Natalie Whatley

Don’t let the title alarm you. Physically, I’m mostly fine. Functional even.

Here we are about a year out from National Election Day. I know, already? But it is high time for us to do some massive cleaning out.

I’m a little shaky on whether or not I’m up to the task and especially given we’ll have a full year of non-stop media coverage wherein we’ll dissect prenatal conditions, penmanship, and even the bathroom habits of each potential candidate.

Something very uncharacteristic happened to me after the 2008 elections, and I was hoping to be over it by now. It has been three long years since we had to consider our plight and choose leaders on a national level. What can I say? This girl can hold a grudge if she’s so inclined. I’m not proud of it, just stating a fact.

I must also point out that I’m not suffering from sour grapes even though I did not vote for the man currently occupying the Oval Office.

It goes far beyond my lesser-of-two-evils candidate and party losing. It’s rather some deeply-rooted (I accidentally spelled rotted on the first attempt . . . it fits, too) supposed fruit-bearing trees not coming to fruition, i.e. people who want the job but can’t or won’t produce anything beyond childish bickering. And even that’s on a good day.

In the great words of my maternal figure, Linda Rowe, and as I hold my hand just above my eyebrows, “I’ve had it up to here!” (Yes, the lovely Mrs. Rowe would pronounce that red faced and quite loudly when she’d had enough of us heathens not pulling our load around the house.)

And because I no longer have the stomach for the non-stop political finger pointing, what’s surely coming in the next twelve months is causing me anticipatory illness. I’m already exhausted. I’d call it sick and tired but that’s a bit too cliché.

I used to brag about being a political junkie—prided myself on my habit and knowing all the issues and players along with the various arguments. I was the life of the party and way too much fun to argue with. My family can attest. I’ll send them your condolences.

 And it was delightful in a weird kind of way to be in a public place—say waiting for my oil to be changed—and have people around me start in on politics. Local, state, or national, didn’t matter.  I would let it go for about as long as I could stand before I let my own firebrand roll across my pearly whites—in a sweet, volume-appropriate voice, of course.  Shocked a few people.  Apparently I’m very docile looking.

But something changed and I’m almost embarrassed to admit I quit caring about the whole lot of it. I tuned out. Ignorance has been more than slightly blissful when I can manage to ignore the consequences of apathy. If only I could ignore my conscience, too.

So, I suppose I’ll have to get over myself because in the end I know all too well that it would be ignorant to ignore Decision 2012.

© 2011 Natalie Whatley

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2008 Natalie Whatley