Natalie Whatley

For months I planned to bring this topic back to the forefront of your minds no earlier than March 1 and was a little peeved last Monday, February 23, to find that Governor Perry designated that week as Severe Weather Awareness Week.  It was just plain tacky (along the same lines as wearing white shoes after Labor Day) given many of this region are still dealing with Hurricane Ike’s aftermath. He swiped the boom from my clout, uh, maybe that should be cloud. Either way, uncouth.    

Early last September, watching Ike stumble about, fairly convinced we were in the clear, I hatched out a brilliant evacuation/survival plan I’m certain will serve me well as I live out my years on the Gulf Coast. (I have requested Jeff provide retirement accommodations at least outside of the evacuation zones.  At 38, I feel like I’m already too old for the hurricane business, and I don’t see myself handling it much better at 98. You do know 98 will be the new retirement age, right? It’s in the fine print of the stimulus package.)

 Anyway, I withheld the details of my plan because upon my submission deadline we were preparing for certain devastation. Instead, I gave a pep talk of sorts. (If you guys could have seen me you wouldn’t have been pepped much.  I was cowering in a corner, chewing my fingernails and babbling incoherently.)

WARNING: The following is solely for your entertainment. I have no special training or education in the areas of meteorology, public safety, or public planning. Please do not substitute any statement made below for your own well-thought-out plans.

With that requisite covering of my posterior, I’ll proceed without further ado.

A great deal of time was spent dissecting my storm fears as I found it necessary to determine the specific points that blew me into an unhealthy mental state. It was determined a thorough education on hurricanes was in order. I don’t harbor much fear in things I can wrap my mind around. Major progress was made as I researched surface winds, steering currents, how storms interact with various water temperatures and depths, and analysis of computer models.

Feeling empowered and armed with a great deal of information, I found a cure for what ails me: I will be evacuating my senses during the official hurricane season from June 1 through November 30. Envision one of those “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” statuettes. I’m in the process of devising a system that will alert me to a storm being in my general vicinity no more than 72 hours out. At that point only, I’ll ask for a report from the designated weather watcher: Jeff. I’ll do what needs to be done, but not worry over it one second before it’s time.

I don’t know why it took me so long to realize that the wall-to-wall coverage of a storm 10-plus days out from an unknown landfall was causing me to lose it. I’m a planner of the highest order and have done everything humanly possible to prepare. But listening to all the pontificating and “what ifs” does nothing except make me nervous.  

I also learned on my journey to the center of my psyche, that it’s not the storms I fear, but rather the mandatory evacuations. Thank you, Rita.  I know my home and my personal geography and have a good idea of what both can withstand. Yes, I’m aware I’ll have to live without running water and electricity . . . life throws far worse.

My evacuation plan isn’t suitable for everyone.  So, get together with your friends and family and hash out what you’ll do. Start picking up supplies now. . . it’ll be here before we know it.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley

Within 24 hours of penning my last article, power was restored to the Whatley estate. Oh happy day! It was a beautiful sunny morning, jaded by the knowledge that it was going to be an uncomfortably warm, humid day. Unbeknownst to me, linemen were working to the side of my neighbor’s home, and when she appeared at my opened kitchen window with a glow on her face, I knew she was bringing good news. She spoke to my back as I was off like a shot to turn off my archenemy: the generator. (My soft underbelly is exposed. I’ll do anything, and give up top-secret information, just don’t make me listen to that awful noise.)

I celebrated in a quiet fashion by turning the thermostat down to a point it rarely sees (it was my patriotic duty to provide the electric company revenue lost while so many of us were “offline”) and crawling into my bed. I didn’t have the energy to do much more than lay around and watch TV – even dozed off for about half an hour.

I was sleeping peacefully (for the first time in over a week sans generators) when my mind decided to take a little vacation and go on a guilt trip. Have I mentioned how quiet it was without the constant drone of generators? How dare my conscience show up at such a time.  I got up, helped friends/family as needed and spent the next few days putting my home, which had been converted to a campground, back in order.

There were countless dark moments, and my heart goes out to those who suffered losses.  It would be all too easy to commiserate about what all stank, besides me after hard manual labor and no shower, about Ike, but I’d rather focus on what Ike couldn’t take away: a region full of people unwilling to take the likes of him sitting down.

Having four nights of good sleep now behind me, I can perform as promised and shine some light on what sparkled throughout the darkness of Ike.  And for those wondering if my head is deeply planted in the sand, I know it hasn’t been all roses and sunshine. I’m choosing not to dwell on what went wrong as it’s a small piece of the big picture. No doubt my silver lining will match that of countless others.

Without further ado, and in no particular order here’s who/what glittered in my corner of the world before, during and after Ike: my family, immediate and extended; my neighbors ; The Red Cross for bringing more than sustenance alone; Bayer for making sure their employees had the gas and supplies needed to survive the aftermath until stores were up and running ; BPD and Chambers County officers for patrolling my dark streets; all the linemen, tree cutters and debris removers  from across the country who came to help in our moments of greatest need; and last, but not least, all of my friends. Among them, Roger King, engineer who wired our generator straight to the house and greatly improved our post-hurricane life, and his lovely wife Kathy, who held a party I refused to attend because I was on sewage back-up watch among a variety of other “excuses”. I must also publicly thank Joe Brazil and wife Kay for their tireless efforts in our neighborhood clean up.  My deepest heartfelt thanks go to all of you.

