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

“Whether the weather be fine, whether the weather be not, whether the weather be cold, whether the weather be hot, we’ll weather the weather, whatever the weather, whether we like it or not.” (Author unknown) I don’t know who opened the freezer door and left it ajar, but B-R-R-R-R!  

Being an outdoorsy kind of girl who needs plenty of fresh air and sunshine to survive requires me to keep track of the weather. I recall the last cold snap we had of this magnitude because I was home with a newborn. We curled up in blankets and napped peacefully in between feedings. That was 13 years ago.

So, I’ve had a long run of not being too confined inside my home’s walls during winter. Now that my kids are older and I’m free to roam during school hours, I didn’t take the news that it may be two weeks before we see highs over 60 well.

Meteorologists say that the cold blast reaching us down in Texas is likely caused by El Niño, which makes our winters here in The Lone Star State cooler and wetter than normal. (If memory serves me, El Niño also lessens our threat from hurricanes. In that regard, I welcome its return.) I believe 30 degrees below our “normal” high temps qualifies as “cooler”.

Folks here in these parts aren’t accustomed to these frigid temps. For starters, we don’t have the wardrobe for it. Heck, I’d go buy some thicker clothing for me and the family, but it appears I missed the winter-clothes-shopping window.  

If you haven’t seen, bathing suits are already out in stores. I’ve pointed out previously how this frosts me to no end.  The weeks following the astounding pig-out triad –Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years – are not the time to remind me of swimsuit season. Even though I’m actually in better shape now than I was this past summer, I refuse to go there. It’s the principal of the matter. I will boycott swimsuit purchasing until at least March.

Since we’ve had such a long spell of relatively mild winters, I quit buying standard winter-wear. I lost count of the boxes and bags of clothing donated –tags still hanging from the never-worn garments –because children outgrew something before it was cold enough to wear it, or heaven forbid, it went out of style. Those goofy kids running around in shorts and flip-flops right now . . . mine. And know that they all own jackets and jeans, but adamantly state it’s too hot at school with the heat cranked up. Sigh. I try, but there’s not much fight left in me.

I guess we can all be thankful this round of record lows was forecasted to be without precipitation. How to put this tactfully? Let’s just say that many of us in this neck of the woods can’t drive on ice. And I say that lovingly as I’m included – born and raised in Southeast Texas. We’re not mentally equipped for the task (admitting it is the first step), and most of us don’t own the tools necessary to outfit our vehicles.

Another silver lining: Millions of fleas and mosquitoes will perish. Join me in not shedding one tear.

Even covered vegetation isn’t expected to survive. For years I’ve dreamed of pulling everything out of my flowerbeds and starting over. Sounds like I’m going to get my wish, much to the chagrin of the men in the house who will be forced to provide the labor.

Best of all, it gives us something to talk about – a real ice-breaker to get conversation (or a column) flowing.

“Weather is a literary specialty, and no untrained hand can turn out a good article on it” –Mark Twain.  I tried. And you read it . . . whether you liked it, or not.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley

The planets and stars were in proper alignment Tuesday evening at The Whatley Estate, and I took off the evening mom/chef/tutor hat for something I’ve always wanted to do. OK, I must confess. Nothing was aligned. I got dressed and announced I was leaving for an hour. Surprise, confusion, and even a glimmer of panic crossed some otherwise carefree faces. There was no meal cooked, homework had not been done, and showers not taken. Lo and behold, the earth did not stop spinning on its axis.

Sterling Municipal Library’s Starbooks at Starbucks, presented by librarian Jamie Eustace, boasts “Tired of the same old grind? Perk up your routine!” I met with Jamie in previous years in a book club and having now seen her in action reviewing books, I personally guarantee more than your routine will be perked. Her enthusiasm was evident as she reviewed numerous titles shelved at the library. “I just want people to know that the book is alive and well and the library is the perfect place to discover something new!”  She accomplishes that goal and so much more. How’s that for a review of the reviewer?

