Consultant and Author, D. K. Christi

"It's coming; Atlanta is just ahead.  I'm so glad it's late and the freeway traffic will be clearing some.  Here it comes.  Oh my!  It's like a Disney ride with lights, maneuvering the lanes at high speed and hoping to make it out the correct freeway!  I wish I could look, but I don't dare take my eyes off the road."

6:44 AM PST, February 27, 2009 Arirang: The Bamboo Connection The World Outside the Window Affairs of the Heart - The Rulebook Consultant and Author D. K. Christi

Ah, the relationship between free television, reading and writing has become very clear to me. I bought two conversion boxes and two antennas for my two ancient but excellent televisions. One is a 32 inch flat screen at least. The magic night arrived. The antenna and the box was correctly connected to each television. "No signal" is what I have for one perfect connection. NBC is the only station I am receiving on the other, and it digitally breaks down at the most dramatic point of any program.

Previously, both televisions brought in five stations each. With a little wiggle on the rabbit ears, some were clear as cable. I had FOX, CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS. Sometimes, when the weather was right and the moon and stars were in order, two or three additional channels would come into focus. I do not watch television very much. My mother is visiting this winter. She is 90. She doesn't watch television in the daytime. However, she considers it her night time entertainment to pick one good television program each night. Sunday night is Desperate Housewives. Monday night is The Bachelor (I know, at 90 she still has an eye........). Tuesday is open. Wednesday is Lost. Friday is 20/20. I favor news in the morning; news at 11:00 p.m.; an occasional PBS special and Lost on Wednesday night. If you don't have the drift by now, I'll let you know with irritation that ABC gets most of the attention from my mother and me. We no longer receive ABC.

Since I am rather sophisticated in electronic gadgets, I feel as if a thief came into my house and stole my televisions. What happened to the "conversion" for which I paid and tore apart my wall unit to install? Is this just happening to me? Is it happening across the country? It was bad enough that all my emergency, hurricane televisions on my Jeep all encompassing television, radio, flashlight, mosquitoe repellant, siren and emergency flasher no longer work. I took some comfort in the closed up laundry room during hurricanes and tornadoes by watching the 5" x 7" image of the weather reporter following the weather's destructive path. My mother reminded me of my nephew's statement during a power outage as he turned up the gas flame to boil water for coffee, " Without the microwave, this is like camping." Except where I camp, my Jeep emergency gizmo did work in the days of free tv.

So, Mother is now reading Arirang: The Bamboo Connection, my debut novel about adventure and travel, laced with a light romance and The World Outside the Window anthology that includes my short story, Rose's Question. She read the final manuscript of Ghost Orchid, my next novel of mystery in the Everglades scheduled for fall release and my short story, Ice Storm that will be released soon in the anthology Romance of My Dreams. I've downloaded all eight short stories at Amazon Shorts from Affairs of The Heart: The Rulebook to A Walk on the Beach.

With no escape to news (not much of an escape anyway) or the the Lost island, I have no choice but to push forward with more short stories and novels; after all, Mother needs some entertainment. I even started reading some books and stories by colleagues that I had put away for a "rainy day." It's not raining; I've simply returned to the 1940's and no television. The thought of ordering cable is beyond my comprehension. I barely watched the programs I had for free; why should I pay for more that I don't have the time to watch? Yet, this "DTV Conversion" for free tv has denied me the news and the very programs that provided a safety net and an occasional escape.

At least with free tv, the weather faithfully played on the screen when all the cable connections were down in threatening weather. If you see me at Target this weekend, I'll be there with my antenna and my converter box listening to them insist that they work and that I must have installed them wrong. I'll work very hard at remaining quietly professional as I explain that I am not an idiot; and I know how to install. The problem is that the whole conversion propaganda was an expensive joke: there is no conversion for my previous experience with free tv. I'm faced with no tv or cable. I wish that had been made clear in the first place. Now I know why televisions are lined up along the street on garbage day. Their owners made the same discovery. Free tv is now a myth, an urban legend, a piece of history. However, until I break my resolve and become a cable subscriber, I am reading and writing when I might be watching. At least there's still free radio - or is that next?

Romance of My Dreams anthology - New Release Soon

What a trip!  First, my reservations were changed from Saturday to Sunday because the planes from Chicago to Grand Rapids were not all flying.  In that process, I lost my seats.  So, I bought an extra legroom seat to get a guaranteed aisle seat (claustrophobic) from Ft. Myers to Chicago.  That was a smart purchase.  The plane was six across and quite long.  With many nice attendants, an overall pleasant flight left on time.  Check in at the curb was easy.  I had plenty of time.  However, those of us checking our bags on the perfect Florida morning commented that we were “headed in the wrong direction.”  How prophetic!

We circled Chicago for what seemed an endless amount of time, burning up  15 minutes of early arrival and extending it into a very late arrival.  The blizzard on the runway actually rocked the plane after we finally landed.  The captain announced it was a -30 wind chill, and anyone staying in Chicago needed to beware.  I looked out the window and pitied the ground crews directing traffic.  I could barely see a ghost airplane off to our left through the white out conditions.  At least we were on the ground.  The landing was smooth until the last, crunching moment.  The captain announced that the nose gear had slipped.  I could have gone a long time without that detail.  We had no gate still.  We sat on the runway, rocking in the wind, waiting for a gate call.  The captain kept giving those updates that were not very uplifting.  I could feel the tension on the plane rising as those with close connections let their anxiety pollute the air.  Finally, we pulled into a gate.  Everyone rose in one mad dash to grab their bags from the overhead and jam into the aisle for a snail’s rush to the exit. 

Nothing and nobody moved.  I was in row 4, with a close view of the non-opening door.  The captain’s friendly voice announced the gate was frozen and jammed, and the passengers could not deplane.  He recommended everyone sit back in their seats and be comfortable.  It would take at least ten minutes for the mechanic to arrive and work on the problem.  Of course, everyone had their luggage in the seats and jammed in the aisles.  An older man with a deep accent, anxiety rising in his voice, was standing next to my seat (where I had remained seated for the entire ordeal, a previous two-hour connection now reduced to one; but plan B included a train, so I was relaxed.)  Fortunately, plan B was not implemented.

The irate gentleman was hanging onto his spot in line by putting his arm across my neck, holding onto the back of the seat in front of me (he came from the rear, crowding past everyone, saying he had 50 minutes to catch his flight to Seattle, dragging a seeming spouse. I made the mistake of saying, “hopefully, there is another flight to Seattle as everyone on this plane has connection; and I doubt anyone will be moving off this plane quickly.  By now, I have a short connection also; but this is holiday travel; and I am going to enjoy it somehow.”  I said it with a smile.  I know, it was dumb.  He responded with, “I don’t think this is funny.  Only in America.”  I don’t know what all that meant, but the women in the seat behind me rolled their eyes.  I was choked by his arm and requested him to move it.  He asked why?  I said, “because you are choking me.”  He had the audacity to say he wasn’t moving his arm; I could move closer to the person next to me!  He still believed he was going to leap over the passengers in front of him I guess.

Fortunately, before my Irish was up, the captain announced the door jam was sufficiently fixed to deplane, but the wind was whistling through openings; and coats and hats were necessary.  It would be a long, cold walk to the terminal.  Unfortunately for me, my brother was waiting in Grand Rapids, MI with my winter coat and winter boots.  I intended to be inside terminals until he met me.  However, that is getting ahead of the story – a need for my coat was even worse later.  A mad crush moved toward the front of the plane; but eventually, a kind soul let me into the line from my fourth row seat (after a good dozen rows jammed forward first.

So pleased was I to get a spot in line before the bitter end, that I left my sweatshirt on the seat.  This I discovered after exiting the gateway into the terminal.  As I turned, a young woman who was seated behind me appeared with my sweatshirt.  She said, “isn’t it sad that some people have to behave so badly.”  We shared holiday greetings.  It was a nice moment.

After I walked the full length of O’Hare to my next plane, a small commuter plane, I found myself in the oldest part of the airport.  It was darker and less cheerful than the terminal at which I arrived.  The walk was great , though, after the long sit in the tension-filled plane.  I grabbed a snack bag with some nuts and cranberries in it to suffice for lunch, and possibly dinner.

The connecting flight from Chicago to Grand Rapids was listed as delayed from a 1:30 departure to a 1:51 departure.  That was fine.  That was just fine until 1:51 turned into 2:20 and 2:40 and 3:15 and 3:40 and 4:00 and 4:10, each time a sign flashing across the marquee “loading in 10 minutes” with a countdown to about five before it changed times.  The narrow terminal was so cold from other planes loading and unloading that I could see my breath. Of course, my warm coat was still waiting for me in Grand Rapids.  I couldn’t leave the gate because the plan was loading “in 10 minutes” all afternoon.  I just had to shiver and hope for a warm flight, a warm cup of tea and an airplane blanket.