Ike took something from each and every one of us, but he couldn’t steal what I’m proud to say are shining brightly – compassion, resolve and determination.  Southeast Texas, take a bow.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

I wish I could think of something besides Hurricane Ike recovery to write about this week. My brain could produce another topic if I were back to living in modern times and didn’t have the constant noise of generators all around me. Basic survival keeps one’s body pretty busy, and my mind is occupied with a daily list of what I must accomplish before Mother Nature turns out the lights.

Unlike many, my family, personal property and residence came through Ike virtually unscathed.  Even with weariness increasing as I reach my seventh day without power, I refuse to allow myself to be one bit upset. Pity parties are stopped dead in their tracks by viewing the devastation in our area.

Venturing out for the first time in days, I made a trip Tuesday morning to Food Town on North Main with neighbor Collette Tompkins, and Linda Rowe (Mom, to me) in tow. I was set pretty well in supplies, but I had a gut feeling I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to dine out of cans long term.  I left the store with a couple of prevalent thoughts: First, I couldn’t have been more proud of my fellow shoppers. People were cordial and went out of their way to be patient and cooperative – a sight to behold given stress levels and lack of sleep.  Second, I appreciated the employees of Food Town for getting to work and manning the store in spite of what hardships they were also facing.

More normalcies were delivered in the form of a newspaper and mail later that afternoon. What a welcomed site they were…further contact from beyond my street. Spotty phone service and a generator even gave me a brief window to go online and procure vital information I had no other way of getting.   

I’ve learned generators are wonderful things, and probably play a large role in why I’m able to have a somewhat “glass-half-full” outlook, but there’s a down side. At this point, I would pay a large sum of money for one good night’s sleep – something I haven’t had in a week. Each night, all the neighborhood generators gather for a large party right outside my bedroom window. Mine is put to bed, but the others still want to play. I’ll let you decide if the nocturnal musings of my mind, which include a large number of Harley Davidson motorcycles, are dreams or nightmares.

 A vast improvement in post-hurricane life also occurred Thursday when I was notified the city water was cleared for consumption. I may still come down with some dreaded disease as I forgot on a few occasions and wetted my toothbrush with potentially contaminated water. So far, my immune system seems to be holding up.

This week also saw me the proud owner of a new clothes line, and I’m counting my standing trees to hang it from as one of many blessings bestowed upon me in these past few days.  Hanging hand-washed laundry out to dry was actually a pleasant experience; it gave me the mental down time necessary to see how my family, friends and neighbors sparkle.  

I’ll shine some light on that silver lining as soon as CenterPoint turns my power back on.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Dear friends, I write to you with a heavy heart as it appears we’re in for some rough days and nights. When I started writing this week’s article, Ike was stumbling around Cuba, and it seemed he would track somewhere other than here. Feeling what has been termed “hurricane fatigue” I wrote a funny little rant about the whole mess we lovingly call hurricane season here on the Gulf Coast. That was on Tuesday.

Today, Thursday (late), I’m hammering this out utterly exhausted. I know many of you are in the same shape. My mental capabilities are stretched, and I’m aching in places I forgot I had. I apologize in advance for what will probably not be my finest literary work. I’m not submitting the funny piece because presently looking down the barrel of a gun isn’t one bit funny. However, I must say, lest I offend you at a later date by using humor at a seemingly inappropriate time, that I’ve got to laugh sometimes to keep from crying. And, I’m one of those people who laugh when afraid or nervous.

The past two days have been a whirlwind of activity, and while we couldn’t be any more prepared, I still have that nagging feeling that I’ll realize I forgot to do something important.  My guys have thoroughly prepared the outside by boarding up, and securing everything in the backyard. I took care of the interior. All the supplies are accessible, the tiny room under the stairwell (my junk room) is cleared out and ready for occupants should the need arise. I cleaned, did all the laundry, and cleaned some more, wondering if I was doing it in vain. I bet Ike couldn’t care less if my showers are clean, but it makes me feel better.

I’ve sworn off all media as I can no longer handle the roller-coaster ride. Every time I get an understanding of the implications of where Ike’s going, he changes his mind. I find I’m much calmer not listening to all the “what if” scenarios. I’ll let Jeff handle the information gathering; he seems to process it all matter-of-factly and doesn’t get hung up in any hype.

I’ve also realized that for the most part, what I conjure up happening in my mind is often far worse than what actually occurs. I blame that on watching too much Hurricane Katrina coverage. When I’m not pondering worst-case scenarios, I worry that’ll be when the unimaginable strikes. It is a sickness, and I’m working on a cure.

