May 23, 2014 13:15 PDT, United 6371, Seat 1A enroute LAX

Welcome aboard! Some of you have joined me on one of my trips out to the Pacific before, for some this may be your first. I very much enjoy sharing this with you, frustrated author of limited talent that I am, because I am headed to some places you may never get to: the incredible island nations of Micronesia. Laid out across the Pacific on a line from Honolulu to Manila are a series of island chains and It has been my blessing to spend some time there.

I'm traveling on business, more about the specific nature of that later, but I will have plenty of opportunity to introduce you to the wonders of this part of the world and the people, customs and food I encounter along the way. My account is hardly anthropological or any other logic of science. If anything these words are autobiographical, giving a sense of what it is like for one person to get up one morning at home and end up several hours later in a very different place. Of course the vagaries of travel, most notably by airline, are touched upon frequently.

So it is, I'm on the first leg of my journey, having left home in University Place to go to the airport in Seattle to board a flight to Los Angeles. To gain miles and protect my frequent flyer status I am forced to fly on United. They treat me good, deservedly after flying nearly 2 million miles with them. I get all the goodies, preferred boarding, first class upgrades, for my loyalty, but I go where UAL goes and they do not fly directly to Hawai'i from Seattle.. Hence the dogleg through LAX.

Already I face an unpleasant challenge. My client booked the flight and it has a very tight 32 minute layover in LAX. I didn't think they would allow you to schedule one that narrow. Of course this flight was late arriving in Seattle so all the data from my electronic traveler apps shows us arriving in LAX two minutes after my scheduled flight to HNL departs. Knowing this, I called United and made sure I had a back-up, but if I have to use it I'll get to Oahu just that much later and lose my first class upgrade. I'm sure to get no sympathy for that, but the near six-hour flight is a lot nicer up front than in back (which my grand-daughter Larkin correctly and glumly refers to as "last class.")

The suspense builds. Will the HNL flight be delayed? Will they hold it for me? Will we make up time? Stay tuned.

16:20 PDT, UA 12, Seat 21A, at Gate 71a LAX

Well, I didn't make it. United rebooked me for a flight leaving 90 minutes later, so no big problem. I did lose my upgrade to first, but they put me in a roomy exit row so I'm ok. Could be a lot worse. Add to my frustration I run into problems charging my iPad. Those of you who know me well know how (overly) dependent I am on that device. But when I plugged into the handy plug below my seat it started charging. Very good news. Free booze I can skip; need all the pleasures my iPad provides. Just learned the Direct TV entertainment system on this flight is inop. I volunteered to tell jokes to my seatmates. Need the iPad more than ever. Pushing back! Aloha.

1712 HDT enroute HNL

A crowded kind of uncomfortable flight, but the exit row even by the window is far superior to anything else in coach. The guy in the center seat and I are cooperative about sharing the sliver of the armrest. Much better than a recent flight when the guy seated next to me, who matched me pound for pound, complained about the amount of space I was taking to the point

that I recommended to him that he might consider losing some weight before he boarded his next flight.

6:07 PST a.m. on board United 262 enroute Seattle to San Francisco

Did not win the Halfway-to-Hawaii game. Just keep missing. Short a minute and 26 seconds this time.

I'll stay overnight in HNL then depart for Guam tomorrow, change planes, make a stop in Chuuk (better known as Truk, the Japanese fleet HQ duriNg the latter phases of WW 2), before arriving in Pohnpei, the capitol island of the Federated States of Micronesia. If you have an old atlas, FSM was known for centuries at the Caroline Islands. Indeed, until their independence, Pohnpei was known as Ponape. Lots of different names out here... surely an artifact of colonialism that substituted European place names for native locations.

Realized that today would have been my Mom's birthday, may she rest in peace. I have no idea how old she was. She guarded her age and was deceptive when asked. Even after she passed away five years ago, I had a hard time finding papers with an accurate birthdate. I could hunt down her birth certificate, but I'm content to keep her secret. I do know she would be getting close to 100.

It's no accident I'm sitting here and thinking about, writing about, enjoying another trip. She inspired a love of travel and foreign places early in my life. I can remember being six or so, sitting on our sofa which mom had transformed into a Pullman compartment or ship's cabin or an airplane seat quite like the one I occupy now. We were in Northern California physically, but on any one of her "trips" we were headed to Paris or Miami Beach or her beloved Chicago. She had traveled much as a kid, so she filled me with the sights, sounds and scents of those places from memory. I think these were tough years in her life and it may have been sweet satisfaction to take those imaginary trips with a loving son who, to this day, is ever-lastingly thankful to have been raised to embrace differences and find wonder in all that is foreign. Thanks, Mom, you're one of the reasons I'm headed out to the Pacific right now.

May 24, 11:19 HST Charley's Taxi enroute to HNL

How sweet, a quiet morning. There are always restaurants opening in Waikiki, so I tried a new one on Ena just behind the Doubletree... the Aloha Kitchen. Apparently the latest rage is soufflé pancakes and theirs got, justified, good reviews. They come fluffy covered in whatever you want. I stayed pretty traditional with macadamia and cocoanut topped by a pineapple garnish. If that sounds good then you were right. The whole thing was covered with a sugary sauce, thicker and more opaque than syrup, with a side of whipped creme. Just the way to start the day... plenty of carbs to fuel me on the long flight to Guam.

I spent the rest of the morning reorganizing my carry-on bag. Kathleen gave me this wonderful soft leather bag from Tumi years ago. It's easily got a half million miles on it and every scratch and nick is dear to me. That bag is never out of my reach and tucked inside its pockets are the gear you need to survive anything air travel can throw at you. I have everything from a packet of Shout stain removers to a rosary, just the stuff needed to face those worst case scenarios. Bag reorganization was required because I wanted to stuff in a new piece, a lightweight anorak that the parents and grandparents of kids on Larkin's soccer team (Gig) Harbor Premier wear. This garment is so warm and comfortable that it is perfect in a light rain or on a chilly flight. Plus it has a lot of sentimental connections to home and family, which offers its own comforts on the

road. It's made of some polyester that never wrinkles and compresses pretty well. I'm going to have to carry in the main pocket, so I'll have to find space for everything it displaces. I manage to do so and look with pride at my accomplishment, assured I will be dry, warm and stylish where-ever I go. On top of that, I am proclaiming my pride in Harbor Premier... go Harbor!

Time to 'fess up, too. I made a capital purchase for Pacific Northwest Consulting Services in LA yesterday. I can hear my CFO, Kathleen, growling as she reads this. My essential tools are always gadgets and toys to her. This acquisition will pay dividends, however, even at home. With three iPads, two iPhones, two more iPods and and iPod touch to keep charged something is always at zero just when you need it most. It's no-one's fault... usually... well sometimes, me, but that's neither here nor there. Without power all these devices are less useful than a bar of soap. Bricks, I think, are what they are called in the trade.

No more bricks for my family. I purchased a portable battery. As long as you keep it charged it's there to bail out the soundest sleeping Apple device. Indeed, it rescued my flat-lined iPad saving me five long hours of staring out over the trackless Pacific. It was a little pricey, but will surely pay for itself in relieved future misery.

Checking in. Long day ahead. A boomerang trip. I'm going to spend the next 13 and 1/2 hours headed west to Guam, then turning back east to get to Pohnpei. I lose five time zones from Honolulu and gain a day across the International Dateline, then get back two of those time zones from Guam to Pohnpei.

May 24-25, 1716 Guam Daylight Time, UA 201, Seat 2F enroute GUM

A 777, still a wonderful plane. Left Saturday afternoon, arriving Sunday afternoon... cheated out of a weekend; I go to work tomorrow. Noteworthy flight, the Governor of Guam is seated right behind me. Guess I better go easy on popping my seat back in his lap.

Spent a good part of this flight working on a memo concerning something very important to me, my parish, St. Charles Borromeo and its school, where Larkin is a sixth-grader. My involvement with SCB has become much greater over the last couple of years, thanks to my good friend Jim Lynch, who pulled strings to get me appointed to the School Commission. I'm proud of that appointment because they changed their by-laws just for me to allow a grandparent to serve.

Through the Commission I've come to know the principal, Dan Hill, and my pastor, Fr. Mike McDermott much better. I've spent the better part of my life keeping a pretty low profile around priests. Being known by name seemed a dicey proposition at best. Coming to know Fr. Mike has been a wonderful turn in my life and I value his friendship greatly.

We came to realize we have a common interest in understanding and applying the dynamics of organizational change and development and I am honored to play a very small part in his vision to revitalize the parish. Turns out that there is a significant movement within the Catholic Church in America to "rebuild" itself.

My work with Fr. Mike has been deeply satisfying, drawing out all the knowledge and experience I've gained working with organizations for nearly 40 years. It feels good to help an organization where money is not the issue, theirs or mine. I want Fr. Mike's vision to prevail... it uses the parish to nourish the community to connect to people's every day lives in a useful and meaningful manner. He wants to move away from what is called, "consumer Catholicism"

where the Church is seen only in terms of what one can get from it (as opposed to a view of how could all contribute to helping and supporting each other).

I find this drift into marketplace logic particularly disturbing in Catholic education. St. Charles is not a private school where its practices and curriculum are driven by the consumer wants of parents. There are plenty of alternatives to public education that operate just like that... to generate revenues they alter themselves to meet the current demand of parents who are purchasing their children's education. There is nothing wrong with that, but I believe a parochial school (or one of any religious affiliation) offers a different value proposition: one where educational goals and outcomes are rooted in good pedagogy and a set of values that define how learning is achieved and to what end. I realize this approach not for everyone and I'm not demanding it be, but it is what I want for Larkin: an education put in context, where her love and care for her teachers and fellow students is reciprocated and she genuinely feels part of a community.

So I used this flight to prepare another screed on what this means at the practical level of organizational management and leadership. Pity them, not only do they get bombarded by these missives, I send them even more of my musings.

Nothing else notable about this flight. It's long. United is beta-testing a new entertainment system based on a proprietary wi-fi network of movies and television programs. They promise 150 hours of programming, God save me that I should be forced to watch all that sitting on an airplane.

20:23 GDT, UA 176 Seat 8D enroute Chuuk

Landed on Guam in a driving rainstorm, so heavy they had to rig special gear over the jetway to prevent, according to the Captain, rain water pouring into the plane. I guess I should be happy for that, as I departed dry as toast.

23:40 Pohnpei time, UA 176, Seat 1E, enroute Pohnpei

Just checking in. The long day of travel is getting to me. I drift in and out of sleep. Although napping while sitting up in an airline seat is only reminiscent of sleep. More like a coma I think.

May 25, 07:57 a.m. Pohnpei time, dining room, 7 Star Hotel, Kolonia

Arrival was exciting. All this travel plus hundreds of hours acquiring flight time on Microsoft's flight simulator have made me fairly knowledgable about what's going on in the sky. I'm not a nervous flyer except for landings. There is a particular condition that makes my knuckles whiten. It's called a "go around" and that's exactly what it is.

Somewhere in the moments just before touching down, the pilot sees something that warrants aborting the landing. Think about this, you are at 500 feet or less, approaching the runway at around 140 knots and you decide to get out. It's called a go around because the officer in control says just that, "go round, go round!" as he/she pushes the throttles forward, gains speed, lifts the nose, retracts landing gear and flaps and gets the hell out of Dodge.

Most passengers never notice this event. But when you fly awhile your senses are finely attuned to the sounds and sensations of a landing. So there you are, looking out the window at the approaching ground, lightly braced for the impact of wheels to tarmac and there is a momentary hesitation. You hear the whine of the engines spool up, but nothing happens, there is a lag between the speeding up of the turbines and acceleration to allow a climb (unlike more responsive propeller aircraft). For a moment your just hanging there. I can't hear the pilot, but my mind's ear hear's "go round, go round!" The aircraft levels, then slowly climbs leaving you to speculate what you just missed: an airplane on the runway, an obliterating fog bank, a mechanical malfunction, a too fast or too slow approach? All you know is that in someway, this flight is no longer normal.

Finally the Captain comes on and explains. This one apologizes. Credits a tailwind too strong to warrant a landing in that direction. I'm confused. I thought you always landed upwind, to bleed off landing speed. How did we ever get wind behind us?

Now in most cases a missed approach is no big deal. Pilots practice it all the time. Indeed the charts they look at before landing clearly spell out missed approach headings and altitudes. But, as with a lot of things you take for granted, landings in Micronesia are a little tricky.

The airports in Chuuk, Pohnpei, Kosrae, Majuro and Kwajalein are short, hacked out of jungle and coral reef, in some cases skirted by water on both sides... a kind of land-locked aircraft carrier. Pilots make these landings at a steep angle, hit hard, jam on the brakes and give the reverse thrust full power. You come in screaming down the runway, slammed backwards in your seat by some pretty good g-forces before you come to a stop. Then you waddle slowly back to the terminal.

This is probably all well within airline safety practices, although I have a hunch these runways were built to accommodate DC-6s of the 1960s, not today's Boeing 737-700s. To my point, I have never landed at any of the afore-mentioned airports that I haven't seen a manned fire truck, lights flashing, parked at the end of the runway. I know of no incidents where the trucks were needed, but their ominous, looming presence is enough to stimulate your imagination during final approach.

In the 2,128,141 miles I have flown in my life (yes I am OCD enough to know that) I've had three go-arounds, two now in the last two months. The worst was at the end of a redeye coming into Dulles when we had a near miss with another aircraft. Now that will get you attention at 6 a.m. No more coffee, thank you, Miss. Two months ago landing at Birmingham, England... fog. And last night. We made it, but it was a high factor pucker factor arrival.

Out here the deplaning is old-time cool: Stairway driven up and parked next to the aircraft. Walking down the stairs I resisted the temptation to kneel and kiss the ground.

.....

I'm not sure I've ever stayed in a five star hotel, maybe the Ritz-Carlton in Tokyo, but Pohnpei does the lodging experience two better. I'm staying at the 7-Star Inn. I know better to be too critical about room and board in Micronesia. The further you get from Honolulu or Guam things get simpler, less lavish. These nations would surely be considered the Third World but for two things: a natural abundance that forestalls famine except for those too lazy to catch a fish or crab or pick fruit off of a tree, and, billions of dollars of US aid spent here since the liberation from Japanese occupation in 1945.

The latter is the main reason I am here. After some flagrant discoveries of misused US funds, Congress demanded stringent public auditing of these governments operations. Public auditing is serious business in these island nations, yet the educational infrastructure to train auditors and accountants beyond the community college level, if that, is nearly non-existent. Today American dollars come to Micronesia with several strings attached and I represent one of them: through a program managed by the USDA Graduate School I am one of a cadre of trainers who work to increase the capacity of public auditors to, in my case specifically, evaluate the performance of government programs to improve their effectiveness and efficiency. I help their offices do strategic planning too.

These are hard-working dedicated people who are trying to overcome centuries of corruption bred by colonialism. It is an honor to work with them on what is truly a noble endeavor.

These nations - particularly as you get some distance from Guam or Hawai'i have very thin economies... some fisheries, some small commercial ventures and tourism, although less of the latter than you would expect given the beauty of these islands. For purposes of defense (remember US nuclear testing was done out here and Kwajalein, in the Marshalls, is still the center of "Star Wars" research and experimentation) sadly tourism was discouraged in these islands. All this is to say Micronesian standards of living are simple, certainly compared to island paradises found elsewhere. It wouldn't be fair to say poor, but employment is scarce, wages are low and life is basic. Add to that the fact that almost everything from toilet paper to flat screen tvs are imported from a long ways means that a hotel room here has the fundamentals, but few frills.

My 7-star room has a comfortable bed, a couple of chairs, a table and a tv. There are no lamps and few amenities. Three towels, each a different functional size and two small disks of soap. A decent shower with, thanks to God, hot water at a reasonable pressure. I can't and am not complaining. But this is home for the next five days and the luxury and amenities are considerably less than your average Motel 6 in Wyoming.

The key qualities are met, again deserving of Divine thanks, it is squeaky clean, quiet and secure... all conducive to a good night's sleep.

I was the last to check into this 20-room inn, so my room has no view to speak of (across the road into the jungle) which is sad for me, because whatever else Pohnpei may lack, the views of the ocean, atoll and harbor are spectacular. I have two choices here: my view across the road or that of the parking lot. I think I'll find a better place to hang out.

What's regrettable is that Pohnpei used to offer one of the best places to stay anywhere: an eco-friendly resort, the Village, with cottages spread down a ridge to the lagoon beach. Kathleen and I were here 5 years ago for our 25th anniversary. The Village has closed and the ownership and use of the property is the issue of a complicated lawsuit. We have wonderful memories of the Village and it is to our thinking one of the most beautiful, romantic, relaxing places we have ever stayed.

