Brief encounters of the celebrity kind

Celebrities are not like us. What with being rich and famous and having second homes for their second homes. Sure, they put their pants on one leg at a time, but they have people to help them. Or so I always thought, until recent brief encounters with two famous women set me straight. Anoushka Shankar was a featured day diarist in our first This Day book and Rosanne Cash in the second book. I got backstage invites to their concerts, which sounds very glamorous but bear in mind that this is backstage at a college performance hall, not backstage at La Scala. But maybe backstage is backstage? Beat-up wooden floors, gray lockers lining the passage, fluorescent lighting, mis-matched chairs, a fire extinguisher. Folding table with a cellophane wrapped gift basket, soda cans, knocked-over stack of paper cups.

Rosanne in concert is fantastic; if you haven’t seen her, you must. I was simultaneously caught up in the music and hyperventilating about meeting her. I practiced my casual yet clever conversation and imaged the banter, the instant rapport, and the life-long friendship that would follow. Of course, it went nothing like that. I knock on the stage door – Authorized Personnel Only – explain who I am to the guy who did the after-show Q&A – I wrote a book? Rosanne’s in it? – he nods and lets the door shut behind him. It’s the kind that locks automatically. So I knock again. And again – am I knocking too loud? - feeling like a complete rube, despite my rural chic outfit of jeans, not-too-trendy top, and tweed and dark pink suede three inch slingbacks. Once I’m in – I wrote a book? – Rosanne’s in it? – it’s over in what seems like a heartbeat. She’s lovely. And gracious and friendly to this tongue-tied stranger who’s made all sorts of assumptions from having read her day diary entry and seen her on the TV. She kindly signs my copy of This Day in the Life (page 360) while I mangle inanities about how nice to meet her. Sheesh. Then she’s gone and I’m in the car headed home.

And meeting Anoushka? See above (different outfit, same shoes). Fantastic concert, gorgeous and so sweet, signs my copy of This Day (page 16). This time I manage an actual, albeit brief, conversation, ask if she’s ever re-read her day diary entry (yes) and if her life is calmer now (no, it’s much crazier).

After my celebrity encounters, I’m left with what can only be described as a ‘warm fuzzy.’ Anyone who knows me knows I don’t suffer fools or warm fuzzies, but these women, famous with a capital F, were generous enough to share a day in their lives and gracious enough to share a moment backstage. So maybe, just maybe, they put on their own pants? I like to think so.

--Bindi