I’m signing off, and going to try to get a good night’s sleep as I’m hearing tomorrow night is going to be a long, hard one. I hope this finds each and every one of you safe from the battering we’re about to take. I know we’ll all pull through, because I’ve seen over and over what the people of this area are all about. Acts of neighborly kindness and can-do spirit will be alive and well after Ike leaves his mark. We’ll pull together when the chips are down…we always do. Good luck and I’ll see you on the other side.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Last week I told you hurricane season spawns storms of a different variety in my house because I start plotting the Whatley course of action long before a storm nears land. Jeff prefers the wait-and-see method. I also mentioned his storm plan calls for removing himself from the path of Hurricane Natalie. You’ll never guess where he goes.  

Thirteen years ago we purchased a home boasting 33 windows (it’s not a typo); Jeff started buying plywood here and there as the budget allowed. Piece by piece and over the course of years, every window received its own custom-cut cover spray painted with a number correlative to a meticulously drawn diagram. It was a massive undertaking, and took time an approaching storm wouldn’t allow.

With the approach of Rita on the heels of Katrina in 2005, the dear man in my life didn’t sleep for at least three days. After fulfilling his duties at Bayer, he jumped right on the task of boarding up our home. It was brutally hot that day, and I was worried sick as I watched him haul large, heavy pieces up a ladder to the second-floor windows. He looked like death, and wouldn’t even stop to eat. The City of Baytown was considering an evacuation, and I was to pack as we’d be leaving ahead of the mass exodus.

Given all the Hurricane Katrina coverage, I was having a difficult time as weather forecasters were predicting Rita would bring similar devastation to our area. Just prior to leaving, Jeff found me crying in our bedroom. I knew we had to leave, but my heart wanted to stay and go down with the ship. He looked straight into my watery eyes and said, “We’re going to be just fine.”

We left 12 hours before Baytown was officially called to evacuate.  The gridlock was a nightmare to say the least.  After 31 hours on the road, and no fuel to be had, we had a decision to make: spend another dangerous night (people were getting desperate) on Highway 59, or take our chances returning home.  The distance traveled on our road trip to Hades was only a 45-minute return.   

Hours after arriving home, the storm turned. We’d have some nasty weather to endure, but it wasn’t going to be catastrophic to Baytown. Since hurricane-force winds were still expected, we decided to bunker down in the living room of our boarded-up fortress.

Jeff, completely spent, fell asleep on the way down to our queen-sized air mattress. The kids slept as well, while the dog and I kept vigil, prayed no large trees would fall on our home, and that the roof held. All night I listened to large chunks of natural debris slam into the plywood covering the many windows. Given all the crazy circumstances of Rita, I was as safe as I could possibly be.

I poked a little fun at Jeff last week, but I know he’s removed from my path because he becomes the clear, calm eye at the center of Hurricane Natalie. He’s told me, “we’re going to be just fine”, more times than I can count. He’s by far more accurate than the weatherpersons I watch.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

Tropical storm Edouard arrived days ago providing a gentle reminder for each of us to assess our current plans and supplies. It’s something the experts say we should have already done, but by watching the news I’m led to believe many of our brethren wait for an imminent threat.

It also reminded me of one of the biggest things I despise about life in a coastal region: hurricane season. Humidity ranks closely as it affords me one bad hair day after another. Shallow, I know, but it affects my life with far more frequency than the storms.

Like many others, I’m completely stressed by things I can’t control. It’s difficult to wrap one’s mind around killer forces threatening cherished people and things. Worse, impending weather events between June and November tend to spawn storms of a different variety on my home front.

I want to be prepared to weather a category 5+ storm and the aftermath, while dear-husband Jeff feels such preparations are overkill fueled by media hype.  Intellectually I know a direct hit from a cat 5 (that’s weather-speak) would wipe out everything, but I’ve got what we need to survive on the roof surrounded by rapid water and critters until we’re rescued and admonished for not getting the heck out of here.

 In my defense, I was a resident of Baytown in ’83 when Alicia hit. The storm itself isn’t etched in my memory, but the aftermath is. Having been born into the luxuries of air conditioning and indoor plumbing, spending an entire month without electricity and water was rough on this girl.

On my storm-tracking chart, coordinates place Jeff dangerously close to nonchalance. In his defense, he’s not a native Texan, and doesn’t have what I would consider healthy fear and sense of urgency in avoiding last-minute preparations. He’s from tornado country, where there was little advance warning of impending disaster. Flying by the seat of one’s pants while assuming the crash position of kissing your hiney good-bye was about all that could be done in the seconds before a strike.

Here, we generally have several days notice, and I get into trouble when I want to discuss potential evacuation departure days out. Irritates the fire out of him, and his irritation is doubly irritating to me. 

The whole Rita evacuation debacle did scoot him somewhat towards seeing things my way as we spent 31 hours on the road, got no further than Livingston, and were forced by fuel constraints to return home to ride out the storm.

Although losing electricity for a week was a bit uncomfortable, it was a shining moment for me. We had everything we needed, and came out on the other side feeling like we’d been on a family camping trip.

Still, when there’s trouble brewing in the Gulf, I can with 100% accuracy predict at least a cat 1 striking our marriage. Given how we weathered Edouard, I’d say Jeff’s done some predicting of his own. His newly-crafted emergency plan calls for removing himself from the path of a storm. He avoided me like the plague last week.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley