If it’s Tuesday, this must be Belgium. Oh, no...that’s the title of an old movie. You’ll have to excuse me—I’m a little disoriented. Last week I was in London, New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas, and I think I’m still feeling the effects.

I’ve written before about my fear of flying, so I should have paid attention when the announcement came over the PA system: “After 30 years of flying, this is our pilot’s last flight.” The inside of the plane was decorated with balloons and banners that said "Happy Retirement." But three hours into the flight from London to New York, I wouldn’t exactly describe any of us as "happy." The plane was bouncing all over the sky, moving at what I thought was a perilously fast speed. That’s when it hit me: Just what did they mean when they said "last flight?"

I know I must have been exhausted, otherwise I would have panicked. Turned out it was just good old-fashioned turbulence. When we landed, the pilot came out of the cockpit, and we all gave him a round of applause, although our palms were sweating.

I found out later that the retiring pilot hopes to start a new career with his wife as lounge singers on a cruise ship. He actually did sing for all the passengers and he had a lovely voice. He should do well—just as long as he doesn’t break out into "Stormy Weather."