The program actually started in the summer of 2008. Now that I know what I was missing, I could kick myself for not getting there sooner.  I was notified well ahead of each meeting, but something always stood in the way of going. Since I’m now a bona-fide escape artist, this will be an area where I’ll use my newly-acquired skills.  

I intended on arriving early and learning a little about my co-attendees. Instead, I pulled in to the nearly-full Starbucks parking lot just minutes shy of the 6:30 p.m. start time. Thankfully there were a few vacant chairs awaiting occupation at the outer edge of the gathering, and I didn’t have to enter the dreaded center of the room whereby all eyes would notice the newbie.  Jamie says she usually has about two dozen people at each gathering, and while I didn’t take a head count, that looked about right.

I enjoyed it so much that I e-mailed Jamie the next morning in hopes that the old book club was still meeting. Sadly, it’s not.  If I get the chance to get in on another one, I will. Book clubs always pull me out of reading ruts, and I end up fascinated by something I would have never given a second look. And then, to hear what other people take away from what they read – that’s fun in my book.

The highlight and disappointment of the evening was one in the same for me: One of the 15 books reviewed was “The Slippery Year” by Melanie Gideon.  Just a few years my senior, she digs into being female and hitting mid-life. I’ve already placed a hold at the library and can’t wait to read it. My disappointment came from the fact that someone else beat me to writing about it. I thought I had the market cornered on that craziness.

All said, it was five-star entertainment in a nice cozy setting – perfect for a little weeknight pick-me-up with the added bonus of leaving with book titles you know won’t be a waste of time.

Jamie will hold another fun-filled hour of what’s hot off the publishing presses at the Starbucks on the I-10 feeder and Garth Rd. on Tuesday, November 17 at 6:30 p.m.  If you’d like more information, or would like to be on the e-mail list to receive reminders of upcoming events you can reach Jamie Eustace at 281-427-7331 ext. 230 or jamie.eustace@baytownlibrary.org

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

I joined the SWAT team this week. Before you start thinking I’ve taken my recent participation in the Citizens Police Academy too far, I assure you it’s not what it may seem. However, I have been asked several times in the past couple of weeks if I’m planning on becoming a police officer. The answer is no. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that I hadn’t reached the maximum age to apply. Career changes are on the forefront of my mind lately, and I like to keep my options open.

You’ve no doubt joined the team as well. I refer to the move I constantly make while outdoors and with greater regularity even indoors. Yes, I’m dancing around, slapping, hitting . . . swatting.  After the rain we received, and I’m not complaining because we needed it, the mosquitoes took over. I’ve seen and heard the city trucks out spraying – thankful for it – but I think the little critters have mutated and get a real charge out of flying through the fog of chemicals, straw-like proboscis in the ready position, and poking even the smallest area of exposed flesh. They mock us. For that, I have no reservations over using my brute strength to end their pathetic lives.

Knowing that every living thing has some objective to accomplish on Earth, I asked a question that seems to go unanswered. What exactly is the purpose of the mosquito in the grand scheme of things? I researched tirelessly to provide an answer. (The fact that on most days I’m unable to determine my own purpose beyond providing clean laundry and the restocking of the pantry made the quest laughable, but one never knows when an endeavor may lead to the path of enlightenment.)

The best answer by far was provided by some anonymous soul who posted their wisdom on the internet, “The purpose of the mosquito is to provide humans with the pleasure of scratching that itch!” That has to be it. There was also a whole bunch of scientific mumbo-jumbo. Scientists couldn’t say for certain what role mosquitoes play other than providing a miniscule percentage of a food source for some predatory aquatic animals as well as bats, dragonflies and spiders. They did, however, caution against completely eradicating the species.  I guess that position is understandable in that never solving this problem provides a certain level of job security for researchers and the producers of mosquito repellants.

