Ellington

Q. What can I do to keep from losing things?
— A Real Loser

Thank you for that question. If there's one thing I know about, it's losing things. I've declared mismatched earrings stylish because one in every pair I've ever owned has been lost. I've "lost" my purse more times that I can possibly remember. I even lost my skirt on Fifth Avenue one time! (It was one of those wraparound deals that ties in front. I was rushing across the street as the light changed, my arms full of packages and bags, and the strap on my shoulder bag broke. When I leaned down to retrieve the items that spilled from my purse, I accidentally untied my skirt, which of course fell down as I came up! Meanwhile, with trucks and taxis honking and engines panting down my neck, I somehow made it to the other side of the street, with both my life and my skirt—shall we say?—barely intact.)

Here are a couple of purse-losings I can remember, if only because they happened recently. In April, I went with my friend Penny Hutcherson to New York en route to New Haven to a Yale reunion—which is another story, since neither of us went to Yale. It was a wonderful trip, made even more wonderful because Penny's son Warren works for an airline, and I got a huge discount on my ticket, but that meant we were flying standby and also routed through Houston. When we got to Bush International, we hopped on the little train to go to our connecting gate, and shortly after we emerged, I realized I didn't have my purse. Penny went on to the gate so she could claim our standby places and "hold the plane" if necessary—don't for a minute think Penny couldn't hold a plane if the need arose—while I headed out to find help. One after another, the airport Information/Help people laughed in my face and told me I was a hopeless dreamer to think I could find my purse. Luckily I am a hopeless dreamer, so I persisted. I tracked down one of the security people—you know, the ones hired to prevent terrorists from blowing up planes—who immediately sprang into action and alerted the entire security force of Bush International to the severity of my situation. I was told to stay put at the security gate. Throughout the busy airport, these valiant protectors of our life and liberty, some in full military regalia and others in plain clothes, whispered surreptitiously into their walkie-talkies about my purse, while others dashed in and out of trains looking for it. You just have no idea how efficient those security types are: in just a few minutes, a grinning guy in uniform parted the crowd and presented me my purse with everything still in it! I dashed to the gate to find Penny calmly reading a newspaper. (There were no standby tickets on that flight anyway.) All I can say is I'm glad I was the only terrorist at Bush International that day!

Then about a month later, I did the same thing again, only this time it was at night on a streetcar in downtown Memphis, and all I lost was my billfold, with all my credit cards and several hundred dollars in cash. My niece Laurel and I had taken the downtown Memphis streetcar tour all the way around to Beale Street, where she had treated me to dinner. Afterward, we went next door to see the palm reader. I had never had my palm read, and I was worried that the psychic might divine that I did not take her powers seriously—so worried, in fact, that by the end of my session, in which she had predicted a phenomenally wonderful future for me (although I did need to work on my "third eye"), I had signed on for two weeks' worth of long-distance juju, at a mere $8 a day, payable in advance! (She would be "building my tower," she said.) It was then that I discovered that my wallet was missing. Have you ever seen the look on a fortuneteller's face when she thinks she's the one who's been had? Not to worry, I consoled her, I have my checkbook; and I calmly wrote her a check for past and future readings. By then, it was 10:58, and the streetcars quit running at 11, so Laurel and I tore off down the street to catch the last one. Just as we reached the corner, the last streetcar in Memphis pulled up right on schedule. I explained my predicament to the driver who called headquarters, and—would you believe it?—within five minutes, a nice man drove up in a little golf cart and handed me my billfold. No cash in it, but my ID and all my credit cards were there.

After I had replenished my funds at the hotel ATM, I noted that my balance would not cover the check I had just written to the juju woman, and it would be several days before I was back in Jackson to put money into that account. Which means—yes, it does—that my check to the fortuneteller bounced! I wonder how far she had gotten with my tower when it happened. But surely she knew all this would happen any way—she is a fortuneteller, right? Oh, did I mention that she also said the lines in my palm show me to be a very rational, organized and methodical person?

As I said earlier, I know a lot about losing things. I know absolutely nothing about not losing things. My best advice to you is just to embrace the adventure of the situation. After all, who wants to live a life of quiet desperation when total chaos is much more fun!

And that's the truth.

Send your questions for JoAnne, whatever they may be, to to PO Box 2047, Jackson, Miss., 39225, or fax to 866/728-4798 (toll free). Include name and daytime phone number, although it will be withheld.