I may have told this story before. I suspect the week we spent at the Village was one of the oddest of Kathleen's adult life. She started work at 18. Having less than stellar grades in her first semester at community college, her dad handed her the classified section of the San Francisco Examiner, drove her downtown and told her to find a job before he returned to pick her up late that afternoon. She did. An entry level position at Security Pacific. And for the next

several years worked her way up to executive positions in Seattle Trust, Key Bank and Columbia Bank.

With two kids of her own, plus one more when we married, it is safe to say since she was 18 she never had a week free of responsibility for home, family or the bank... until I brought her here.

I would leave for work each morning and she would spend the rest of the day on the empty Village beach, ending up in a gazebo they had perched over a ravine facing the lagoon and reef... strategically placed for us to drink margaritas and toast the widescreen, multi-colored sunset each evening.

At the time she had a frustrating job at a credit union and something happened in that gazebo. We had returned home less than a week after our stay at the Village when, much to my surprise, she quit her job! Gazing out to Pacific I guess she realized the stress and frustration just weren't worth it.

Now I am not one for exaggeration and you may find what I write next unbelievable, but is is absolutely true. Three years later, I invited KLK back out to Micronesia, to another wonderful place, Yap. Sure enough less than two weeks back home she quit her job again!

Needless to say I was relieved when she wasn't able to come out here again. No, that's a cheap joke. I miss her terribly and there are many reminders of our time here together to make this visit just a little lonely and bittersweet.

Breakfast is good. I don't know where they gained the skill, but they make just a killer ham and cheese omelet on Pohnpei. With onions added it is superb. Some chef must have brought it here and all the rest learned cook it this way.

Off to work this afternoon.

Kasehelie... The Pohnpeian equivalent to Hawai'i's aloha, with just as many meanings.

May 27, 07:12 PST, Kolonia, Pohnpei

The works begins. I met yesterday with the state public auditor, Ihlen Joseph, and his staff. This was mostly an orientation meeting and I shared a Powerpoint presentation that introduced my approach to strategic planning and gave them some background about my family and home. This is business but I've discovered, where-ever I work, that there is a kind of intimacy and need for trust that makes it important they know about who I am. And nothing gives a truer insight to me than my family. In Micronesia, where life is very much organized around kinship lines, knowledge of my family may carry even greater significance.

The stuff I share about strategic planning is really the culmination of what I've learned from doing this for 35 years. In fact, one of the slides I use is only slightly modified from a chart I presented to the Washington State Energy Office when I first got started. Far from yellowed professorial notes, my presentation is up to date, including some really nifty stuff I worked out with Golden Corral a few months ago. I call it my sourdough starter presentation: like the sourdough lump that is used, modified, over and over, picking up a carraway seed here and a

pinch of brown sugar there, I can trace a direct line to what I said when I started and point to traces of every plan I've created since then.

The main point I make to the group; planning is not about writing a plan, it's about implementing it to make a difference. (This is accompanied by a dramatic photo of a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier and the vapor cuff it creates). Making a difference means achieving results of a very specific sort: conditional changes that improve performance into the future. The plan and the process is merely a means to an end, the end being an organization that works better for shareholders/stakeholders, employees and consumers.

The Office in the Public Auditor has a plan already.. a good one that Joseph and his staff put together when he was appointed PA two years ago. So I used yesterday afternoon to review their plan and to do some tightening.

Today I meet with the state public auditors from Kosrae and Yap, two of FSM’s four states and the federal PA for the nation. They are interested in working more closely together. I'm not sure what this means or where each of their offices is in the development and implementation of their own plans. We'll see how it goes. I'll interview each of them individually through mid-afternoon, then we'll meet all together to see what they want to do.

As a consultant I'm pretty non-directive. The teacher in me has never felt comfortable telling people what to do. I'd rather help folks figure that out what they need/want to do then find ways to make that happen. For years I have told clients that their plans are literally ”none of my business.” Planning is a process to make decisions, set priorities and that's where my talents, skills and insights come into play. I have no trouble speaking up and offering counsel when it comes to building a plan that will make a difference.

.......

Awoke to a pouring rain... a typical tropical burst. 20 minutes later bright sun! Turned the tv on and discovered much of the programming is delayed a week. It's weird and you have to listen carefully or you'll get disoriented, because some of the stations are current. Local news from San Francisco is delayed; CNN, Fox, BBC is on time. If that sounds confusing, it is. Sporting events are usually broadcast real time, but you always have to stop and check. And for a moment KPIX in San Francisco had me convinced the Trailblazers still had a chance in the NBA playoffs.

18:45 Seven Star Inn

A very productive day. Made some real progress with all of FSM's public auditors and found a really fine coffee on the island. Hard to believe, but Starbucks has not reached here yet. But through downtown Kolonia, past the public market festooned with bunches of ripe banana, and behind a series of shops of indeterminate goods by the water is a open-air bar, Coco Marina. This place is right out of a movie, thatched roof and all, a quirky parody of a Hollywood tropical bar in an authentic tropical location. This can't be by accident, this place is designed to look tropical in a way that in no manner resembles any of the real surrounding tropical edifices. And, sure enough, just as my helpful desk-clerk had promised, you'll find a real Lavezzo espresso machine.

They weren't open yet, but with a friendly neighbor shopkeeper's help, they unlocked their gate, swung it open, invited me in and fired up the machine. The menu is decidedly American, but looks kind of fun and they serve Mangrove Crab, a true local delicacy.

Fortified with my latte I set out to do the work that called me here. As I mentioned in an earlier post, public auditing is a critical function in these governments of developing nations. Maintaining the confidence of the US Congress that monies are appropriately spent guarantees continued support, revenues that the new nations need. FSM has until 2023 to reach financial self sufficiency, so every nickel must be correctly and wisely spent and great care taken to do nothing to challenge the trustworthiness of their government in the eyes of a wary US Congress.

The Federated States of Micronesia, as an independent nation, is younger than two of my kids, chartered in 1979. There's much to admire out here. People take the creation of their nation seriously and express genuine pride in their states. By US standards they do an awful lot with limited resources. Consider this. In all of FSM, four states and 607 islands covering one million square miles with a population of 106,000, there are exactly TWO CPAs, neither employed in the public sector. The pool of persons with any education in financial management is small and those who gain experience in government are quickly tempted away to better paying jobs in the private sector.

Thanks to technical assistance from a variety of sources, including my sponsor, the Pacific Island Training Initiative, public auditors throughout Micronesia receive, in bits and pieces, the tools to do quite advanced work. The quality of work here measures up quite well to that of US audit offices staffed with well educated auditors.

My admiration for their work is made greater by the courage of these people. These islands are small and relationships are firmly bound through kinship and village membership. Improprieties, when they are discovered by these auditors, are often the acts of neighbors, friends and family. As much as Micronesian citizens may appreciate the good work of the OPAs, sentiments can quickly turn resentful and hostile when friends and family are exposed as culprits.

The work today is interesting. The national OPA and three of the four state offices are exploring ways in which they might work together more effectively. These are autonomous agencies and each reports to its own legislative body. The prerogatives of the nation and each of the states must be respected. Remember, they have only 35 years of history. These governments are figuring out how to do some of these things and, honestly, the US offers little or few examples of best practice. The US is simply too large to work through some of FSM's puzzles. If exemplary solutions exist they would probably be found regionally.

Because autonomy is important here I recommend a model I've used in other settings: the strategic alliance. These alliances are less formal than a partnership or its diplomatic equivalent, the treaty. I learned this tactic along time ago working with community based organizations. Simply put, a strategic alliance exists when an organization with its own distinct mission realizes that another, with a different mission, is pursuing initiatives that act in its support. Usually unknowingly and unwittingly. It's a kind of piggy-backing of one relationship on another. For example, a youth soccer program might discover that a local hospital provides free screening programs for orthopedic problems; different missions but a common goal.

The potential for strategic alliances is a great untapped resource for many organizations. For years I tried to put together an exercise that would engage a whole community in cataloging organizational strategic plans so that possible alliances could surface. I came within a hair of

doing this in Port Townsend, at the behest of the school district and a particularly foresighted Superintendent, but we couldn't pull it off.

I find the model interesting because it draws a bright line between selfishness and self interest. These alliances are not prompted out of what I would consider distasteful, selfish, one-sided motives. Instead they are prompted by self interest, which should be an imperative of any organization or individual. It is the duty of an organization to look out for itself, to sustain itself to achieve its mission and pursue its vision. In assessing the actions of other organizations, even rival ones, it may be possible to find strategic alliances that provide the boost an organization needs to pursue its own self interested plan.

There is a real possibility that these four offices can do that. Tomorrow I will meet with each office individually, review their plans, try to get them into a common format so that the next day we can compare all four side by side to discover any possible alliances.

If you are wondering about the fifth office, it is the fourth state of FSM, Chu'uk, formerly Truk. There is no OPA there as of now, so I think we're going to have to create a mock-up plan for them.

Wish me luck, off to bed.

May 29, 2014, 07:26 PDT, 7 Star Hotel, Kolonia

Yesterday was a productive day. The four offices each reformatted their plans to conform to the model I've developed. For the first time ever, they all have strategic plans and they are presented in a way that they can be understood and compared easily. There is a real possibility that this joint planning with comparable products might help them leverage resources to address common problems or pursue questions of common national interest.

I've devised a way for organizations to synthesize the many parts and pages of a plan into one page. It's a very powerful way of showing, all at once, what they are trying to do and how they are trying to do it. You still need the written plan to lay out all the details, but my "matrix" brings the pieces together and tightens the plan considerably and, of course, highlights the potential for collaboration.

Ran into a friend from Palau, Dan Dorfman, who is here attending a workshop on fraud prosecution. We looked at each other in the hotel dining room, had the same reaction: that can't be, not way out here; sure looks like him. But we were both who we thought we were. We had dinner at the faux tropics bar, Coco Marina, where I have been getting my morning lattes. He's a great story-teller and, like me, he's not just done different things in his life, he has combined them into a kind of crazy quilt career combining, get this, life as a rabbi, college professor, lawyer and, now, special prosecutor.

For dinner I pre-ordered an island specialty: mangrove crab. I've had it before and its a delicacy worth traveling a long way to taste. Pohnpei doesn't have beaches. Its volcanic shores drop straight into the lagoon and thick mangrove trees grow up some distance onto rocky outcrops and down into the water. Remember, this is a lagoon protected by a coral reef a couple of miles offshore, so there's no surf and the mangroves are left undisturbed to grow profusely.

The mangrove crab who inhabits these overgrown shoreside glades is a big boy... as big again and half more than the tasty Dungeness crabs back home. I'm a crab guy (crabby, too, Larkin would assert) and I've had them all over, home, the eastern shore of Maryland, the Florida keys and here on Pohnpei; for the first time at the Village five years ago. Big, meaty and sweet. The one they bring me tonight fills a plate, red as a Disney cartoon crustacean, with claws almost as big as my fist. Wow!

Through dinner intermittent shower cells blew through and for a few minutes the skies would just open up and deluge so hard you had to move away from the open sides of the restaurant to avoided getting drenched by the downpour or splashed by raindrops hitting the ground so hard that they spattered your legs and feet. For awhile wind blew through the dining room, steady and hard. It all settled down in awhile and within a few minutes the customary thick, muggy humidity would set in. We had a great time telling crazy story after story.

The restaurant is in the market district of Kolonia. In the morning it appears the open air booths are stocked with baked goods and lunch stuff. In the afternoon, after the fishing boats return, the tables are covered with stacks of reef fish of all size and color and good-sized tuna. Women, clad in traditional conservative commodious dresses, a legacy of the missionaries who, shocked by Micronesian immodesty covered every square inch of their body, sit behind the market tables. Each holds a long switch with a white plastic bag attached... like the kinds they have a Rite-Aid. They wave them, wandlike, over the exposed fish to keep the flies off.

May 30, 10:23 p.m. PDT, Seven Stars Inn

Had my last meeting with the office this morning. I'm packed up and ready to fly in three hours to Majuro, via Kosrae and Kwajalein. This was a productive week. Each of the offices updated and revised their strategic plans. These plans are now presented in a common and understandable format which enhances their ability to communicate what they are doing to stakeholders as well as open a conversation between all of them about collaboration. I was, as usual in Micronesia, impressed by the dedication and hard work put in by these public auditors. They were fun to work with, too.

I hosted a little social out at what has become my hang-out, Coco Marina. Puu puus and cocktails, my monetary contribution covered the alcoholic beverages which did not show up on their tab. I stayed awhile, but left after dinner to come back to my hotel to finish my report.

6:07 PST a.m. on board United 262 enroute Seattle to San Francisco

There were a couple of impressive things that happened on Pohnpei, reflective of the maturation of these PA offices and their increasingly keen understanding of strategic planning.

In one case the Public Auditor of Kosrae made a connection that has a profound effect on the impact these offices can have in a developing nation. The wording of the Kosrae mission statement is particularly well thought out. They say: we conduct audits and investigations, compile data and provide useful recommendations and information for governmental planning and decision-making processes. The inclusion of planning processes as a target for the OPA's work is a bit of a masterstroke. The office is asserting itself into the beginning of the policy progress, not limiting itself, as the nature of auditing does, to after-the-fact assessments.

Of a similar order, the Public Auditor in Pohnpei, above and beyond his foresight about collaboration between offices, provided a detail in his plan that sets it aside from the hundreds

I've done over the last 35 years. I stress the importance of identifying and acknowledging the values that define an organization. This is a powerful way, even to the point of competitive advantage, of differentiating organizations, especially those with similar fundamental missions. If nothing else I can use the values statement to take out all those adjectives that clutter up and obscure most mission statements.

Working here, the Public Auditor, Ihlen picked up and advanced my thinking immediately. He knew he wanted his agency's work to be shaped by a value distinctly Pohnpeian. It didn't take him long to find it and when he expressed it staff were, to a person, moved by its power. The value, in their language, is wahu, which I understand to refer to a kind of harmonious social respect. That I don't understand it and they do is the whole point. Their plan is truly theirs, fitted to the values, traditions and customs of their culture and its government. For me, a goosebump moment. When folks make these kinds of connections (Ted Fowler at Golden Corral would do it all the time) you can feel all the pieces fall in place.

And there's a kind of joy in that.

May 30, 13:21 PDT, United 155, Seat 21D, PNI awaiting departure to KSA

This is the middle leg of the "Island Hopper," Flight 1 of the old Continental Micronesia. Five island stops between Guam and Honolulu through so many cultures you could be leafing through a copy of National Geographic. The flight left GUM earlier this morning, made a stop in Chu'uk, is now here and will soon leave for Kosrae. A series of hops, each about an hour in duration with a half hour on the ground at each island. Passengers display their nationality (and probably finer class distinctions) in the flowered ornaments they wear. We're used to the Hawai'ian lei but there is a fascinating variety in flower necklaces and all kinds of headbands you see as you venture into Micronesia. Taking the Island Hopper is truly like flying through layers of culture. It is really special to experience these things with these people. I am a lucky guy.

13:51 UA 155, enroute KSA

A 51 minute flight to Pohnpei's sister state, Kosrae. I have never had the privilege of staying on the island. Used to be they let you off here while they passengers came on and off. Old ladies selling delicious local green tangerines would greet you. My new auditor friend, Stoney Taulung and I part ways... he's home.

15:32 UA 155, enroute KWA

The thirty-or-so minutes you layover in Kosrae are among the best you will ever experience. It is everything you'd expect a tropical airport to be and I'd bet with all their creativity and talent, even Disney couldn't recreate this: sunny bright blue skies, refreshing breeze off the reef, towering, forbidding mountains, puffy white clouds gathered over the hilltops, a cinderblock terminal, feeling crowded with 30 people inside, little kids peering through a fence to take in the spectacle, a table tidily laid out with bags of green tangerines, other homemade snacks and a few local crafts, all overseen by a lovely young Kosraean woman wearing a t-shirt that proclaims: "Stay back! I'm allergic to stupid."

I can't even begin to describe the folks gathered in the waiting room, everyone is here, Japanese investors, Aussie divers, stern looking military, every Hollywood stereotype you've

ever had about folks who transit the Pacific can be found... including me, the American consultant. I don't think I qualify as an ex-pat because I don't live out here, but there are some of them here, too. (Invariably with a story that comes late one night in a bar, an unfortunate event in Omaha or Birmingham or Albany that brought them to practice their profession as far from the US as they can get), Not all, of course. This is a stereotype, but some of my ex-pat friends will recognize the caricature. And the most stereotypical of them have that haunted look of folks whose acquaintance with tobacco and alcohol soothed one demon only to fuel another.

I purchase a small native woven cross for our new beach cabin and a tasty bag of banana chips. I haven't eaten since breakfast so the chips are a filling and adequate substitute for lunch. Oddly, no taste of banana at all... they could be long narrow potato chips if I didn't know better. I resist a bag of tangerines until someone near me peels one open and I catch the tantalizing scent. Guess I have my snack for the hotel in Majuro. All this, the cross, the chips and the tangerines sets me back $7.

Speaking of breakfast I was inspired in Pohnpei to create a dish of sorts. Cuisine in Micronesia is pretty basic. Fish (prepared a variety of ways, raw to roasted), rice and fruit. Few vegetables, except it appears, cucumber. I've yet to eat a lunch or dinner, including a cheeseburger, that wasn't garnished with cucumber slices cut on the bias. Food is filling and well cooked, although lightly spiced for my taste.

Breakfast is your standard American menu except for the ubiquitous Hawaiian loco moco, which I have yet been able to summon up the courage to try (a fried egg on top of a hamburger patty with some sort of gravy, served in a bowl over a mound of white rice). I already mentioned you can get a really good cheese, ham and onion omelet out here. The ham is especially good... thick ham steaks , just salty enough to offer a little zest to the omelet and your morning. The ham is not local, although there are pigs out here. It has the look and taste of what you buy at Safeway. As much as enjoy this dish, I can't eat it everyday.

At some point in a weeklong visit I start eyeing other people's breakfasts. I know the ham is good, so I try a short stack of pancakes. I'm afraid my soufflé in Honolulu has ruined the typical flapjack. It's ok, but not good enough to merit another morning. I try the next item: the French toast. Alors and voila, this is really good! Three pieces of nicely grilled toast, cut into triangles and two triangular slices of ham. The operative word here is triangular. Newton watching the apple fall couldn't have missed the symmetry of the three-sided pieces of ham and the toast. Before I finish Thursday's breakfast I know without doubt what I am having Friday.

Today, my last breakfast at the 7 Star Inn, I order French toast and two sides of ham. Doubling down on the ham puzzles my friendly waitress and she errs bringing just two slices of ham; a mistake I quickly correct. You know where this is going. Six slices of bread provide five slots into which to slide the ham slabs. I know, I know... I've got one piece of bread too many, so I just discard it. I'm a couple of calories and carbs to the better for it.

Now I stack up the toast and between each slice dab a little butter and slide in a piece of ham. The triangles fit altogether. The toast is just the right thickness so that my knife cuts through this quadtruple-decker sandwich and my fork brings back layers of flavor, drenched in maple syrup. (I can't wait to try this with marmalade at home). A full five slice, four ham slab bite is a bit too much, risking the opprobrium of fellow diners along with stains all over today's clean shirt.

It was every bit as good as I hoped. In honor of the dining room where this gastronomic discovery was made, I should call this food wonder the 7-Star Special. I am willing, Ted, to share my find with Golden Corral.

.....

Put on your serious faces friends. We are about to land at a military installation smack dab in the middle of the Pacific, dead center in the archipelago of the Marshall Islands. Kwajalein is located just far enough from southern California to launch missiles to intercept mock ICBM's blasted off from Vandenberg AFB. No pictures are allowed, no one is allowed to deplane except those with special military passes.

17:29 KDT, Kwajalein, UA 155 awaiting departure for MAJ

However interesting this assignment may be, I'm sorry for the personnel stationed at Kwaj, as it is affectionately called). Unless you really liked snorkeling there's not much here. People must yearn for and take advantage for r and r time in Hawai'i. Which explains why this flight is packed. Makes sense, I'd want to get out of Kwaj on a Friday, too.

There is nothing of interest to see from the aircraft during the 40 minutes you sit on the tarmac. Sometimes you are close enough (not today) to see part of Kwaj's golf course. As an earnest but high handicap golfer I spend a lot of time wondering about this course. Is it 18 holes? Par three? Does it circle the perimeter of the island? The fairway I can see appears to be really narrow squeezed in between the tarmac and the rock-walled shore. Does the General play every week? Every day? Is play suspended, shots halted when a plane is landing? Since I'm not allowed off, no answers are forthcoming. In more way than one, Kwaj remains clouded in secrecy.

A lot of big guys get off here. I don't want to make light of their sacrifices on my behalf. Thanks and Godspeed to you.

18:57, enroute MAJ

Squeezed in like sardines. I've had enough of this for one day.

19:52 Majuro Daylight Time, in the RRE shuttle at MAJ, Republic of the Marshall Islands

My bag was first off, so I'm waiting for the other three guests at the Hotel Robert Reimers. I'll pick up my rental car tomorrow. I'm a little out of sorts, because I'd have rather spent the long end of the week end in Pohnpei. Not that I don't like Majuro, I'll have a lot more to say about the Marshalls in the next two days, but Pohnpei has a lot more things to see.

Majuro airport is the closest thing most of us will ever get to making a carrier landing. This is a huge atoll, with enough space to anchor the whole US Fifth Fleet during WW2. It is a large, narrow, low-set string of islands protected by a reef. The highest point on the island is 27 feet, the apex of a bridge connecting one island to another, the atoll barely tops 10 feet. Climate change is real here and no joke. Even a small rise in the seas would take away large amounts of its already scarce landmass.

To the landing. The runway sits on a spit of land, the ocean on one side, the lagoon on the other. As you touchdown, barely any land is visible on either side of the runway-island. It's a bit

of an illusion. The runway is sufficiently wide by FAA standards. But the whole thing gives you pause.

Long day. A week from today I catch the remainder of this flight headed to HNL and home.

21:09 Marshalls Daylight Time, Robert Reimers Resort

It's Friday night and this place is jumping. The Reimers resort is a great place, but pricey by any standard... you have a choice, no wifi, wifi at $5.00/hour or $15/day. At that rate 15 bucks is a deal. The connection seems pretty fast so maybe it's worth it.

May 31, 10:22 MDT, Room 402, Hotel Robert Reimers, Majuro

I have a bungalow room with a garden, quite luxurious after the Seven Star Inn. I am feeling rather proud of myself. Travel offers little unexpected challenges and how you deal with them is, in my book, a kind of test. Working through these problems on the go adds a level of complexity to living away from home and its comforts. Today's travel test: the broken luggage zipper.

Once again I'll quote my friend Ted Fowler, whose name is spelled correctly in this missive. Ted properly proclaims, "only a fool checks his bags." I would agree and usually live by that axiom. But when you're gone two weeks 7,000 miles from home carry-on won't do. Once I started to travel a lot I invested in good bags. I checked out what the flight crews use and settled on what appears to be the choice of United and Alaska personnel: Travelpro. Turns out to have been a good choice and is a northwest company to boot.

Through hundreds of thousands of miles of travel, nothing holds up, even Travelpro. I've gone through two of their folding rolling garment bags and this one is probably pushing a half mil. I arrive last night and discover I can't open one of the exterior pockets. No big deal right then, but because it contains footwear it could be later. Indeed, I soon discover my favorite flip-flops, some fancy Hawai'ian brand sold by Nordstroms, notable for their arch support, are locked away. This is not good. No way I am walking around in the heat this weekend in shoes.

After some examination I determine what has happened. There are two zipper pulls on the pocket. One of the corners has frayed and not realizing it, has caused one of the pulls to travel into the fray where it has stuck. I've known this for some time and have taken care to just use the free one, which still leaves a space large enough to use the pocket. What I failed to notice is the stuck pull had worked way back out of the fray, not enough to dislodge, but just enough to allow me to pull the other traveler into the damaged area where it, too, is now lodged. At least they are next to each other guaranteeing the integrity of the pocket and protecting my shoes, but the pocket is permanently closed none-the-less.

Although I denied it as a kid, as a kind of spite to my mechanically inclined father, I did inherit his eye for fixing things. As Kathleen will often complain, fixing is not the same thing as repairing, but sometimes a fix it will do. I ponder this fix over breakfast ( a disappointing ham, cheese and onion omelet with the saddest lump of gray, mushy hash browns I've ever encountered. Already I miss the 7-Star). I know what I need: vice grip pliers and some WD40,

As if by divine providence there is an ACE Hardware next door to the hotel. Not that surprising. In Majuro, the landmass is so narrow that every square foot along the ONE road connecting the

islands pushes all sorts of things streetside and, in the absence of any discernible zoning, everything from houses to businesses are mixed together.

ACE has what I need. Probably at a cost 20% higher than the states, but I need a set of needlenose pliers for the new beach house, I can always use another can of WD40 and if I can't get the pocket open I'll easily spend $17 on redundant, inexpensive footwear. Back to the room... .

Very gingerly I lubricate the area around both the zipper pulls. Kathleen would be surprised and proud... I am really careful; I don't want to saturate the bag's fabric or drench the gear inside. I force myself to walk away, permitting the WD40 time to do it's magic. After a minute or two I return to the bag. I try a gentle tug without the pliers just to see. Nothing.

I attach the pliers and try the one side. With a gentle but steady force. Nothing. And the pliers are really stiff, so I give them their own freeing squirt of WD. To the other side. Nothing. I keep the pliers attached and try tiny pushes and pulls. It gives way! My shoes fall out, I dance a barefoot jig of conquest, survival and joy!

My day is complete.

12:52 MDT, my room at the Reimers

Majuro is hard to write about because it is unlike any place I have ever been. There are no points of comparison, at least not in my experience. Beyond culture, which is unique for sure, the geography bears no resemblance to anywhere I've ever been. If you know San Diego county or Catalina Island, even Bermuda, you can make sense out of most of Micronesia. Not Majuro. The only thing I can think that might compare are some of those isolated stretches in the Florida keys. Now add in cheek-by-jowl businesses and homes to fill 3.7 square miles, not all of that habitable, with 25,000 people.

As you move west to east, from Guam, the Philippines and southeast Asia, the probable starting points for the trans-Pacific movement of the Micronesians 2,000 years ago, you get to the end of the line in the Marshalls. Racist myth has it the weakest were forced east; not likely. Then and now it takes great strength, endurance and resourcefulness to survive here. It's no accident that Marshallese sailing canoes and their highly advanced navigational techniques are thought of so highly and a marvel to the western mind. The Carolines and Marianas to west are lush tropical paradises, Majuro resembles a dusty western town of the mid-late 19th century with some of the conveniences and all of the inconveniences of the 21st.

The main drag is an unappealing hodge podge of island architecture, prefab aluminum, poured concrete or cinderblock. Know what a floor of poured concrete with rebar sticking up is called out here? Economic development.

The street is lined with all sorts of stores and restaurants many with names and signs that proclaim they are enterprises and they are open. There is nothing outside to hint what the enterprises are and I'm not nosey or brave enough to go through the door to find out. There are plenty of roadside "convenience" stores for lack of a better term, selling stuff across the counter... at least one every eighth of a mile from airport to downtown. There are a few supermarkets, not unlike ours with a wider range of general goods (cool little Phillips washer-dryer units the size of a mini-fridge for $144).

Surprise of the day: fresh milk imported from California. A first out here. Used to be the only milk you could get was some reconstituted stuff imported from New Zealand. Even laced with strawberry or chocolate flavoring it was a taste nightmare, chalky and oily. But now, milk, real milk! Progress is being made. A good buy at $5 a half gallon.

19:26 MDT, The Tide Table restaurant, Majuro

Just a quick note about dinner. Grilled reef fish, the whole thing head, fins and tail. Quite good. Side dish was cocoanut flavored breadfruit. Breadfruit brought Bligh out here, the Brits hoped to cultivate breadfruit in the Carribean as food for slaves. Has the consistency of an over-boiled potato. Not bad.

The big treat awaits: a cold glass of milk and a couple of Oreos I picked up at the story.

Sweet dreams.

June 1, 17:50 MDT, Tide Table Restaurant, Majuro

I do think there is an art to travel, even business travel. If you are open to it, there are unexpected moments that provide an opportunity to experience something that will pin your visit. It is the unexpectedness of the event that makes it so special. You can prepare, read guide books, talk to those who been before you, quiz locals. But if you wait for it you'll run into something that is so singularly part of the place you are visiting that you understand, fully, this is not home, this is here.

And today I have one of those experiences. I set out to go to 9:30 Mass at Assumption Cathedral. It was a hot and sweaty walk but I made it just in time. I look at the program I was handed and realize I am attending the Baccalaureate Mass for Assumption High School’s 2014 graduating class. With that the procession begins and here they come, leading the Bishop and his acolytes, 28 young men and women celebrating Mass together before their graduation ceremony this afternoon.

The women wear attractive, tasteful sheath dresses made from an abstract blue tropical print. The dresses are nicely form-fitting to show off their young feminine bodies... none of that prudish missionary garb here! The men wear matching shirts and khaki pants... everyone of them with freshly cut hair close to the scalp. Most of the women wear their hair down, three of them, two side-by-side (close buddies?), sport stylish buns. The women wear beautiful intricately woven shell head-dresses called wut with matching bracelets on their right wrists. The men wear imaginatively fashioned woven shell neckties, a kind of Marshallese spin off of the old western string tie.

It's then that you notice some similarly attired adults distributed among the pews, obviously faculty, staff and administrators from the school. The graduates occupy the first four rows and are well behaved. It's warm and the service is long but they sit patiently through it all. I'm close enough to the young men to notice a jittering leg or tapping toe or two, otherwise they listen respectfully and lead the congregation in prayer and singing. Two are selected to do the readings... almost all of it in Marshallese. One of the wonders of Catholicism is its universality, so I can follow the liturgy although I do not know the language.

The Bishop's homily, delivered mostly in heavily-accented English, is very good, enough so that I don't doze off (a common practice at home, sorry Frs Mike and Mark). It's as though he read my post the night before. He calls them to be prayerful and he counsels perserverance. The very trait I consider elemental to the Marshallese personality is the one he urges them to follow as they leave his school.

By now, I'm starting to tear up. A bunch of them come up to offer the intentions, then all of them rise, go to the back of the church to bring up the offerings (for my non-Catholic friends, they carry up the bread and wine to be used for Communion and other "gifts"). They form a double column, boy to girl, and slowly perform a rhythmic choreographed dance to an enchanting hymn as they approach the Bishop waiting at the altar. They are enjoying this, swapping sly smiles and giggles as they proceed down the central aisle-way. I think of St. Charles Borromeo, my grand-daughter Larkin and her friends. Have these kids been doing this for 13 years? Will they ever share this moment again? What does the future hold for each of these beautiful, eager, earnest faces?

The gifts include brightly flowered "leis" (mar mar is the Marshallese term for these flower necklaces) and a five-foot long garland of large pure white flowers which is arrayed around the chalice on the altar.

I am a teacher to my core. I have always attended graduations, as tedious as they can be, because I have always taken the idea of commencement literally. The end of school is not a finish, it is a beginning. And these kids are going out, some to work or school here, others to Guam and Hawai'i, a few to the the Mainland. Some may never return; some may never leave. But after today, nothing will ever ever be the same, or as simple.

After the Consecration, at the Sign of Peace, extra time is needed for all of them to shuttle between pews and back to families to give the embraces that represent the truest form of Communion.

At the close of Mass, they line the altar rail and each receives a personal blessing from the Bishop. Then they ascend the altar, arrange themselves in choir-like order and sing us a hymn, their class hymn I suspect. I am pinned to the Marshalls forever after that moment.

I look at these kids, none of whom I know... but I do. Not by name, but I see Larry Santi and Kerry Fine and Angie Rinaldo and Ian Slaymaker and Chris Lucas and Carolyn Brown and Dan Brophy and Carolyn Ushka and Shannon Richards and Donna Griffin and so so many more. My wife and one of my daughters come to mind, too. These people made my life. Their love of learning and trust in me enriched me. Looking into these young faces I am inspired.

I offer a blessing that their lives are as blessed as mine has been. I am so lucky to have lived this day.

June 2, 9:52 MDT, Meeting Room, Office of the Auditor General, Majuro, RMI

Into my second day of work. Every one of these offices is different, so I try to devise a custom-fit process to get to the same end, a plan.

I'm using the first two days here to learn all I can about the office. Yesterday I interviewed most of the staff, today I in talking to key stakeholders, the Speaker of the Nitegela (RMI's Parliament) along with other government officials.

We'll start writing the plan tomorrow. I was here nine years go, so we have a lot of catching up to do.

18:10 Tide Table Restaurant

Dinner time. Service is attentive here, but food leaves a lot to be desired. I keep reminding myself, I didn't come here for the food. No need to go into whiney detail. I understand the challenges faced in providing a full menu in the middle of the Pacific. There's just something wrong here. When in doubt I order the default cheeseburger.

Ended up in a mild panic yesterday. Picked up my rental car. In all of the cars I've rented I've never been given one with an empty gas tank. Not close to empty, but just short of the lights-on empty. Now it's not like I'm commuting long distance, the office is 2.2 miles from the hotel. I reassure myself this is no big problem... I'll hardly need more than a couple of gallons to get through the week. I'm fine until I drive to the office and the three gas stations I pass are not pumping gas.

They actually put shrouds up over the pump and place sawhorse barricades in front of them. I never got a clear answer as to why no one was pumping. Out and about during the day I kept checking. Late in the afternoon, driving back to Reimers I find one open. There's a bit of a line, 1974 all over again, but I'm not going to risk driving much further.

There are two pumps, one serving east-west traffic; west-east is feeding in on the other side of the pump. I enter the eastbound lane, get my three gallons at $5.60 a gallon and wait 15 minutes for the west-headed traffic to open so I can leave the station. Obviously I'm not the only one anxious about the fuel supply.

At least half the vehicles lined up are taxis. There is nowhere I've been, with the exception of midtown Manhattan, with more taxis. It makes sense. A car is expensive here and it can't be more than 10 miles from one end of the atoll's paved road to the other. Almost everything important is packed into a three mile stretch at that. I do two quick surveys, counting the auto to taxi ratio. First survey, 50 cars, 14 taxis; second 50 cars, 26 taxis. I'm guessing at least a third of the vehicular traffics is taxis.

I think a taxi ride costs 50 cents and the drivers stop and pick up fares along the way. You could enter an empty cab and arrive downtown 10 minutes later in one that is full. It appears to be a practical and effective solution to mass transit. I join the steady stream of taxis and head home secure in the knowledge I'll not be stranded on the side of the road with an empty gas tank.

Yesterday and today are packed with staff and stakeholder interviews. I have to immerse myself to get a sense of what this office is all about. I need to know what they must do to sustain themselves and improve performance, the two most basic strategic imperatives for any organization.

It's tiring work. You really have to pay attention and concentrate on what you are hearing. I am being give clues here, often unintentionally. As folks try to craft an answer to my questions,

what they say (and don't) and how they frame it, the exact words they use, open a window into the organization and the people who work there. People don't lie (or it is obvious when they do); they offer honest accounts of what they experience and feel. And within the context of their comments it is a reality as real as any you’ll find.

The challenge for me is to sort through all those realities to get to a kind of truth that connects these diverse accounts. Because people in organizations don't ask the questions I pose it's not uncommon for me to hit upon explanations to things they have been puzzling over and struggling with for some time.

When I reach a tentative conclusion I present it back as a hypothesis to my clients. I never suggest, nor do I believe, I have a superior knowledge of the organization these people work in every day. I tell them what I think and thereafter a useful tussle occurs between me and them as we try to reconcile these different realities. Often someone gives me a puzzling look and asks, "how did you know that; how did you figure that out so quickly?" I shrug, probably not modestly enough, and leave folks to think I have some sort of magic power. But the power, as I learned years ago from a great mind, Larry Swift, is in the question.

.....

I'm getting tired and starting to yearn for home. The last couple of times I've come out here Kathleen has accompanied me for, at least, part of the trip. She is a wonderful traveling companion and we've had some incredible experiences. I miss her in bed at night. Her warmth, smell, the touch of her body and the serene way she sleeps are all part of my night world. I miss her more than she could ever imagine.

Traveling for two weeks anywhere will wear you down and it's even harder out here. I'm not looking for sympathy. I chose to come out here and there are many compensations. But it is work. I am not on vacation and while this is pretty cerebral labor, it is hard and tiring nonetheless. I've done hundreds of plans by now, but I never do one exactly the same. Each client is different and each deserves a plan best fitted to their needs and circumstance. From day one that's what I'm looking for: what's distinct? What's unique? That's the opposite of most professional work which is to test, analyze and diagnose to find the correct category in which to place (and fix or heal) the client. My pledge is to devise a solution as unique as the character of my client. That can wear you out at the end of the day. But as a teacher/consultant I have always resisted to option to "take if off the shelf."

Dinner was ok. You can't go wrong, even here, with a barbecue bacon burger.

June 4, 19:52 MDT, Room 402, Reimers Hotel

You know I am a baseball fan. The game's many symmetries keeps me sane, although my beloved Seattle Mariners can drive me to distraction. Of all the wonders of modern technology the ability to watch a game where ever I can get an internet connection is at the top of my list. Thanks to mlb.com i can get my hardball fix anytime I want. Of course, I have to allow for time differences.

It was with great satisfaction that squeezed in between yesterday's interviews I was able to watch the Ms put it to the Yankees yesterday. And today, a come from behind win in Atlanta.

Winning the first two games of a road-trip is a big deal for this year's Mariners... hell, winning two in a row is a big deal.

......

I'm enjoying my work with this Auditor's Office very much. I did a plan for them, which they still refer to, 9 years later. It's satisfying to know what you've done has made a difference... a lasting one at that. In 2005 the plan was all about building up the strength and reputation of the office. Today's plan in much more technical. Now that they've learned how to do it, the strategic challenge is to do it better. The talk this time around is about improving quality, being more timely, having a greater impact and taking on a larger role in the investigation of fraud.

There are a handful of younger folks working here and they bring a straight-out-of-college energy and earnestness felt throughout the office. The Auditor General, Junior Patrick, is a sharp guy with a good understanding of politics and a wry sense of humor. He knows what has to be done and he is wisely using my time not only to build a plan but to work with his team to raise the level of their game.

June 5, 19:29 MDT, Room 402, Reimers Hotel

Busy day. Got most of the plan done; made sure all of the office, a fairly large group of 14, were involved. There was lots to sort through, but they've identified the key strategic issues the office must address and they've prescribed reasonable and realistic goals, objectives and actions. This is a very different plan than any of the four I worked on in Pohnpei, as it should be.

Had a fun experience with Junior and Caroline, another visiting US consultant, this afternoon. Driving somewhere along a deserted beach I spied a barbecue shack covering a good sized open-air barbecue grill erected by some enterprising locals. I ask Junior to take me there. Next, along with Caroline, off we go. They've got reef fish, ribs and chicken going which they box up with a little slaw, breadfruit and rice. For $3 ($4 for the fish plate). What a deal! And without question the best meal I've had here.

We picnic under a Majuro landmark, the bridge that connects the most populated island of the atoll with the island where the airport is situated. At 27-feet the bridge is the highest spot on the atoll, exempting a couple of three story office buildings. We sit in the shade under the overpass watching the tide flow into the lagoon from the ocean. Junior reminisces about his childhood while we tear away like true carnivores at our ribs.

I share with them how astounding this is to me. As a kid growing up I had dreamt about coming to Pacific islands, doing just this, and here I am. Hard to fathom sometimes.

Power went out twice today, the second time just as a lovely buffet dinner they were hosting for me started. Junior offered a generous statement of thanks to me and I was given some nice presents of local handicrafts... all useful things that will become part of our lives at home and at the beach. One of the ingenious woven-shell string ties that caught my attention at the Baccalaureate was part of my swag... that will always mean a lot.

Power is still on at the hotel. It's awfully big to run on a generator, so that's a good sign. I'm all set to fly out of here tomorrow. There better be lights on that runway!

June 6, 07:38, Tide Table Restaurant, Majuro

As Kramer once said to Seinfeld about taking a vacation to California, "eh eh eh eh eh, in my mind I'm out of here!" This has been a wonderful trip no matter how you look at it. But I'm ready to be home... probably was a couple of days ago. I've got a job to do and the last day is an important one in pulling the plan together, so I'll give all I've got today but, in my mind I'm out of here!

For the first night in two weeks I didn't sleep well. Around midnight a bunch of women with a baby moved into the room next to me. I couldn't decipher the language they were speaking, but it was foreign and, judging by it intensity, they were pretty excited about being here. They settled down after awhile, although I'd heard a baby's cry and the voice of a concerned mother throughout the early morning hours.

Finally I got up and started packing. I packed well coming out, so coming home my bag is mostly dirty clothes and a few trinkets I've been given or picked up as family gifts. I always carry a foldable canvas bag and deploy it now. I had 47 pounds outbound; I'm sure I've picked up enough to go over 50, so I've got two light bags rather than one heavy one to haul to the airport. Sorry to share such mundanities, but that's part of the trip, too.

The peace of my last breakfast is broken by the arrival of two couples... perhaps part of the folks next door. Please, please, please forgive the stereotypes. If you read my posts last October from Tokyo, you know how appealing I found the harmony and industry of the Japanese culture. But some, and I underscore the conditional, Japanese tourists behave oddly in public... odd because it is so counter to the social norms that regulate public behavior at home.

One woman, heavily made up, with an elaborate coif, wears khaki short shorts and a lime green tank top decorated with butterflies, woven from the bodice up. The other woman, more plainly made up and coiffed, also wears short shorts and a sheer tangerine baby doll nightgown over a black tank top. During breakfast one of the men takes two cellphone calls, answered to a grating, tinny ringtone. He speaks loudly and forcefully.

Under normal circumstances this would irritate me. Sitting here, a short timer, already out of here in my mind, I can't leave the dining room fast enough.

19:42 MDT, back on board United 155, Seat 20D, awaiting departure to HNL

An interesting day that promises to be exceptionally long given that I cross the International Date Line in an hour. Temporarily I'll drop back to Thursday evening, then pick up Friday all over again about two hours outside of Honolulu. Could end up being a 44 hour Friday.

The power never came on. Some places, like the airport, fall back on their generators. Most, including the Auditor's Office stopped functioning. No phones, no computers, no water pumped from the cistern. What could become a crisis if not quickly resolved was greeted with a bit of holiday spirit. No work could we done (I was able to wrap some things up with senior management), so around 11 the "boys" of the office decided to put together a barbecue. No one went home, some of the boys took off to get meat, salad makings and charcoal. Others set out for coconuts, soft drinks and ice. Junior and I took off for his house to get his grill... A half 50-gallon drum sitting on a rebar frame.

Over the afternoon it all came together. The "girls" made the salad and summoned up a bunch of rice. Jaston whipped up a fine marinade (Yoshida sweet-sour sauce laced with soy,

Worcestershire and brown sugar with onion and garlic). Since one of the items in their new plan was to clean up the office in and out, a couple grabbed a weed-eater and whacked away at the overgrown grass and weeds around the perimeter of their building.

Around 2:30 the banquet was served. It was every bit as good as you might have imagined. We sat around and chatted and their was, honestly, a feeling of family. Stories were swapped, tales were told and all of us enjoyed the company and the unusual relaxation of a day at work. It was hot, low 90s, and suffocating in the office. Some staff found shady nooks others gathered on the porch to catch the refreshing breeze.

Around 3:30 Junior and I left for the airport, but not before I had embraced all the women and shaken sticky hands firmly with all the men. On the drive to the airport Junior complimented me for the help I had given and commented, perceptively, on how I had given myself so fully to the project. "Put my whole heart in it," he said. He noted he found that a rare trait in people.

He could not have given me a more meaningful comment or paid in currency of any greater value. Sure, I get paid for this work and I'm not planning to give the money back. But being part of this, getting to know these people on their terms, sharing briefly and momentarily events as simple and straightforward as a picnic or graduation enriches me beyond adequate description.

June 6, 01:04 HST, United 155, Seat 20D enroute HNL

Friday morning all over again. These are full flights, cramped even in an exit row seat.. Kid next to me is a football player judging by his size and his "Move first, Move Strong, Never Settle" tee-shirt. He looks even less comfortable than I and both of us try to adjust to share the armrest. Good kid, considerate and sensitive to the fact he's just too big for flying economy class.

11:32 PDT United 72, seat 4D enroute SFO.

The Honolulu airport was practically empty when I arrived, Got bags right away and cleared customs quickly, nothing to do but wait for United's check in counters to open and find a place to recharge my e-gadgets which, due to the blackout in Majuro, are limping along. Finding plugs in airports has become an exciting lay-over diversion.

17:18 PDT, United 776, seat 2B enroute SEA.

Forty minutes left in a 2-week, 15,000 mile trip. I fall asleep involuntarily I'm so tired. I was in San Francisco just long enough to buy a Kathleen a loaf of Boudin sourdough. This day is dragging along and so am I.

June 8, 6:58 PDT, United 682, seat. 21C, enroute ORD

WHAT! Two days later on a flight to Chicago headed to Baltimore? Yes. That's how it is in the glamorous world of a consultant. Off to see another client. In my life you work when and where your client wants, so barely 36 hours after the end of my Pacific adventure I'm off to the east coast. Except for this post you won't be going along. I did, however want to bring you home from Majuro.

Ever dependable Jay was waiting for me on arrival. We shared a Kosraean tangerine and, as is the custom, he listened patiently to my account of my last flight. My favorite story involved an irritated passenger in first class on the HNL to SFO flight.

He was a trim, middle aged Naval officer in civvies. I knew he was an officer, a high ranking one, because he was traveling with his dress cover (hat) in a plastic wrap and you could see all the scrambled eggs on the leather bill. This indicates a Commander or higher and given his age and bearing, he could easily have been an Admiral. And he was not happy. Really ticked off, but in a regal way befitting his rank. By the time the young flight attendant had gotten to him, the galley had run out of the breakfast dish he wanted. In a patronizing tone, several times reaching up to touch her hand to emphasize a point, he lectured her on the many ways in which he found United's service lacking. She listened patiently, offered no excuse but a reasonable explanation and plenty of apologies. With an audible "hrrrumph" the Admiral ended his colloquy, snatching up his newspaper in a dramatic gesture of dismissal. Later in flight she returned and offered him the dish he wanted. It just so happened, she told him, the crew meal was the same as the one he was denied. Just so happens she wasn't having breakfast that morning. Would he like her meal she asked? He TOOK it! Rank does have its privileges, after all. It was a sweet gesture on her part. I got her name and sent a "attaboy" through United's customer service desk.

At the end of these trips I feel like I ought to say something to sum up what it all means. At one level it is all too much to put in a few words which, at best would diminish something rather profound. Looked at another way, this is just a trip like any other.

Maybe the best way is to end with a story. No lesson or morale, neither pedagogically nor ethically grounded. Just a story from the Pacific.

I mentioned in an earlier post, I had the good fortune at Sunday Mass in Majuro to be part of a special celebration: the Baccalaureate services for the 2014 graduates of Assumption School. The ceremony touched me in many ways, most notably as a teacher who has dedicated my life to helping others to get the most out theirs and as a consultant who is genuinely interested in seeing these island nations prosper free of their dependence on the US. It was impossible not to feel optimistic at the true commencement for these 24 graduates and their watching their joy, wonder and relief of finishing their primary education was fun.

The next day, meeting with staff of the Auditor General’s office I mentioned attending the Baccalaureate and acknowledged how meaningful the moment had been for me. Later one of the auditors, Karen, approached me and proudly informed me her son had been one of the graduating seniors. I confided to her that I had written about the event and shared it with you, my friends and family.

When I compose these pieces I never think about them being read outside of an intimate circle of people I know care enough about me to be interested in my travels and patient enough to put up with my poor grammar and frequent typos. Maybe someday I'll publish these collected essays; for now it's enough to offer a diversion for you and away to pass the time on a long flight.

I read Karen my account of the service and I could see she was moved by my words. She asked if I could send her a copy, which I did. The next day she told me she had shared it with her son and he, too, was pleased to hear what I had to say.

A few days later the office hosted a buffet dinner as a way of thanking me for my service and wishing me farewell the next day. The second of a series of power failures hit the office and we sat in sweltering heat and gathering darkness. These moments are always a little emotional; after a week of intense work there is a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie.

As I have found the custom to be in Micronesia, I was presented with some gifts. These presents are always local handicrafts and I have accumulated a variety of beautifully decorative and sometimes quite practical carvings or woven items. Tonight was no different. Among my gifts was something quite unexpected, one of the ingeniously woven shell neckties worn by the men of Assumption's graduating class. In my post I had noted this clever and distinctly the Marshallese take on the western string-tie... but far more elaborate and elegant. I had never seen anything like it before. I thanked them for their kind comments and generosity.

The next morning I passed Karen on the stairway. I told her, "wow, that was cool. I have a tie just like your son's." She smiled broadly and informed me that the tie I was given was her son's. I expressed my heartfelt appreciation and insisted that he take it back. Just as fervently she assured me that after reading my comments about his graduation he understood how much the tie meant to md and that he really wanted me to have it.

As I find many times on these trips words fail me, my vocabulary is insufficient to express the emotions I felt. Indeed, I'm not sure the English language has words to express the feelings of honor, gratitude, affiliation, reward, humility and acknowledgment a gift like this evokes. I bet French does and I suspect Marshallese does, too.

Once again I have traveled a long way to discover some very fundamental truths about what it means to be a member of the human community.

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