I've never been at ease with flying. The highest altitudes I generally ever reach are when I climb the attic stairs to drag down the Christmas decorations, and even then I get a little woozy.

My nervousness begins as soon as I board the plane and the crew begins to talk about safety.

"Please turn off all electronic devices as they may interfere with the plane's navigation system," warns the flight attendant.

Are they really trusting people to turn off their cell phones? What if they forget? I imagine us landing in Lithuania instead of our intended destination because somebody forgot to turn off his Nokia.

"Your seat cushion can also be used as a flotation device," she purrs reassuringly, but I'm not at all comforted. What use is a seat cushion if we're flying over the Rocky Mountains?

My seat mate notices my agitation and pats my hand.

"Flying is the safest thing in the world. I should know. I'm a pilot," he says.

You'd think sitting next to a pilot would be reassuring, but 10 minutes into the flight my seat mate looks up from his newspaper and says, "Oh no. I think we might have lost an engine."

"What!!!"

He cocks his head to listen more closely. "Nah. I guess not."

Two minutes later he drops his paper in horror and says, "Oh, my God!"

"What is it? Not the engine again?"

"No. The Dow lost 90 points yesterday."

We land in Atlanta without incident, but my connecting plane has been delayed because of mechanical difficulties.

I can see my plane on the tarmac, and there's a mechanic working on top of it. He reaches for something in his tool belt. Is that a roll of duct tape?

My connecting flight is a puddle jumper - not my favorite type of plane. In a jumbo jet at least, the ride is so smooth that you almost forget you're in a tin tube suspended 10,000 feet above the earth. Not so in a little plane. You feel every bump and hear every groan.

The captain comes on the intercom to tell us that winds are out of the northeast at 10 mph. Shouldn't he be paying attention to the controls instead of chatting about wind speed?

The plane seems to take a sudden dip in altitude, and the ride gets bumpy. My eyes immediately search out the flight attendant. Is she cowering in a corner, making the sign of the cross? No. She's behind me with the refreshment cart. I sigh, relieved. She probably wouldn't be passing out peanuts if we were fixing to crash.

My favorite part of the experience is when my feet are on solid ground.

"How was your flight?" my husband asks.

I yawn as though I'm a little bored and not immensely grateful to be have survived the experience unscathed.

"Piece of cake."

Augusta resident Karin Gillespie is the author of Bet Your Bottom Dollar and A Dollar Short. Reached her at www.karingillespie.com.