way that made me think it was something we all could do: Learn something new every day.

Since I have held myself up as a vast receptacle of mostly useless knowledge, a few of you delight in sending things my way and no doubt get tickled when I reply, “I had not heard of that”.

Anyway, on just such an occasion this past week that happened and I got a, “learn something new every day” response.

It was meant as a statement, but having read an unlikely book (for me) recently, I decided that statement should be more of a challenge. That’s one I would gladly take on, and it would not be painful at all.

I’ll have to back up a bit and tell you that weeks ago I received in an e-mail a YouTube video of the record-setting, late, former UCLA men’s basketball coach, John Wooden.  Not something I’d typically spend time on, but I was assured he was a philosopher of sorts in addition to several other wonderful things.

So, I gave it a watch. WOW!

Sports guys, excluding The Sun’s sports writer Todd Hveem, who cracks me up and actually has me reading the sports section (I never used to do that), don’t usually garner my attention.  And I must admit that ignorance only begins to scratch the surface of describing me in the sports regard.

But in my never-ending quest to further enlighten myself, I see some of those sports guys have some great points that relate to life, not just on how to score a touchdown when the bases are loaded. Just kidding on that touchdown. Maybe. Fore!

Anyway, true to my form I looked Wooden up only to discover he had penned a few books about sports, but also ones about how to succeed in life. Wooden would probably chuckle over this, but I believe he must have been the inspiration for Star Wars’ Yoda.

Allow your brain to try on these excerpts, “Learn Forever, Die Tomorrow. Early on I came to believe that you should learn as if you were going to live forever, and live as if you were going to die tomorrow. What does this mean? In the simplest way, I would explain it like this.”

“Always be learning, acquiring knowledge, and seeking wisdom with a sense that you are immortal and that you will need much knowledge and wisdom for that long journey ahead. Know that when you are through learning, you are through.”

Given this information-at-our-fingertips age, learning something new each day is easy, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to “be through” even though I see the wisdom in living like today might be my last.

So, am I talking about hours a day spent delving into something new? No.

Just take a few mere minutes outside your comfort zone, and you, too, will be amazed at what you see. I never knew a basketball coach could ever gain my rapt attention. Learn something new every day.

© 2012 Natalie Whatley

Sometimes life stings. We’ve all had our bee-in-the bonnet moments and some of us handle such excitability and/or distress with style and grace. Others of us, not so much.

Earlier this week a Lynden, Washington man took rather explosive retaliation against a beehive.  One of the hive’s inhabitants had stung the man’s friend earlier in the day.

The online Associated Press story stated the man dumped gasoline on the beehive in a tree, and then ignited the hive, causing an explosion heard throughout the man’s suburban neighborhood.

The fire chief also reported that the night fire caused a large “whoosh”, singed the tree and killed the bees. No humans were hurt.

At first glance, I harbored some admiration for the unnamed man who took decisive action rather than brooding over the seeming injustice.

 I recall many times when life buzzed on over to my person and planted its bee-hind’s stinger into my flesh, enraging me with a trivial annoyance that provoked a way-too-explosive response. Raise your hand if you can relate.

Anyway, my smug grin and I were about to move on when I noticed plenty of folks were inflamed and felt compelled to comment.

As I read others’ thoughts, I became very ashamed of having related to bee-havior that was deemed idiotic and irresponsible by the masses. How embarrassing. Please forgive me for enjoying living vicariously through—in the words of our brethren— “an idiot”.

Now, I’m usually a big-picture kind of girl, but I have to admit I totally missed the horrific implications of the bar-bee-cue.

While the fire and the ensuing explosion could have been big trouble for the man’s neighbors, it was the killing of all those bees that had folks fired up.

Without getting all scientific and further showing my ignorance, bee populations have been dwindling since 1972 and folks who are up on apiculture (beekeeping) have been buzzing the alarm.

In 2006, the term “colony collapse” started circulating as concerns rose over lack of bees to pollinate food crops, and in the past five years the problem has only gotten worse. Recent studies suggest the issue is a combination of environmental stressors that are setting off a cascade of events that in turn cause worker bees to be more susceptible to pests and pathogens.

In short, we need every bee we can get.

And there I was: sad, stupid sap thinking he sure showed those stingers who was boss! 

But then I was zealously reminded of certain death by starvation coming to all human-kind should bees die off entirely – some say they’re closer than they’ve ever been in our recorded history.

Local officials involved in the incident stated the proper course of action would have been to call a beekeeper for removal. It did not appear the man was going to be cited.

I’m sure the public humiliation of his bee-havior being the “demise of all mankind” (that’s an actual quote from an interested party) will be punishment enough.

I think the bigger story was in how anger often moves us to fiery explosions – the implications of which we simply don’t see in our enraged state. I certainly don’t bee-grudge the man on getting his retaliation, but since I was so sympathetic, anger should get thee bee-hind me before I blow something up.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

It’s been one of those weeks. I even had to use a sick day –after I was duly reminded that moms get them, too. Plus, my body forced my hand and simply refused to cooperate on the to-do list. Missing that one day threw my whole already-busy week out of whack.  I persevered, but you’ll likely not see the fruits of that here.

On that day of supposed rest, I didn’t even feel like holding a book. My mind wouldn’t settle enough for sleep, so I attempted what I thought would be the next best thing and turned on the television. My, my. Three-hundred some-odd channels delivered to my home via satellite and not a thing worth watching mid-day. Long story short: not much rattling around in my head that I much feel like prattling on about. But I skimmed the surface of a couple of things.

First off, if your newspaper was delivered and you’re reading this, Harold Camping of Oakland, California’s Family Radio will be cleaning egg off his face, again. According to Mr. Camping, the world came to an end yesterday at 6 p.m. sharp— precisely 7,000 years to the day after the Great Flood that spared Noah and his Ark. He and his supporters purchased signs all over the world warning that the end was near. He made a similar prediction in 1994. Best I can tell mankind is still here.

Goodness, I’d almost hate to be wrong about this man, poke fun, and possibly suffer eternal damnation, but others have come before him making such claims, and I’m always reminded of the passage in the Bible that says, “No man can know the day or hour” when the end on Earth will come. Not one of us is guaranteed a tomorrow. Does it matter if we all go at the same time? Sure, I’d like my little cherubs grow up and be tormented by children just like themselves, but things such as these are out of our control.

The next thing that got me to wondering, since I am due to attend one today:  What exactly is a high school baccalaureate service? (A little embarrassed to have asked that publicly, but I’m sure I’m not alone.) I remember my own, but in typical 18-year-old-graduate fashion I was so in awe of wearing the cap and gown, knowing I was almost DONE with the requisite public education, that I really didn’t pay attention.

I’m ashamed to admit that. What can I say? Don’t we all have the world by the tail at that age? I had loftier ideas (hey, it’s relative!) floating around my noggin. I was looking around seeing how the other girls incorporated the cap into their BIG 80s hairdos, or something like that.  Important stuff when commencement followed the next week.  I’d never see some of those folks again – wanted to leave a good last impression.

Anyway, turns out, it was pretty much what I thought: A celebration honoring a graduating class whereby speakers of all kinds address the graduates. The service usually has a religious slant. Many public schools have done away with the service as “separation of church and state” has been cited.

I also learned that while we still have the services locally, they are not nearly as well-attended as they have been in the past. Seems a shame that end has come.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

I often feel I was born in the wrong era. Ever-changing technology is sometimes the bane of my existence. Gadgets that are supposed to make my life simpler, in a word . . . don’t.

But something once only seen in science fiction became reality in areas needing top security and has now trickled down to the average consumer for home use. Better yet, it’s potentially affordable with its $99 price tag. (I use “potentially” because with gas prices going like they are other things —food and basic shelter come to mind—may take priority.)

This past week New York-based Hoyos Group unveiled EyeLock – the first and only portable iris-scanning device. I know you’re wondering what in the world any of us ordinary folks would need with such equipment, but please hear me out.

Of course identity theft has become a huge problem and something all of us must think about; this technology can make it much harder for hackers to reach sensitive information. While that no doubt makes me smile, it was yet another “perk” that caused me to investigate further.

While I don’t conduct my entire life online, it’s become close. Doing so has caused me to create user names and passwords in innumerable places. And I know better than to write them all down in a handy place for would-be ne’er do wells to wreak havoc and equally as important not to use the same password for everything. I know some of you techno smarty pants are saying, “There are apps and/or software for that”, but I’m just not interested. Stubborn does not begin to describe me in this regard.

Thankfully, The Big Guy blessed me with an incredible memory, and I have committed it all. It’s a lot. Be very impressed. It’s my own little parlor trick, but it has caused me to take up valuable space in a noggin that’s just about reached its storage limit. I need to free some space for higher-level items. Thus the reason I was thrilled by this newly-available-to-me technology.

The portable iris-scanning device, the size of a standard business card and weighing a mere four ounces, comes in the form of a USB drive. A program is installed on the computer and users decide which applications they’d like to protect. A wand-like scanner held in front of the eye will automatically log me in.  How great is that? I don’t ever forget to have my eyeballs with me.

Of course this whole thing probably invokes thoughts of some pretty gruesome crimes, but Hoyos representatives say our irises go flat upon death which will not result in a positive scan allowing computer entry. I hope criminals are aware of that fact. Manufacturers of similar technology have admitted that “live-tissue verification” has been a “concern”. Could some of these machines be duped by high-quality photography? Progress and research are ongoing.

Other companies working with similar technology hope to place in iris-recognition devices in banks and at ATM machines. And law enforcement could certainly more effectively use the 2,000 points of the human iris compared to the around 18 of the fingerprint. Who knows where it will all lead, but eye think eye like it!

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

It’s alarming what must be done to prepare little cherubs for the rigors of the real world, and at this time I’m only too happy to do it! I have mentioned before that I have sleep issues. Sometimes when my body desperately needs some shut-eye, I just can’t perform.  Now, sleep issues of a different variety have taken me over, and today I’m sounding the alarm.

The moment when I will forever resign from the personal wake-up-call business has officially arrived. Time has run out for those who utilized my services. Per the legal requirement of my contract, this column will serve as notice by publication.

It’s spring fever season, and despite the fact that I reside with three teenagers I admit that by far I have the worst case. But since I aimed to be a responsible adult figure, I set my ailment aside and fulfilled my parental obligations. No more. Young people who have math homework I no longer understand can surely figure out an alarm clock.

Each morning for many years I’ve had myself and three others to pry from the bed —not an easy task considering my three charges are night owls. (I was one, too, way back in the day before motherhood. My own dear parents even likened me in the early morning to a stirred rattlesnake.  Now I’m ready to hit the hay no later than nine and then it’s a toss up on whether I’ll fall asleep or not. Either way, I’ve never been one to bound out of bed. I’m only highly motivated now because waking and sending cherubs off to school means I get the house to myself all day. Yes, that makes me rattle my tail and I assure you anger has no place in it!)

Years of experience tells me that the behavior pushing me to my limits hits its peak as we approach the final lap of the school year. And even though I know that this too shall pass, making ample room for me to complain about something else, I’m still handing over the torch and hanging up my angel wings.

It all starts the night before with wishes of good nights, sweet dreams, and darling not-so-little cherubs requesting morning wake-up visits at very specific times. To make my job even more difficult, the times change almost daily. It’s hard for my pea-brain to keep straight. I may have—a time or two—awakened the wrong cherub at the wrong time.

One, who shall remain nameless, has his entire day ruined if his personal clock reads one minute too early or too late upon my arrival. And he’s quite vocal about it. Takes all of a nanosecond (that’s one billionth of a second) for my angelic demeanor to turn devilish. From there I begin a triangular path between three bedrooms . . . getting meaner and more impatient with each lap.

As I’m sure is quite apparent, I didn’t read the fine print before I signed on for my twenty-plus year stint, but working conditions have just become too risky for the safety of all parties involved. So, I hereby officially declare in writing that I will no longer sound the wake-up alarm. Nor will I pen notes of excuse for any party who may arrive at school late. How’s that for alarming?

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

It’s spring and that means butterfly season, which reminds me of a chaos theory in physics. My mind works in some strange ways, doesn’t it? I’m no expert in anything scientific, but that’s never stopped me from rambling before, so I’ll not let it impede me today.

The Butterfly Effect theory goes that the tiny motion of a butterfly flapping its wings creates a slight gust of wind that could create a hurricane on the other side of the world. More or less meaning a very small initial movement can have a significant end result. Let’s pause and ponder that for a moment.

I don’t care much about the technical stuff behind the whole butterfly migration which has supposedly been slowed a bit this year by late frosty temps well to our north, but I enjoy their beauty when I’m fortunate enough to catch a glimpse. On a particularly lucky day, one landed on my shoulder. It was an amazing moment I wish I could’ve captured in a photograph, or at least had a witness present, if only to prove that I can and do stand perfectly still when I want to.

Anyway, I’ve had a couple of recent sightings and those always have the same effect on me: lightens my mood and never fails to bring a smile to my face. But the best part is the potential far-reaching effects my brightened state has on others after the fact. Just thinking about it makes my heart go aflutter along with my imaginary wings.

The average life cycle of the butterfly only lasts about a month. What happens in that time is nothing short of astonishing. Imagine spending your entire existence constantly making changes so extreme that you’re unrecognizable at the end of your journey. Of course it’s all very symbolic of growth and transformation . . . something I wish I could endure as gracefully and maybe as quickly as the butterfly, but I digress.

What I really wanted to point out was that we can use the sight of those beautiful spring creatures as a reminder that a positive attitude, a smile, and kindness for a stranger or even a loved one can start ripples that grow into large waves. Each one of us has the ability in the chaos of the world to use tiny efforts that will grow exponentially and reach further than we could possibly see. Imagine the implications.

Flutter your wings. Show the vivid colors you earned through your own transformations. Make someone’s day. It’s quite catching and proof that there really is some predictable, beautiful order to be seen in the unpredictable chaos of life.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

I’m going to date myself this week. And it’s too bad because the intended audience is probably way too young to fully appreciate where I’m coming from.

Remember the Chiffon margarine commercials from the 1970s? The ones where a sweet, matronly-looking woman wearing a flowing white gown and a crown of daisies ominously declared, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!” after she was duped by real-butter-tasting margarine. If that wasn’t scary enough, she then threw her arms in the air and produced a flash of lightning and a thunderous clatter.

And here I am some thirty-plus years later. She is me. I am her . . . angelic aura, white gown, floral crown, sweet as can be. That is, until I’m provoked. Let me state for the record that I consider myself a bit superior to the role actress Dena Dietrich portrayed. It takes far more than a butter substitute to awaken my wrath.

It’s that time of year —spring—when kids young and old get a bit mischievous and tired moms get testy. Strike that. I don’t need to be tired to be testy. Just play some little not-so-funny prank and watch the show! I’m going to start selling tickets.

One particularly harried day, I had after-school appointments one right after the other with plenty of time to arrive relaxed at both IF there were no glitches. (I know, betting on a big IF, but things had run smoothly for months on end.) Striving for the utmost in efficiency, I drove to the kids’ bus stop to retrieve them immediately upon disembarkment.  For the first time in ages, they were no-shows at the designated time.

Text message to Jeremy: “You on your way?”

Jeremy’s reply: “We were but the bus has a flat. We’re on the side of the road waiting.”

Of all days! Murphy’s Law, I suppose.

Text to Jeremy: “Can I come get you?”

Jeremy’s reply: “No. Driver isn’t letting anyone off the bus. We’re going to be a while.”

I won’t tell you what all was flashing through my mind, but rest assured it wasn’t spring’s butterflies and rainbows.  While uttering not-so-sweet nothings to fate I dialed appointment number one. Ok, it was only a hair appointment, BUT for a twelve year-old girl with an impossible schedule. We waited six weeks for just the right day. And if you’ve never dealt with a young lady and her hair . . . count your blessings.

Just for grins, and as I apologized for a last-minute cancellation to the very busy Hair Queen, Sharon Saenz, I thought I’d drive over and see where the bus was stopped. But wait. Said bus entered the neighborhood as I exited. How could that be? And, WOW, those GCCISD mechanics are FAST!

With Sharon still on the line I began mumbling incoherently, but managed to say I’d call her right back.

Annoyed phone call to Jeremy: “Is that your bus that just turned in?”

Jeremy’s reply:  “Yes”

My new not-a-mommy-mobile whipped around all on its own. Red (that’s my car’s name), among her many other talents, can read my mind. She took me quickly, yet safely and driving well under posted speed limits, to my darling cherubs at the bus stop.

I called Mrs. Sharon Saenz back and through loud claps of thunder and rips of lightning she was able to make out that we were coming after all. And Jeremy learned that on some days it’s not wise to mess with his mother’s sweet nature.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

I’m going to try and make as much sense as possible, but I’m in desperate need of some mental rest.  The old noodle is not firing on all cylinders. You may contact my fully-staffed (takes a lot of folks to run it) complaint department should you feel the need.

This week’s offering comes on the heels of seven days spent in sunny Florida with low temps in the mid 50s, highs in the low 70s, few high clouds . . . in brief, GORGEOUS! Be very envious.  I saw The Mouse and a whole lot more, but the best part was the change in scenery. To say I desperately needed it would be a colossal understatement.

Thanks to one loveable canine, it had been 9 long years since we had been away from home for any length of time. Scooter suffers terribly from separation anxiety and has never done well being away from me.  

Attempts at leaving him with family resulted in the Lynn and Linda Rowe residence having an “emergency exit” created in a screened-in patio and a front-door frame nearly chewed through after the attempted patio escape failed. They were quite kind to him—even after he damaged their lovely home.

Through his undying devotion he wanted me and no substitute would suffice. Am I a lucky girl, or what? He’s eleven and still sits at the door and cries when I leave. I’ve told him—lovingly, of course— that he’s really too old to be acting that way.

Anyway, I enlisted the help of Dr. Mat Dobbs and Crosby Boarding Kennel as I was in dire need of some time away. Scooter would have to stay behind.  The Rowes, doting grand-dog-parents to Scooter welcomed him to their home, but Jeff wasn’t so keen on making repairs upon his return.

As if Scooter’s severe attachment to me wasn’t problem enough, he has a nervous stomach. In short, if I fuss at him for any reason or heaven forbid leave him, he has “gastrointestinal issues”. I won’t elaborate. It’s every bit as bad as you imagine . . . and then some. I get the warm fuzzies just thinking about cleaning up the mess.

Dr. Dobbs started him on some medication for his tummy days prior to our departure and, well, I can’t speak highly enough about the staff at Crosby Boarding Kennels. They didn’t even laugh at me when I bawled the morning Scooter checked in.

Standing in their office and meeting them, I had no reservations whatsoever that my dear Scooter was going to receive the finest of care. But the look on his face once he was “locked up” . . .  Pardon me, someone pass a tissue. 

I’ve wished a few times that Scooter understood English and not just the inflection of my voice, but never so much as that morning. I know he sensed my distress over his distress, which surely compounded the agony over my abrupt departure. (I had to get out of there! But let it all go in the truck . . . makeup job RUINED!)

In the end and with a little help from our friends Dr. Dobbs and Crosby Boarding Kennel, Scooter and I managed just fine.  But if our activity level and inseparability in holding down the lounge chair are any indication, we need a vacation. It’s stressful being away from each other!

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

Since the weather mimics the inner workings of my mind, you can all thank me for the fabulous clarity of the past week’s skies. What a pleasant change from that fogged-up mess we had the week prior.

I took the blame for all the fog and just plain yuckiness we endured here in our little corner of the world before the amazing run that led us into March. It seemed my muddled brain got us into the mess, so I figured I’d do the courteous thing and get us out.

I headed over to the Sterling Municipal Library because browsing always cheers me up as new information redirects my thought processes. Upon arrival I made my usual beeline for the new non-fiction. I don’t typically wander much beyond that close-to-the-door point even though I know there are vast possibilities beyond it.

Because hazy, gray, blah had taken me over, a sunny orange hardcover with a smiley face entitled “The Happiness Advantage” called to me in a chirpy voice. (I realize that books speaking to me is a problem which surely needs addressing, but it’s way down on the priority list.)

“Happiness” author, Shawn Achor, is a native Texan who studied at Harvard and went on to teach happiness courses there and for major corporations worldwide. I was impressed.

Something happened when I toted the book to my outdoor lounge chair and began reading:  The skies cleared, the clouds parted, and birds began to sing! Scooter and I have the tans to prove we witnessed every bit of it firsthand – for days in a row while my poor family toiled away indoors at work and school. (Thanks in advance for keeping that information our little secret. They think Scooter naps and that I sit on the couch and eat bon-bons all day while occasionally doing laundry.)

While the work goes into seven different happiness principles, the Tetris Effect was fascinating. The name came about years ago when video gamers played the “deceptively simple” block-stacking game for hours. Afterwards, players found themselves “involuntarily seeing Tetris shapes wherever they looked.”  Such repetitious games literally retrain our brains to see patterns of possibility.

Achor suggests using that kind of cognitive training to teach ourselves how to scan the world looking for the positive opportunities and ideas that will allow our success to grow. The inverse, looking for the worst in everything seems to come more naturally to many of us. Achor goes on to say that, “when our brains constantly scan for and focus on the positive, we profit from three of the most important tools available to us: happiness, gratitude, and optimism.” Who among us couldn’t stand a little more of those?

He doesn’t peddle irrational optimism, but rather a be-happy-now message. No waiting until . . . fill in your own blank. He turns a long-held belief that success precedes happiness on end and gives compelling arguments that make far too much sense not to be true; large scientific studies back him up.

While I don’t have the patience or hand-eye coordination to play Tetris, even I can take my brain out and play with it. With any luck, I won’t lose it. Let the mind games begin!

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

I suppose a sign that I’m getting older —as opposed to old—is that I’m becoming set in my ways. And to be honest, I’m not interested in changing.

Nowhere in my life is the preceding more true than when it comes to electronic gadgetry. In case you haven’t noticed, small hand-held electronics have taken over some individual worlds and are collectively taking over the universe. My stubbornness causes me to be left behind the trend.  I use the ones I must to survive and only because I went there kicking and screaming.  

Take for example my cell phone:  You should have seen the confusion on faces when I walked into my service provider’s store and explained I wanted one that made phone calls. Period.  Because all phones have text messaging capability, I have graduated and become quite adept. It was that or lose all contact with some of the humans in my life.

The “smart phones”, I’m not smart enough. But it doesn’t matter. When I step outside the confines of my home I enjoy being away from the internet and phone.  Only a select few have the number to the Nat phone  . . .  not to be confused with the super-secret Bat phone. Facebook (I have a love/hate relationship with the social network, but that’s another story for another day) and email have no place in my away-from-home life. I’m simply not that important, nor do I want to be that accessible all the live-long day.

It’s no secret, either, that I am an avid reader. So, the e-reader craze —Amazon’s Kindle and Barnes and Noble’s Nook—has been brought to my attention plenty of times. Close family members own them, and I have had a chance to explore the electronic wonders. I don’t like them.  I know, I know, I can carry an entire library in my purse and have it at my fingertips any time I please. Doesn’t matter.  I like the feel of a book in my hands. And I don’t care how realistic the sound of an electronic page turning is, it’s not the same.

My new car: More bells and whistles than I know what to do with! The push of a button (if I knew which one to push) will do and tell me all sorts of things I supposedly need and need to know.  Accelerator, brakes, steering wheel, and basic radio. That’s all I need because the car “senses” everything else and adjusts for me!  I will never use the full capabilities of that machinery. Sort of seems like a waste.

And someone near and dear to me keeps his grocery list on a cell-phone “app” (that’s an electronic program application for my brethren even less informed than me) . . . sorted by the aisles of the grocery store! I’m sorry, but faster than he can consult the extra appendage now permanently attached to his hand, I can write it down on the magnetic notepad stuck to the side of my refrigerator.  Since I spend countless hours in the stores, no need for aisle numbers; I know where everything is located.

Come to think of it, maybe I am smart enough.  I have all the information I need to function through my day right up in the old noodle. I guess that’s why I don’t panic when I’m not electronically tethered, unlike some people I know.  So in this case, I’d say ignorance is bliss!

© 2011 Natalie Whatley