Natalie Whatley

I must make you all aware that my fellow columnist, the great Jim Finley, does not have the market cornered on mentioning our fine weatherpersons. I have listened to them going on and on about the fog we have experienced as of late. One night, it was proclaimed that we were in for a record fifth night of the soupy mix with the possibility of more beyond that. Queue the doomsday music.

Bill Watterson, cartoon genius behind the popular Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, once said, “The purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure pure reasoning, and to inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!”  Oh boy. How true. It’s takes special skill to inflate weak ideas, and I’m almost a master. And I can obscure pure reasoning as well as inhibit clarity, thus the reason I wanted to talk about fog.

I’ve made no secret about being on a strange journey since exiting what I considered the most labor-intensive childrearing years. Of course I’m still on duty or maybe just on call with three teens, but my role has drastically changed and so have I.

I remember back in the day when I controlled almost all the details of their young lives. Now, I control very little. It’s terrifying and invigorating all at the same time. It’s also painful . . . in a rebirth kind of way. I’ve grown weary from the labor pains, and would like to see the new baby to be named “My Life” even though she promises to arrive with the requisite feedings and dirty diapers. I just thought I was through with that, but I’m battle trained through three tours. I will survive. 

Anyway, it’s probably a little vain speaking of this strange phenomenon, but the weather mimics me. And I have been in a fog of sorts. Funny thing about fog: While standing in it, things immediately surrounding look crystal clear, but try casting your vision farther than a few inches and  . . . an infinite wall of haze. Recall that I’m a planner – a certifiable (of the fit-to-be-declared-insane variety) “looker aheader”.  Frustrating!

Of course there are long spans when the fog burns off and I can see as far as my eyes will allow. However, it’s a cruel twist that I’m allowed vision only to have it severely clouded once again, paralyzing navigation.  That qualifies as fogbound.

The safest thing to do in such conditions is to pull off the road and wait for clarity or in the very least try using less light. What’s an impatient, shine-a-big-light-on-the-situation soul like me to do? I’m in no mood to stop or use the low beams.

Can I take some comfort from the weatherpersons who say our recent plentiful fog is rare, and won’t be seen again for a long time? I know what Jim Finley would say. Suppose I’d better learn to drive myself through it.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

One holiday down. I bet most of you have come out of the Thanksgiving-food coma, but I’m happily still sedated. Don’t worry. I did it on purpose as it’s my preferred state this time of year.

I thoroughly enjoy holiday get-togethers and spending time with extended family. However, I hate shopping. Period. Any time. And the shopping atmosphere during the holidays: loathe entirely. Even the music gets on my nerves. Do I sound Grinchy? Good. That’s what I was aiming for.

I’m not sure when or how I turned so sour on the holiday season, but I am concerned that my awful attitude will grow and I’ll be an old, bitter, nasty woman who no one will want to be around. Oh my. How sick is it that that almost sounds like a good plan? Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get a little peace and quiet.

Kidding aside—and maybe there is more than a slight possibility I wasn’t kidding— why does it take so much stuff to celebrate? Yes, I’m a mom. I get it. It’s incredible to behold the sparkle in a young child’s eye as he experiences the magic of Christmas, but I’m a firm believer in “less is more”. Trust me when I say that sweet little cherub will one day be a hormonal teenager. Save some of that wanting to “give ‘til it hurts” in reserve . . .  you’re going to need it.

Anyway, getting back to our compulsion for over-the-top consumerism, I’d just like to buy myself a little sanity and tranquility for the holiday season. Then I’d be fully equipped to give respect, common courtesy, a helping hand, a smile, and even the benefit of the doubt that underneath that crabby lady who elbowed her way to snatch the last whatsit from my weary hands is under normal circumstances a decent human being.

My bah-humbugness aside, people I love would be disappointed if I didn’t hop on the runaway holiday freight train, so I will join the masses and do my part in keeping retailers merry. And because I know many of you will be there with me, I’d like to remind everyone of a few things.