Finally, around 4:30 or so, they announced that the flight was cancelled because the Grand Rapids airport was closed.  Besides the lavatory was frozen, there was no heat, and the piece of equipment to start the aircraft was in high demand and not accomplishing its task (in three hours of waiting).  The multiple delays in departure were due to not being able to start the plane, then a frozen lavatory, if one can believe the announcements.  The crew kept going through the door with their cases and later returning.  Just about the time it felt like all hope was lost, already too late for the train and with dire news about freeways closing in Michigan all around the airport and multi-vehicle pileups on the highway from Chicago to Holland, the gate person announced the aircraft to Grand Rapids was boarding at last. 

Before the attendant, bundled in her wool scarf and cashmere coat, gave the safety information, she announced, “Welcome to the flight that almost wasn’t.” She could have left that off.  I mean, a flight that was delayed all afternoon because it would not start was already an uncomfortable flight.  The attendant continued, “We apologize for the lack of heat and the frozen lavatory.  The flight is only 28 minutes.  There will be no beverage service, but feel free to ask for a beverage.”   The lack of heat was miserable.  Of course, there wasn’t a blanket or a pillow on the plane.  It felt like a trip in Siberia as we boarded the plane; I thought someone might build a fire in the middle of the cabin for some warmth.  I zipped up my Florida coat completely with only my eyes peeking out.  My own breath helped create some warmth inside the coat.  I felt the ice cold, leather seats through my jeans.  It was not pleasant!

The slender plane rose into the air in the white out and within a very short time was descending into Grand Rapids, accompanied by my fervent prayers that all was well.  The flight was amazingly smooth. Except for the sick children in the row behind me hacking and coughing and crying in cold misery, the flight was uneventful. I watched out the window on landing; the air was white with no visibility that I could discern.  It looked worse than fog to me.  I don’t know how the pilots managed with the wind at near gale and the snow blinding.  I felt like applauding as the wheels touched down gently, applauding the pilots, not United Airlines.

The one checked bag full of Christmas presents and extra warm clothes did not pop out of the baggage shoot.  I waited thirty minutes as bags from every flight but mine rolled by.  I waited with a hundred other passengers from my flight whose bags did not pop out either.  Eventually, the light dawned; we realized our entire flight’s luggage was not on our plane but flying somewhere else or removed when the flight was “cancelled” in Chicago. 

Some souls went in search of a United agent.  There was none.  They were told the five United personnel had called in sick that day, and one person was loading passengers and attending the United counter, meaning the agent was out by the gates; and no one could tend to our lost bags issues.  No one in the entire airport (I tried unsuccessful from one information source to another) could shed any light on the baggage issue.

A rush to the empty United counter seemed counter productive to me, but I followed the rush and was about 20th in line.  After waiting for twenty- minutes more past the similar amount of time watching the shoot to no avail, quite a conversation developed.  Finally, I said to no one in particular, “you know, the lost baggage forms must be under that counter somewhere.  Maybe someone at the beginning of the line is willing to jump over the scale and look for them.”  Immediately, a young woman at the beginning of the line did so and came back, armed with the forms.  There were about 25 as they went five people past me.  I filled out mine, called to a Continental agent who gave us the 800 number to call (the man behind me was on his cell with United the whole time we were in line trying to do something about baggage) that we were leaving our forms.  He said he would see that the agent got them.  I left.  I was distressed that I had stood around nearly an hour, helpless without taking action, waiting for someone else to be the leader.  Finally, the dawn came. 

My brother had been waiting for me the entire time from when I was supposed to arrive until the plane was “cancelled,”  worrying about the deteriorating road conditions, especially now that night had fallen along with the temperatures.  My home town of Muskegon (my eventual destination) wasn’t going to plow until 2AM and told people not to drive.  Fortunately, we communicated by cell phone; and I assured him the cancelled flight was on the tarmac and I was onboard, ready to leave if I didn’t freeze first. 

The trip home in the blinding snow, and ice-covered expressway was a dangerous ending to a dangerous day.  When we reached Muskegon County, the expressway wasn’t recently plowed and the highways were piled with snow.  At some points, near white-outs made driving the normal hour from the airport a major challenge.  The final blow was getting stuck, major, at my mother’s driveway after pushing rather successfully up the non-plowed road.  After waiting for me all afternoon, my brother had to dig out his car and shovel out the drive that had just been cleared the day before.  I waked through snow up to my knees in Jeans as I had no access to my warmer clothes from my non-arriving suitcase.

The next morning as I am shoveling another six to eight inches of snow from the drive in blowing snow, the neighbor across the street came to help.  I must have looked like an amateur.  We chatted about the comparison between cutting grass in Florida winters and shoveling snow in Michigan winters.  Then the conversation turned to leaving Florida sunshine for a Michigan blizzard.  Then he asked me if I had heard on the news about the ill-fated flight from Chicago that was cancelled and left anyway, the passengers suffering no heat, frozen lavatories and lost luggage.  He said it was on the evening news.  That was my flight.  I didn’t imagine it.  My unbelievable experience was confirmed by the news.  In the beauty of new fallen snow, the camaraderie of small town neighbors and hope for the delivery of my lost bag of presents in time for Christmas, the flight challenges had slipped away into distant memories. 

The next day was another blanketing of snow, large, thick flakes hanging an inch deep on the tree branches.  More shoveling.  I heard a snow blower coming up the unplowed street.  Another neighbor I’ve never met says his name is “Ed” and the snowfall this year is something else.  Something else is correct.  Trying to keep the drive clear is impossible.  The snow is getting heavier, great snowman material.  I thought I might make one on the rear patio snow.  I shoveled around the edges while Ed blew away the snow with his mighty machine.  He wished me a happy Christmas before leaving  for the next neighbor’s drive.  We chatted a little.  My Plan B, the train from Chicago to Holland that I was unable to arrange due to the multiple plane delays capturing me at the airport gate until catching the 5:00 p.m. train was impossible; well, the normally three hours trip became 16 in the blizzard.  My cancelled flight with no heat was a bonus after all.

Did you ever complete a very special project with perfection and hope for recognition? 

I once believed that "doing one's best" would eventually lead to some reward, some evidence that the right choice was made.

The Four Agreements is a small book that packs a big message:  With four simple agreements that we can follow, life will be much easier.  Two that I find closely matched are:  "always do your best," and "don't take things personally."

Any project, from writing a book to packaging a gift, needs to reflect the best effort even if the product is not perfect.  It is the best effort that leads to self-satisfaction and pride in one's abilities.  If the project is, in fact, perfect, the lack of recognition should not be taken personally.  Recognition is a bonus, not an expectation. If I do my best, I have kept my agreement that leads to a more rewarding life. 

During this holiday season, many wonderful people throughout the world will be doing their best to please their loved ones, to cook a great meal, to travel long distances, to enjoy gifts that miss the mark and to genuinely appreciate the season.

Remember the paired agreements and not takes things personally when the best effort is either lacking recognition or totally fails.  Make agreements this holiday season to do your best and not take things personally.  Let it be a time of giving from the heart with no expectations and enjoying a full measure of peace and serenity, joy and gratitude.

D. K. Christi's "Rose's Questions" is one of the short stories in THE WORLD OUTSIDE THE WINDOW anthology, twenty stories by nineteen published authors.  Don Harpe, one of the contributors, wrote the following introduction:

I didn't realize how prophetic my last post would become.  There is a new hope stirring in the world, a fantasy perhaps and expectations beyond possible realization; but hope is hope.

A book I read many years ago, Strategy of the Dolphin, was a superb text for managing change.  I spent many years sending its message to groups of people in workshops across the nation.  The theory was based on sharks, carps and dolphins.  Using its analogies, the country has been run by sharks for the last eight years with carps around the edges and dolphins swimming around, unable to break through.

Even in the workplace, the strong management orientation toward teamwork and collaboration has slipped into autocratic environments with top down management, a risk-averse environment where people fear their jobs are on the line unless they tow the line.

The authors of Strategy of the Dolphin proposed that Dolphin thinking requires listening, synthesizing and incorporating the best of many minds to reach solutions that benefit the whole.  This radical thinking concept is the one that took our information technology to the peak it once experienced.  It's time to dust off this little book and read about the Brain Technologies studies by the authors.  They are still out there, promoting the use of our brain's capacity for excellence.  They are still promoting learning about our own best selves and how to fit our intelligence into productive accomplishments.

With the recent election, the dolphins have broken through.  The carps are still around the edges, but the sharks may have met their match.  Hooray for the dolphins.  It's about time.

Tonight I am watching the ALMA awards for Latin American entertainers.  I am watching one of the many fabrics that strengthen this country, the United States of America, that I love.  I don't spend my days and nights talking about my patriotism; but there it is, I love my country.  I love the heart and soul of America, the people who have come here from every nation in the world to build a future for their children.  I love the many colors and languages and religions and beliefs of my fellow Americans.  This diversity is my country's strength, its grit, its power, its hope and the light it once shined to the world.

