About a plane, a year ago

Now that I've found that notebook (to be precise, Glenn found it, after I speculated about where and when I might have lost it), I'm going back through the entries. Here's one, as we landed in Minneapolis on our way back to Seattle from Wiscon in 2010: 

Seeing another plane engulfed in flames at the airport as one's plane lands provokes a certain amount of thought. Much of that thought is less than cogent. Shit, that plane's on fire. I hope my plane doesn't catch fire. I hope the people got out okay. How did that plane catch fire? Shit, that plane's on fire. Is my plane on fire? When can I get off? Damn, I have another flight after this one.

Shit. That plane's on fire. 

The thing I find most startling a year later is that I didn't search for news of the fire after we got home. I searched just now, and I find no record of it at all. Was I so tired that I imagined the whole thing? Is a flaming plane, however small, so common that it passes without note these days? Was this just the ritual destruction of a plane at the end of its useful life?

Inquiring minds don't seem to have a clue just now.