While investigating, I dug up a few interesting tidbits I didn’t already know. (And people who have conversations with me wonder why I am a repository of useless knowledge.) Mosquitoes pollinate certain grasses, goldenrods, and are the exclusive pollinators for the blunt-leaved bog orchid. I looked those up; they’re as beautiful as the name implies. While they’re not particularly pretty, I’m sure they have a purpose, too.

Old Japanese ghost stories claim mosquitoes are reincarnations of the dead, condemned by the errors of their former lives. In case that causes you to worry you’ll be serving out some time as a blood-sucking pest (which only the females mosquitoes are . . . I won’t go there), you’re safe unless the “errors” in your life include jealousy or greed.  It was unclear in that ancient folklore if one would be reincarnated over and over since the life-span is fairly short – one week for a male, one month for a female – maybe it depended on the degree of jealousy and greed.

 At the end of my little insect journey, I got it. They are here to teach me a few things – specifically patience, tolerance, and endurance for the pesky little things I allow to ruin otherwise nice moments in life. I’ll give it a go as soon as I gear up for battle in the boots, cool SWAT suit, goggles, and helmet. It’s a jungle out there!

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

With a great deal of pomp and circumstance (not really, but certificates in hand our pictures were taken with the Chief of Police Dougherty, and instructor, Crime Prevention Specialist Beasley) commencement exercises were held for the Baytown Police Department’s Citizen Police Academy on September 15. I covered some of the more exciting highlights in previous columns. As promised, I’ll deliver an overview of the whole ten-week experience.

Since I worked in civil law prior to my full-time mommy days, police work and the different issues it entails interested me. I was thrilled a class was offered during the summer when my evening schedule wasn’t consumed by extra-curricular activities, homework checking, and taxi driving.

Our class of 15 saw various facets of police work and how the gears turn behind the scenes. Fascinating. Each week brought a different topic, and the best the department had to offer in personnel came to share their area of expertise. Demonstrations of techniques and equipment were very informative and colorful personalities made the evenings quite entertaining.  

The curriculum changes somewhat from class-to-class given instructor availability and class interest, but a broad spectrum of subject matter is guaranteed for each group. After five weeks of instruction, students may ride along with an officer in a patrol car. I haven’t done that, yet, but you’ll hear all about it if I do. Graduates are also eligible to enroll in the advanced class, which takes a deeper look into the basic course of study and adds narcotics investigation and bomb squad. I can’t wait.

Classes began with an informational introduction to police terminology and the history of the Baytown Police Department.  

The following week: terrorism. Post 9/11 most of us think of this topic in a singular fashion. However, there are other tentacles. Law enforcement must be vigilant on many fronts – watching for some predictable behaviors and patterns, often aided by citizens acting as the eyes and ears.   

Then there was FATS – Firearms Training Simulator – and in case you missed my riveting tale on this one: Our class was put through computer-generated scenarios where split-second decisions were required to protect life. It’s not as easy as it looks on TV.

During the use of force class, we were instructed on the tools available to law enforcement and how officers must assess the situation and act accordingly. The high point of that evening was the Taser demonstration.  Baytown Citizen Police Academy Alumni Association President, Mike Kercher, “rode the lightning” for our viewing pleasure. Since I know Mike personally, it was difficult to watch. We also learned that any officer who carries a Taser must be tased with it.

At the half-way point, the K-9 units came to visit – beautiful, well-mannered animals. Officers explained continuous training, demonstrated how the dogs locate narcotics, and how they’re used for suspects who choose to run or otherwise be uncooperative with human officers.    

During crime scene investigation I dusted for my own fingerprints and found them! That skill may come in handy with three kids who routinely say, “It wasn’t me!”  This class got a little gruesome, but any regular CSI viewer could handle it.

I wrote about clearing a building, and you learned I was useless. There’s a lot of strategic planning that goes into that; it was more than my brain could handle and being hopped up on adrenaline didn’t help. I froze when confronted by the threat – had it been the real deal, I’d not be here today.