The Baytown Police Department’s Crime Prevention Office doesn’t want the spirit of giving lulling us into providing opportunities for crooks.

Park in well lit areas and make note of where you parked. Upon returning to your vehicle, have your keys ready. (Ladies, this is NOT the time to be digging through your purse.)

If you will be shopping several stores, hide previous purchases in the trunk or somehow place items of value where they are not visible by a passerby.

If possible, don’t shop alone. Stay alert and be aware of your surroundings. Carry purses close to the body and avoid carrying large amounts of cash. Also, don’t overburden yourself with packages.

Remember if you’re stressed out and in a hurry you’re more likely to become careless and unwittingly assist a real Scrooge. I know . . . IF?  Be careful out there, my friends.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

Even though I’ve been through the whole daylight saving time change many times over in my lifetime, I’m always amazed at how mere mortals moving clocks affects me. This year I decided to withhold judgment and give the switch a couple of weeks before I sang its praises or complained. Regarding the subject, I’ve done both in the past depending on what life was dishing out at the time.  

Circadian rhythms —albeit controlled to some degree in modern times by a clock—are ingrained in us for a reason. And we all know what is said about messing with Mother Nature. However, adjustments must be made to account for seasonal changes.

After studying how daylight saving time started and why, along with the subsequent legislative tinkering with the process through the Energy Policy Act of 2005, I came to the conclusion that we’re all lab rats.

Seriously, a bunch of egg-heads sat around and decided toying with timekeeping was for the collective best. The reasons for the change are bigger than any one of us, and there are still disagreements on whether or not tinkering with the hours of the day really accomplishes anything. But I suppose someone had to do it and force us all on to sort of the same page – can’t have everybody doing their own thing, can we?

Since I’m a glass-half-full kind of girl, I’m working hard to appreciate the benefits of early darkness. It’s difficult in that I love and need plenty of sunshine to thrive – get a wee bit grumpy without it. OK, more than a wee bit, but I will adapt. Do I have a choice? I understand the answer is, “no”, and in child-like defiance I usually pout and squeal my through this time of year.

However, I admit that right now I like having the early-darkness excuse to close up the proverbial shop and call it a day while the clock would still allow labor. The only thing that would make it better is if I could somehow finagle going to bed shortly thereafter as I find myself drowsy when the sun goes down. Of course I’d be wide awake at 3:00 a.m. after my body decided it had rested long enough; that could be a problem.  But I’d still be happy to cross that bridge if and when I got to it.

For this year, I will retreat, sing the praises of falling back, and enjoy it and the different scenery it affords me. Being a creature of long-standing habit gets pretty boring anyway and I was ripe for embracing something different. 

I imagine by the time this begins to wear on me spring will be upon us, and I’ll be fully appreciative of longer light having gone through darkness. Somehow that seems like the way it’s supposed to be.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

Running up to Election Day when the fate of our red-light cameras would be decided, I listened to quite a bit of discussion about driving—specifically the drivers sharing the streets of our fair city. Folks had strong opinions and often used colorful language in describing others’ driving abilities or lack thereof.

Recall that a little over a year ago I announced placing one of the flashing contraptions at the intersection of Natalie Street and Whatley Drive because I was in need of some external control. I made huge profits off myself. Now I’m awaiting specific instructions on its removal. But I digress.

All of us despise the flagrant red-light runner who pulls such a stunt because he or she can, endangering innocents, but discussion has proven people see many shades between black and white on the topic. In the end we must all use our gray matter when behind the wheel. And if said gray matter isn’t fully up to the task, maybe staying home is in order.

Recently I was among the ranks of bone-headed drivers and driving while distracted. While I didn’t run a red light or a stop sign, I failed to follow standard operating procedure after coming to a complete halt at a four-way stop.

Enjoying catchy tunes and some very pleasant weather through rolled down windows and an open sun roof, I pulled up to a stop sign focused on the car just opposite me. I failed to look to my left, but took off and turned that direction anyway.

Apparently, it wasn’t my turn.  How embarrassing; most of the time I have better manners than that.  And I thoroughly appreciate the other driver’s full attention as I know we would’ve endured a slight collision had it not been for her supreme diligence.  

Through her driver’s-side window I saw the vivid animation of one using the full range of the rainbow to express her feelings. Had she not thrown both hands in the air signaling her absolute disgust with my transgression, I may have been able to read her lips. (For the record: I felt it was all a little over-the-top in a punishment-didn’t-fit-the-crime kind of way.) In passing, I clearly annunciated an “I’m sorry” and plastered on my best sheepish look.

There are many things that can steal a driver’s attention: other passengers, a slew of technology and in my case, the very brain we all need to operate a motor vehicle. Like my careful-driving brethren, I make a concerted effort to follow the rules of the road. I had a lapse, and I would claim it was only momentary if I could, but honestly I don’t know how long my mind was absent.

All I know is that I didn’t turn right and that far worse than a potential traffic citation or minor accident was the thought that I angered another human being to the point of flashing a theatric performance I saw fit to forever memorialize.  To this unknown thespian:  my deepest apologies. And it’s a shame it wasn’t all captured by camera; you’d be a star!

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

This will probably be a little preaching to the choir, but I’d like to remind all of you of a true treasure here in Baytown:  Sterling Municipal Library.

Last Tuesday I attended a discussion group hosted by Sterling Municipal Library’s Community Connections Librarian, Susan Chandler. The occasion was in honor of the One Book One Baytown program and was sponsored by the Friends of Sterling Municipal Library.

The program encourages community members to read and discuss the same book and come together through a shared reading experience. And that, we did. It’s always amazing to hear different perspectives and how people are touched by different things.  

If you’re looking for a good read, I would definitely recommend the selection discussed which was Same Kind of Different As Me by: Ron Hall and Denver Moore with Lynn Vincent. An excerpt from the library’s website bills it as, “an inspirational, true story about a homeless man and a wealthy couple whose lives come together and are forever changed. Most readers will relate to the universal themes in the book: prejudice, homelessness, forgiveness, faith, sickness and suffering.” It’s all of that and more.

Going in, I knew the book was not typical of what I normally read. The opening: “Until Miss Debbie, I’d never spoke to no white woman before. Just answered a few questions, maybe—it wadn’t really speakin. And to me, even that was mighty risky since the last time I was fool enough to open my mouth to a white woman, I wound up half-dead and nearly blind.”

From that point forward, the more-than memoir took me and my emotions on a ride. As harrowing as it became, I couldn’t put it down. Nor could I shake the reality that some ugly truths I (born in 1970) thought were buried in the historical distant past weren’t so far away — in time or distance.  The story recounted by Denver Moore begins circa 1950s Louisiana and delivers the reader to near-present day Fort Worth, Texas.  

For me it was a stark reminder to look past first impressions. There are treasures behind human facades that can’t be purchased and are often missed as we “keep to our kind” in race or socioeconomic strata. Others were touched by the deep religious faith woven throughout and some were quite distressed over the treatment of a man who from the beginning and for a variety of reasons had the odds stacked against him. In the end many agreed people did what they knew and that they knew no different.  Give it a read and see what you think.

In upcoming library news, Sterling Municipals Library’s very entertaining Jamie Eustace will host the award-winning Starbooks at the Starbucks on the I-10 feeder at Garth Road on Tuesday, November 9 and Tuesday, December 14 at 6:30 p.m. If you’ve never been, mark your calendar.

The presentation lasts about an hour and you don’t need to read anything prior to attending. Jamie does all the work —and reading—in advance and presents various titles usually held together by an overall theme. Books reviewed are available for check-out at the end.

For additional information on One Book One Baytown, visit www.baytownlibrary.org/onebook  or contact Susan Chandler at 281-422-1145 or via e-mail susan.chandler@baytown.org.  Starbooks coordinator Jamie Eustace may be contacted at 281-422-1133 or jamie.eustace@baytown.org.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

As my deadline approached and before official numbers could be tallied, our area was seriously vying to beat a July rainfall record set back in 1900 mere weeks before a massive hurricane nearly wiped Galveston off the map.

I thought the wet stuff seemed more plentiful lately, but didn’t give it much thought because it was a welcomed relief from the heat. Too bad we’re making up for that break by way of mosquito, but I complained about them a couple of weeks ago, so I’ll move along.

With so much opportunity in the air, I twice witnessed what I now know to be an unusual meteorological phenomenon: sun showers. We don’t typically call them that here in the South, so you may or may not have heard the term. It’s easy enough to figure out, though, and is simply a rain shower occurring while the sun is shining.

In the midst of one of those occurrences, I mentioned it and asked the person to whom I was speaking, “What’s up with that?”

“The devil is beating his wife!”

Wow. Echoed my thoughts exactly, but it had been ages since I’d heard that old saying. I’d be afraid to say it out loud today for a host of reasons, but that’s a topic for another day.

The disturbing phrase was one I heard from peers many times growing up and obviously it stuck with me. I didn’t really understand it then, and not sure I do now, but I gave it a thorough look-see in an effort to broaden all of our horizons.

Usage is scattered around the globe. It’s unclear where the expression originated, but here in the United States it’s fairly confined to the southern region with particular concentration in southeastern Texas and southwestern Louisiana. And there are regional variations. While many expand the phrase to indicate either the angels or the wife crying, some also say he’s beating her with a frying pan or around a stump. 

But the ones that really made me chuckle (and wince) were those that elaborated on the reasons behind the alleged beating. To some, it seems she was in trouble for burning the biscuits (Texas) or the rice (clearly, Louisiana).  I’m offended.

Someone needs reminding that the devil’s home hath no fury like a woman scorned. If he was whipped up in that type of frenzy over the way his food was prepared, why, I’d have turned around, jumped up on that stump and shown him a thing or two with that frying pan! I wonder what sort of freakish weather that would produce? Food for thought.

The weather nerds are all saying our temps this weekend will hit the triple digits as this rain event clears out and high pressure settles over us. I suppose I’ll put that frying pan down since Mother Nature is throwing us all in the fire.  But it was fun watching the devil sweat!

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

Ahhh . . . summertime in southeast Texas. The humidity and mosquitoes are in abundant supply. Thusly, this week’s inspiration is brought to you by perspiration and itchy-skin irritation.

I’d much rather be outdoors than in, and the above pesky, summer nuisances are working overtime to assure I stay cooped up. It’s a coup I tell you. And a grand conspiracy designed to dampen my mostly sunny disposition.

I’ve been forced to find things indoors to fill my time. Of course there’s always a swarm of housework, but that’s no fun. I’d almost rather hang out with the skeeters. Almost.

In a brighter moment—between feeling sticky and swatting away pests—I discovered that my friend, Melvin Roark, determined through mathematical calculations (and possibly a little too much time on his hands) that his yard housed at least 1,346,400 mosquitoes.

He started off by counting how many of the little buggers were contained in a single square inch. The fact that he arrived at that staggering result all by himself is mighty impressive. (Pardon me for a moment while I bow to a greater math master. Words, not numbers, are my thing.) However, it wasn’t the numbers that got me to chuckling, but rather what he proposed doing with those tallies.

Melvin said if mosquitoes qualify, he’s applying for an agricultural extension on his homestead because he has unwittingly become a big time mosquito farmer. That’s funny, Melvin. But hang on to your insect repellant, folks. It gets better.  And I have to wonder if Melvin even realized the comedic element of what he proposed. (A little legal disclaimer to protect the innocent Melvin Roark against potential governmental backlash: I did not share with him what I actually found so amusing about his idea. Continue reading. It’s coming.)

Agricultural extension practitioners are usually employed by government agencies – local on up to world wide. Their “responsibilities” are mostly along the lines of educating farmers by bringing proven scientific methods to increase yields, but wait . . . you guessed it, there’s funding involved along the line. (I read a fraction of the fine print for you. I would’ve consumed it all, but it seems I found the cure for my insomnia.) Anyway, do you see the bloodsuckers on both sides of Melvin’s proposed equation?  Heh. Heh.  Using one bloodsucker to gain benefits from another. Pure genius.

Since Melvin is potentially set up to profit from working not-so-hard on the propagation of an annoying insect, I figure someone here in town better counter his measures from another angle. I’m studying and working on lowering our humidity because the thermal sensing capabilities of the mosquito are as much as three times greater when the humidity is high.

I hate to be a wet blanket, but I doubt I’ll make much headway because, unlike Melvin, I won’t have access to any of those fancy-pants-governmental types who fly in and claim they can bend nature. No matter, I suppose, because I understand enough math to know that Melvin’s high crop yield, or not, dew points above 70 and the commensurate high relative humidity totals up to 100 percent misery. And I’m being a real drag, so I’m telling me to buzz off!

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

First order of business, Happy Mother’s Day! I know you’re all expecting some words on motherhood, but since it’s my special day, too, and because I write about motherhood frequently, I’m putting my feet up and taking a break from the topic and the job. Plus, there’s something else important happening that I want you to know about.

While I try my best to appreciate those who work in public service year-round, next week is a special one where we can let our local police officers know how much we appreciate their protection and service.

In 1962 President John F. Kennedy designated May 15 as Peace Officers’ Memorial Day and the week surrounding that date as National Police Week. During this time, law enforcement officers past and present are to be commemorated for their courage and dedication in preserving the rights and security of all citizens. The week ends with a memorial service outside the U.S. Capitol honoring police officers killed in the line of duty from all over the United States.

Locally, and in honor of the Texas officers who made the ultimate sacrifice, the Baytown Police Department accompanied by surrounding agencies invites you to its annual Law Enforcement Police Memorial at noon on Friday, May 14 at St. Marks United Methodist Church, 3811 N. Main.

Four of the eleven officers lost in Texas this past year were from this general area. One, our very own Chambers County Deputy Sheriff, Shane Detwiler, was shot responding to the scene of a utility worker who had been fired upon. Recall how this community pulled together and hundreds lined Garth Rd. for his funeral procession.

As a graduate of the Baytown Police Department’s Citizens Police Academy I’ve had the opportunity to see the inner workings of the department and get to know some of the human beings behind the necessary authoritative personas and badges. Baytown is truly blessed. Our force is made up of a highly diverse, intelligent group who strive to ensure that our homes, families, and way of life are kept safe.

And on the very day I sat down to write this, I attended my third and youngest child’s graduation from the Baytown Police Department’s D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) program.  What an impact these officers have on impressionable young minds as they visit classrooms week after week educating, forming positive relationships, and imparting the importance of plain old good decision making. Proactive. I like that.

Stop an officer this week and thank them for the job they do, and please join me next Friday in honoring Texas’ “law enforcement officers who, through their courageous deeds, have made the ultimate sacrifice in service to their community . . . and let us recognize and pay respect to the survivors of our fallen heroes.” ~Presidential Proclamation John F. Kennedy  

A profession in law enforcement is a choice. Thank God for the special people willing to do it and willing to die for it. Precious lives are gone. Let’s make sure they’re not forgotten.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

If you’re a regular reader of my column, you’re quite aware that I’ve hosted some pretty extravagant pity parties. I’m ashamed to admit that I can do them up right complete with decorations and mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres.

Self-pity is defined as a psychological state of mind where an individual in perceived adverse situations has not accepted the circumstances and does not have the confidence or ability to cope. Not becoming at all.

I think “perceived” is the key word there. And what gets my proverbial goat 99.9 percent of the time hardly qualifies under the definition of “adverse”.

While looking for ways to right that wrong, I encountered a recurring theme among the advice: Basically, I need to get out of my head and occupy myself with doing for others.

Recall that I have a husband; three children ages 11, 13, and 17; a dog; a cat; and two hamsters under my care. It would be an understatement to say that I already spend the bulk of my time in service to others. Three on the aforementioned list tolerate my services at best, but do complain when I slack on the job.

With that fresh on my mind, it was a no-brainer when long-time emcee of the Baytown Special Olympics, Steve Liles, mentioned that volunteers were needed for the annual event hosted by the City of Baytown last Saturday.

I couldn’t wait. And now that I’ve been, I don’t know what took me so long to get there.

As I stood in the volunteer check-in line with my two younger children, Erin and Jeremy, it became clear there was no shortage of people prepared to spend the day giving far more than time. I learned later that the volunteers outnumbered the athletes by more than 2-to-1!  A round of applause for the folks of Baytown!

My kiddos and I were assigned — along with many others — to be finish-line judges. I showed up that morning ready to work and do whatever was needed to make the day enjoyable for the participants. What really happened can only be chalked up to fate surely guided by The Big Guy. He knows when I need a swift kick in the backside.

During the opening ceremony, an athlete from Cy-Fair moved out onto the track in front of her team and began belting out The National Anthem . . . over the voice of the person singing with the microphone. She knew every word. I was standing, but thought I was going to fall to my knees. She got a standing ovation.

When the games began, we took our places at the relay finish line. Soon after the pop of the starting shot, I realized why I was there. Thank goodness for sunglasses because the waterworks commenced.

What do I know about struggling against adversity and making it down the track to the finish line with a bigger-than-life smile on my face – even though I wasn’t the “winner”?

Many thanks to the City of Baytown staff for all their hard work on a well-coordinated event. And from the bottom of my heart:  A big thank-you to the amazing athletes, their parents, and coaches. In the end, it was you who gave to me – a precious gift I’ll carry to the finish line.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

As a graduate of the Baytown Citizen Police Academy, I promised to let you all know when the next class was forming.  In case you forgot, I had loads of fun, learned a lot about the inner workings of the Baytown Police Department, and lived to tell about some rather riveting moments during some hands-on class participation. Now it’s your turn.

Classes start Thursday, February 18 at 6:30 p.m. and will run for ten weeks. The police-work-related program, guided by Academy Coordinator, Officer Beasley, is designed to give citizens a better understanding of the operations and mission of the Baytown Police Department.

Coursework will begin with an introduction to the academy and an overview of police terminology. The remaining weeks will bring officers sharing specialized areas of expertise and equipment. Topics to be covered: crime prevention, K-9 units, terrorism, crime scene investigation, use of force, gangs/organized crime, hostage negotiations, building search, traffic stops, and a tour of the city jail.

I’d be hard-pressed to pick a favorite because they were all interesting. Everyone enjoys the K-9 units for obvious reasons, but you’ll be amazed watching the dogs perform what they’re trained to do while learning how they acquire and maintain those skills. Terrorism: It’s perpetrated on many different fronts and for a variety of reasons; law enforcement must remain vigilant and keep track of many tentacles.  Building search tested my mental fortitude – basically I have none when it comes to looking for bad guys in dark places. Crime scene investigation had a few grisly moments, but nothing any modern member of TV-viewing society couldn’t handle. And the tour of the jail: I suppose it’s a nice facility as far as jails go, but I’ll do what’s necessary to remain on the outside.

After the fifth week of instruction, students are eligible for an eye-opening ride along in a patrol car. If you’ve ever called and requested an officer for a non-life-threatening reason and wondered what took them so long . . . this is for you. The “action” is non-stop.  This portion of the program is voluntary and not a requirement for graduation.

Upon completion of the academy, there will be a graduation ceremony and banquet. Students are also invited to join the Baytown Citizen Police Academy Alumni Association, which brings together graduates to enhance relations between the community and the police force and to improve the efficiency of law enforcement in neighborhoods through shared responsibilities and resources.

With additional training, graduates also have the opportunity to become involved in Citizens on Patrol. This new program focuses on handicap parking enforcement and assisting patrol officers by being extra eyes and ears watching for suspicious activity.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley