That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it!

No, I didn’t meet author Thomas Pynchon, but I did dip my feet in the unexpected fountain of celebrity. (I just like The Simpsons!)

It’s my third time…or is it my fourth? Maybe fifth? I distinctly remember two other times - Willie Nelson in the airport in Austin, Texas, serenading me with his newest songs. I got to sit with the entourage. Bono, in Portland, offering me a lift - we stayed at the same retro boutique hotel - purely accidental.

So I flew home from the East Coast yesterday and I ended up in a bulkhead window seat, praise the lord, and who should sit next to me but someone who shall remain nameless. The flight attendants kept the middle seat empty for his paperwork, etc. Yes! If there’s one thing I hate, it’s that cramped feeling you get when all three seats are occupied.

What did we talk about? Well, mostly I slept, because man, I was exhausted and hungover. He slept some too. But…he did ask if he could read my Time Magazine and I asked if I might read his newspaper. We both ended up using the middle seat as a dumping ground - a four hour flight turned into a five hour flight because of nasty headwinds. We discussed our boots. We were both wearing boots made by the same designer. His are black, shiny and new, mine are brown, scuffed and worn. I wear them for riding on the ranch in Montana. They are super comfortable and I got mine for half off.

He and I pretty much did our own thing until about 30-35 minutes before we landed. The pilot announced our position and began a slow descent. I noticed that Mr. Nameless began to fidget, wiggle his feet around, hide his face in his hands and pray. Sure signs that he was in the early stages of freak out.

What? Celebrities don’t like to fly? I thought it was just people like me, you know, schlubs, who suffer from a fear of flying. I know the feeling. I’m not the best flier, but once the plane reaches its cruising altitude and the scratchy pilot voice comes on saying who the hell knows what - but in a comforting way - I’ve transitioned from overwhelming fear, made that necessary leap of faith and I’m cool, for the most part.

I figured I’d better distract this gentleman because he looked really upset. I asked if he was okay. He looked up at me, asked me if I could see the airport out the window - which of course I could not. What I did see was the panic in his eyes so I chatted him up. Where had he just been…where was he going…how are his kids…oh yes, he’s been to my neck of the woods many times. (Yeah, what celebrity hasn’t?) We maintained a steady stream of chatter all though the descent and landing and he totally relaxed. We exited the plane together and searched the boards for our connections. I hope he did well on the next leg of his journey. And no, he wasn’t packing an entourage, but he had some sweet carry-on luggage!

My kids are all mad because I didn’t get his autograph on my Time Magazine. That’s something I couldn’t bring myself to do, ask for an autograph, although I’m sure he would have been very gracious.

Nope, not spilling. Maybe in a couple years.

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