Towards the end, we toured the jail. I’ve always wondered what it was like in there, but never wanted to find out the hard way. I’ll do my best to uphold the law and avoid going for another visit. Not pleasant.

Many thanks to Officers Beasley, Coleman, Denton, Stevens, and Cruz; Detectives Farabee, Latta and Crowell; Sergeant Hendricks; and Lieutenant Freed – you made learning fun. 

And a very special thank-you goes to Ms. Lavon Heintschel of the alumni association. She arrived every week, very stylishly dressed, with the intention of expanding our waistlines – touched a few hearts, too.  A big thank-you as well to her baking helpers – everything was always delicious.

It was an experience I’ll never forget. I’ll let you know when the next one rolls around. You don’t want to miss it!

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

Last Tuesday night I was (very briefly) trained on the finer points of clearing a room. It’s an ability that conjures up some negative connotations – think obnoxious people who enjoy dominating group discussion, or hygiene issues that make life unpleasant for others. That’s not at all to what I refer. By the end of the evening I determined I needed lots of practice and that I freeze at critical moments.  

Recall that I’ve been in the Baytown Police Department’s 10-week Citizen Police Academy.  I only have two more classes to complete before I graduate.  I pay attention as best I can, it’s interesting stuff, but you all know my mind wanders. So, I probably missed some of what it takes to “clear a room” – removing the bad guys and living to tell about it. 

Under Feng Shui (that’s pronounced fung shway) decorating principles, clearing a room is an early part of creating an environment that provides harmony and inner balance. Clutter and anything that inhibits harmony, balance, and flow of life are removed. I bet I’m the first to liken police work to decorating, and the guys will no doubt be happy that’s how I saw it. And they made it look much better than I ever could.

One step to creating Feng Shui is to meditate on a room’s energy, take deep breaths, close the eyes, and concentrate on your intentions to clear the room. I did just that as I put on a helmet and throat protection and listened to my “assignment”.  Then I was patted down (having never been arrested, that was a different experience) for additional weapons before being armed with approved gear: a flashlight and a “simunition gun”, which is a real gun with a modified barrel to shoot rounds capped with colored detergent instead of actual bullets.

My call: The owner of a vacant farmhouse reported hooligans on his property. They had been seen outside and possibly entered the dwelling. It was nighttime, and there were no lights. Since they were not outside, my partner (Jeff) and I had to search and clear three rooms.

Sounded easy enough, but when you’re in an unfamiliar, pitch-black place with real police officers –armed with toy weapons – hiding and waiting to catch you off guard, it’s enough to cause heavy mouth-breathing that fogs up the helmet.

Entry was made, and I was trying to “slice the pie” (don’t really know how to explain that other than to say stand and rotate in a fashion like slicing a pie, only it’s a room)  when I was immediately confronted by a roaring brick wall. (Officer Beasley. He spends a little time pumping iron when he’s not educating the public on crime prevention.)

Contrary to a figuratively colorful hour-long Power Point training session and demonstrations with Officers Latta and Coleman, I froze.  Bad-guy Beasley came at us, yelling. He could have killed me, and I could have shot him, but I just stood there. My partner, sensing I was useless, took over. Bad guy complied with verbal commands and I got to ‘cuff him.  Whew!  Only two more rooms to go.

Second room was cleared easily enough; it was empty. Third room had another suspect. Because I had great skill in shining the flashlight, I let Jeff do all the yelling. Second suspect was taken into custody and we were finished.  It was a good thing because I wasn’t enjoying the sauna in that helmet. I came out unscathed save for some chipped toenail polish – my fault for “going in” wearing flip-flops.

In the end, the entire class had a new appreciation for how difficult it can be walking into the unknown – acting and reacting accordingly. In a way, I’m glad I can’t clear a room. There was nothing harmonious or inner-balancing about it. Tough stuff.  My helmet’s off to those who do it well.