I haven't seen much of that light lately.  In the last few years, I have seen and heard fear and hate and division in my country and reflected out to the world.  "Go back where you came from," I hear. If we all go back where we came from, the American Indian will at last inherit their country.  Unfortunately, they will get it back in a much different state than when the immigrants took it from them.  Yes, this nation of immigrants does not have a kind history.  Ask the historians of other countries who look at this young and violent nation, not as a country of high moral principles but rather as a country full of bigotry, hatred and wars with cities of gangs and warfare yet today.  For all our sophistication and development, we are a violent nation.

We still have a chance to set the record straight.  We still have the opportunity to take the high road in favor of principles that have been flowing through all the chaos, all the uncertainty, all the aches and pains as we have found our way in a world that has watched our every failure and seldom heralds our successes anymore.  We can still shine our light.  It's there.  It's there in the talent, hopes and dreams of every family that looks at a newborn child and sees the future, not a future of wars and poverty but a future with a quality of living to which each person can aspire if we all work together.

We have to substitute hope for fear, love and acceptance for hate and greed, and cooperation and collaboration for discord and distrust.  "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me...." and so goes the song.  No, I don't want anyone to go back where they came from.  This is a big country.  There's room here for everyone.  I don't care what languages we speak, what color our skin, or what customs we practice so long as they are part of a fabric that resonates with the strength that has carried our country to its pinnacle and will keep it from falling.  As long as the moral fabric of my country is one of brotherhood and sisterhood and love and acceptance that protects its children and its elderly and has opportunities for meaningful lives, I am content.

I am not content today, though.  Today, children in my country are hungry and without proper medical care.  Elderly are eating dog food to pay for their medicins or drinking one Slimfast a day for nutrition.  Hard working adults cannot find meaningful employment.  Those who have worked all their lives are losing their homes and their precious little retirement funds.  Medical care costs are out of control.  Instead of public transportation, we have a system of roads and automobiles that make us dependent on foreign oil and a slave to wars in fear our fix may be denied to us.  We throw everything away instead of seeking lasting quality: throw away diapers, throw away dishes, throw away relationships........We substitute technology for people.  It's no wonder we look for someone to blame.  We can't talk to anyone - it's a recording!

I want universal health care, not talk about universal health care.  An imperfect system is better than none at all.  There are enough examples that are successful.  Copy one!  I want an education system that works.  There are enough examples.  Copy one!  We're losing half our youth from our high schools - these may be the people who would have solved our national issues.  I want public transportatin and alternative fuel sources.  New Zealand was using thermal fissures and solar power when I was there in 1974.  Where's ours?  They had no options.  We need to eliminate the oil option and force ourselves into sustainable natural sources.  I don't know how to end the greed and wastefulness this nation exhibits to the rest of the world.  A spiritual awakening is a personal thing.  Maybe if our government sets examples, greed won't look "okay."  Maybe, it might be cool to live modestly and nourish the soul and the earth.  I want jobs for every able bodied person who wishes to work.  I don't care if we have to bring back public works jobs.  We certainly have enough bridges and levies to keep minds and bodies working for some time to come.

I am tired of career politicians.  I would like to see more participation in government by someone besides lawyers.  We need more scientists and fewer lawyers.  Every time I see that plastered Congressional or Senatorial smile, I see a campaign sign paid for by a special interest lobbyist.  I want everyone's interest represented, not the interests of a few.

What presidential campaign is going to get these things for me?  Well, eight years of the current administration have been nothing but depressing except for the few wealthy for whom life has improved.  I sure don't want four more years.  I have fought the job search battle, the loss of my retirement fund, my private investments like have been proposed for Social Security. I have seen the youth of the country go off to war and even the weekend warriors who were supposed to be here, protecting me from disasters, were sent against their will.  My home value shot up then dropped, scaring me into staying in one place for fear of losing my four walls.  My insurance and taxes, though, stayed high.  I have watched unfunded mandates shift the emphasis in schools to teaching to the test instead of to the future.  I have heard the world through non-U.S. media lose its faith in the U.S.  I have seen the religious right polarize and spread a message of hate toward differences instead of love thy neighbor as I believe God intends.  And I have seen bigotry and prejudice stirred up to cover up a war based on lies and an economy in shambles.

So, you tell me.  How will I reclaim the country I love, the one with open arms and open hearts and the will and creativity to solve the problems of poverty, sickness, unemployment and wars.  Where will my vote be a vote for people instead of greed and power?  Where will my vote protect the future of children and elderly and give hope to those who work so hard every day to meet our needs and support their families?