A chance meeting with her editor

Sue Clark

When I’m truly starving, I go to Ruby’s on 17th Street in Costa Mesa

for the burger/salad/fries dinner with a shake. I chow it down to the

last crumb and feel satiated for days. This time, as I entered the

restaurant, I ran into Pilot Forum Page Editor Lolita Harper and her

son, Donovan, walking to their car. I am usually an extravert but I

was struck suddenly shy to see her in person.

We usually communicate via e-mail, or, in an emergency (meaning I

don’t have a commentary ready) by my apologetic phone call promising

to get it done Monday morning. Her tactful e-mails are usually of the

“Didn’t get your column, and I’m wondering if you’re OK” variety. The

last time I’d seen her in person was when she spoke to my girls at

the high school.

Harper looked shorter than I remembered. These is possibly because

I look up to her and admire her writing and humor, so I imagine her

as tall. It could also be that since I’m 5 feet 11 inches everyone is

shorter than I remember. She looked well put-together, non-sweaty --

and her son Donovan was gorgeous.

I couldn’t think of anything brilliant or witty to say. The

process of selling and buying homes, plus moving and remodeling had

consumed the last ounce of any charm I’d ever had. Donovan had much

better manners than I did and spoke pleasantly to put me at ease. I

pictured him in 15 years hosting a party and charming all he met.

In addition to being struck dumb, I was acutely aware of having

just been at the gym, with sweaty hair done up in a ponytail, which

could only be described as unfortunate. I always hope the pull of the

rubber band will provide an immediate face-lift but it only makes my

thin little face look thinner, while the wrinkles remain. I glanced

down at my tank top and noticed it was marked with a dark band of

sweat from my waist to my sternum. Yes, I was styling.

“I don’t know what to write about for Tuesday,” I mumbled and

scuffed a toe on the ground. “I’m in the middle of moving and

remodeling the new place.”

People are so kind when they find this out. They immediately

forgive any mental lapses, despondency or the occasional mood swing.

Lolita and Donovan regarded me with compassion.

“Why don’t you write about the whole process?” she suggested.

“People here are fascinated by selling houses.”

“Selling is a piece of cake. But buying ... “ I shuddered just

remembering it.

I did agree that the real estate market was truly bizarre at the

moment and that the whole ordeal would certainly give me topics for

the next month.

So I’ll start with right now. I’m lying on my stomach on the floor

of my new condo. I thought I was going to be moved in yesterday, so I

sent my cable, e-mail, computer and phones to be set up in the new

place. All the rest of my furniture is back at my sold house, which I

am renting back from the new owners. I’m 90% packed there, so I’m

living out of a few boxes.

Until the remodel, which includes painting and carpeting, is

complete, I cannot move. I’m in Newport Heights limbo land. No phone

-- if my cell goes out -- and no e-mail. How spoiled I am.

This ordeal is what my friends call a “quality problem.” I’m

thankful I can afford to do these things and I like all the sympathy

I’m getting for the brain lapses and emotions that I have all the

time, anyway. It’s a lot better than people attributing my quirks to

old age.

When I’m moved in and things settle down, I will have no one to

blame but myself again for these lapses and mood swings. And, as

Harper knows, each encounter is material for a writer.

The electricity isn’t on in this room, and my back hurts from

lying on my stomach, so, as Peter Buffa would say, “I gotta go.”

* SUE CLARK is a Newport Beach resident and a high school guidance

counselor at Creekside High School in Irvine.