I never really recovered from one of my tours as a dancer -- my luggage was lost before my performance in Mediellin, Colombia. I had to beg, weep, and bribe a guy to get it. I was booed in Argentina; I had to beg and weep to get my fee from the producer. The Consul, whom I'd turned down when he tried to date me, had given me a work visa so I couldn't board the plane back to the U.S. until I paid taxes -- I had to beg, weep, plead with the guard at the airport gate.
Finally arriving, heading down the the long ramp to U.S. Customs, I wanted to kneel, and kiss the soil of America the beautiful, where I knew how to ask questions, make friends, ignore wrong guys, order food, shop in a supermarket, and pay with money that I knew how to count.
That experience still haunts me -- makes me fearful of the troubles in the air, aware that I'm utterly American, gullible, mostly optimistic and hopeful, but gee-golly -- terrorism scares me, global warming and those folks who say it doesn't exist, the guys who passionately oppose government supporting needy people, folks with weapons, racist cops, super pacs, voter restrictions, media's distortions of realities, and ads, ads -- more-and-more ads infecting us with fear, anger, hate.
Howling get your friends, gathering more friends, we hurry off and tell the King to look out for sly foxy-woxie trumperations that lead you nowhere -- but hey, the king laughs (and weeps on TV over gun violence), plucks the acorns off my noggin and says happy new year guys, God bless, the sky is blue.
Hey folksy-wolksies -- beware of Trumpies and gullible friends and question everything -- it's just a new year, and lots of things aren't clear yet, but the sky is not falling.