BAYTOWN — North Main, Tuesday, 9:12 p.m. Two men and a female argue at the rear of a faded red truck. As I approach, the verbal exchange escalates and turns physical. One man is getting the better of the other with the hysterical female fueling the fire. Pulling a Glock 9mm to the front of my body, I move closer and shout, “Stop! Back away from each other!” over the screaming female.

Turning his eyes to me while shoving the object of his anger down and away, the aggressor sneers, and through gritting teeth addresses my intrusion. “Who called you here? This doesn’t concern you!”

The receiver of the brief, but violent beating slumps over at the waist, fighting to catch his breath. The woman, running in small rambling circles between the men, raves, attends to the injured party, and begs for it all to stop.

Before taking swift, boot-clad steps in my direction, the aggressor grabs a tire-iron from the back of the truck and centers it in the narrowing gap between us. “Put the weapon down and BACK UP!” I command. Snarling he raises the iron well above my head and lunges forward. Synapses firing rapidly reach my index finger. BANG! One shot to the center of the chest and he retreats . . . forever.

A little training and time spent at the shooting range saved my life. The whole thing was over in less than five seconds.  

Did the above really happen? Yes and no. You’ll never believe what I’ve been up to in my spare time. (Granny Adcox is probably worried sick. The big ants I mentioned last week caused her to be concerned for my well-being. She wrote and called. I make her concern public because another columnist, I’ll call him “Gaston”, and I have a little non-sibling rivalry going over Granny’s affections. He wants her all to himself –said he’d fight me for her.)

It all happened for real—inside a training room at the Baytown Police Department’s Police Academy building. It was brought to me as part of my participation in the Citizen Police Academy Class. I’m less than a third of the way through the basic curriculum, and there’s also an advanced class. I’ll fill you in on the complete experience after I graduate.

Our group was fortunate enough to be in session when the FATS – Firearm Training Simulator – was in town for BPD’s annual training session. The simulator, a computer with interactive gadgets, places students in realistic confrontations where split-second decisions must be made.

I was the last of my class to take a turn. I’ve never needed any help looking foolish, and being “tested” with about twenty people looking on – some highly trained and seasoned officers – was a little unnerving, but I did it. And I killed the bad guy with one well-placed shot.

While I had a little fun with my make-believe scenario, what I gathered from the evening was that lethal force is no joking matter. No normal human being wants to be put in a position to use it. I got a feel for how quickly things turn bad and how the human mind struggles to function clearly during what’s called an “adrenaline dump”.

It takes training and practice to overcome and effectively use the “fight or flight” mechanism. Often, muscle memory gained through repetitive training must step in while the brain catches up. It was comforting to hear from Instructor Extraordinaire, Crime Prevention Specialist Stewart Beasley, that most officers (and I assume even more civilians) go their entire lives without being in the situations put forth by the simulator.

Thanks, guys, for teaching me some things I hope my muscles never have to remember.

And since I’m such a good shot, “Gaston” probably doesn’t want to tangle with me. No matter. I aim to believe Granny Adcox has room enough in her big heart for the both of us. Another bull’s-eye! 

© 2009 Natalie Whatley 

Nearly a week has passed since the tragic end to Chambers County Sheriff Deputy Shane Detwiler’s life. Over the course of days and news coverage, emotions spanned a broad spectrum as we were all reminded of how quickly the gift of the “present” can vanish.   

In the beginning details were sketchy, but before long it was apparent many lives were forever changed: one deputy fatally wounded, others witnessing the tragedy and even more officers involved in what would be an hours long stand-off with the shooter.   

Being a resident of Chambers County and the City of Baytown, I couldn’t help but feel it was hitting a bit close to home. Chambers County lost an officer, and Baytown Police were dealing with the aftermath.  I was saddened and angered over the senseless loss and worried for those who remained.

In the days following, we all came to know the fallen officer: Shane Detwiler –husband, father, friend, decorated soldier, and public servant.  By all accounts he was a fine man. One the world is a lesser place without.

As I read between the lines of news stories my heart ached for his wife: A mother of two sons, age four, almost two, and an eight-month-old daughter –a younger version of my own family. She described Shane as chivalrous and a hands-on father who would get up with babies during the night. Blessed with a similar version in my children’s father, I can’t imagine her pain, but fully grasp what she’s lost.

When I read of Shane’s military career and the speed in which he obtained his college degree, graduating summa cum laude, it struck me how this man had talents that could have taken him anywhere. He chose the citizens of Chambers County.

On Friday, I stood with hundreds on the flag-lined curbs of Garth Road and waited for the opportunity to show Shane’s family and friends how much his service to our country and community meant. Strangers became acquainted and introductory chit-chat quickly turned to the reason for the gathering. Sadness, appreciation, pride, and, yes, anger were woven into the fabric of conversations.

Dark clouds gathered early on, but almost on cue the skies cleared and bright sunlight shined over the long procession. I wished I’d thought to count the vehicles.  Those lining the road remained silent, saluting and hands over hearts for the entire line as news helicopters hovered above.

Back at home, I saw news coverage of the funeral. With an amazing amount of strength and grace, Trish Detwiler spoke and asked that we all remember Shane for his character. Given all we now know about her beloved husband, that won’t be difficult.

Reflecting on the swirl of it all, I hope the outpouring of support from the community comforts Trish and her young children as they transition to a very different life. I also hope the officers of this area who rode in the procession realize how much their communities are behind them.

Police officer, or not, none of us know for sure what we’ll walk into each day. Armed with that fact I hope to be a little better about showing my appreciation long before I take any part in another funeral procession.

My deepest condolences to Deputy Shane Detwiler’s family.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley                                                        

Hands down, the best part about this column is you: the readers.  Through this spot I’ve met some fascinating people I would’ve never known otherwise. Some shot me an e-mail, others walked right up when I was out and about and introduced themselves, a few “eyed” me trying to figure out why I looked familiar and had a “light-bulb” moment when I told them. But there’s another who made me break down in tears week before last when she mailed me a handkerchief. How did she know I was going to need it?

If there ever was a cheerleader for the team of Sun columnists, it’s Ms. Gladys Adcox of Highlands. A brief investigation led me to find she’s been in the business of corresponding with newspaper writers for a good while –maybe even the span of my lifetime. A spry 93-years-young, she says she does it to keep her mind sharp. Well, I can only hope to be half as sharp here in my prime. 

Ms. Adcox phoned me the morning my snake story ran. (For inquiring minds: I’m still not over it, but my public warning to Jeff worked. No black eyes as of this writing.) She had a snake story of her own and wanted to send me a copy of Baytown Sun columnist Buck Young’s account from some time ago.

See, a copperhead made his way through a hole in her bedroom screen. Not standing for it, she armed herself with a butcher knife and went in to show him who was in charge. Upon gathering her wits (she’s a stronger woman than me) she thought better of getting close enough to use her weapon. Instead of having what we Southerners refer to as a conniption, she told Mr. Copperhead to turn around and leave the way he came in. And he did!

While I delighted in reading that story and another she wrote for The Sun about her pet rooster, it was some other things that brought on the waterworks. It all started when her three pieces of mail arrived. I was in a hurry to get somewhere, grabbed the mail from the box and was stunned by the handwriting on the envelopes. I’d seen it many times before. Tucking that thought away, I placed the unopened mail in the laundry room, and off I went.

Since ads and bills make up 99.99% of what the postman delivers each day, any piece of handwritten mail is a real treat in my book. It wasn’t even my birthday! I couldn’t wait to get back home.

Upon returning, I carefully opened each one. (By the way, Gladys is my kind of girl; the exterior of the envelopes were “sealed” with American flag stickers and beautiful butterflies. Someone else used to do that, too.)  In addition to the stories, she sent a “Granny Adcox” ruler (for measuring snakes – if they’re longer than the ruler I’m going to run), three handwritten notes on pretty, personalized stationery, and a handkerchief with a beautiful blue rose embroidered on it.

The handwriting: my late grandmother’s almost exactly. The contents: gifts money can’t buy. Alzheimer’s took my Maw Maw King’s mind long before her body; years prior, she loved to correspond via mail. She sent all sorts of little things she came across in her house . . . small items that wouldn’t mean a thing to anyone else, but were treasures to me.  

 I called Ms. Adcox to thank her. Her kindness reminded me that in this hurry-up world we live in today, it’s still possible to receive some special deliveries. “You’re welcome, darlin’!” “Darlin’” without the “g”, just like Maw Maw used to call me. The voice was different, the inflection the same.  Happy tears streamed down my face. I had a new friend who brought back some wonderful old memories. She said the handkerchief was just a little something to remember her by. How could I ever forget?

Thank you, Ms. Gladys Adcox . . . for everything.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

It’s been an odd week for yours truly, and since my mind is refusing to settle in on any one topic, I’m just going to throw everything in the pot and let it simmer –column stew, if you will. You’re bound to find some meat and potatoes floating around. I’ll let you decide which is which. And, I apologize for serving what’s traditionally a fall/winter meal in the spring.

Columnists live life on the constant look-out for “material’. Some weeks I’m bombarded with subjects, while others provide a snippet here and a snippet there, but nothing even I can pontificate on long enough. So, imagine a big pot, and away we go!

I stopped by the bank this week and made a rare trip inside the lobby as the business I needed to conduct couldn’t be handled in the drive-through. The nightly news often includes reports of bank robberies, but a sign I saw posted on the door caused me to give pause and then enjoy a brief chortle, which is a chuckle and a snort. 

The sign read, I kid you not, “Please remove sunglasses and hats before entering the lobby”.  Being the reasonable, law-abiding citizen that I am, I removed my sun glasses and flashed the biggest smile I could muster. Deduction told me I was starring in that moment’s piece of surveillance footage.  I’m certain would-be robbers would do the same. Why, it would be absurd not to.

Moving along, I made my way to Kroger’s, my home-away-from-home, and for the first time I stopped by the Clorox wipe dispenser and sanitized the cart handle.  There’s some pig flu going around.  With three school-aged children my immune system has become formidable, but this has the potential of putting me down for a few days, so I’ll take some extra precautions. Plus, the wall-to-wall news coverage of people wearing surgical masks is starting to scare me.  It is just a strain of the flu, right? The cynic in me doesn’t know what to think, but the media sure seems bent on making me feel my demise is imminent. 

At the end of one aisle I approached a healthy-looking man who sneezed. He got about a half-cover in before… ACHOO!!  Normally, I’d wait a few seconds, hold my breath, and plow through.  Not this time. I performed an abrupt turn mid-aisle and high-tailed it the other way.  I’ve got four weeks to myself before school lets out; I don’t intend on spending any of it sick.

As if the above hadn’t caused me enough distress “Old Blue”, my trusty momma-mobile, failed to start Wednesday morning.  No big deal other than it was a TAKS testing day. I was trying so hard – got everyone up in a cheerful manner (I should win an Academy Award for that acting), cooked breakfast, and even built cereal-box walls on the kitchen table to avoid any he’s- looking-at-me morning bickering. After all that, everyone was ready for a soothing ride to school . . .

Turns out Jeff can get home pretty fast when he needs to.  I walked one into school prepared to take the brunt of whatever calamity was to befall tardy students trying to enter a campus under lockdown for testing.

I was pleasantly surprised when I met Mr. Yepez at the doors of Gentry just as students were being ushered to their testing locations. I apologized and gave a brief explanation. “It’s OK,” he said as my boy went to get in line.

In closing, that sums up how I feel about this past week. It’ll all be OK, as long as I keep myself at a simmer and avoid letting my pot boil over.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley