ABSTRACT
Imagine the situation. A year earlier I had been living in Florida like a character in a Jimmy Buffet song, struggling to raise a son by myself, and hadn’t sold a book in six years. So I was less than prepared, psychologically speaking, for the reversal of fortune I was suddenly experiencing in my new place of residence and employment, at least for the next year (which would ultimately stretch to 30 months), in a setting I couldn’t have imagined ever seeing, even wishing to see, prior to this transitional moment in my life. Now I couldn’t turn around, literally, without being saluted, greeted, welcomed, smiled at, and offered a drink or a meal. Foreign Dignitary? Me? It was hard enough to fathom that, let alone the designation of “Foreign Expert,” my official government title. Which led to the next item on my suddenly ever-expanding dance card: the Governor’s Banquet.
