Chinese Food in London

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TripAdvisor wouldn’t let me leave a zero-star review. Pity that. This restaurant deserved it. Hence the one star. Abysmal, awful, horrible, and every other synonym for bad. About the only good thing I can say is it was clean. As far as I could see.

Yes, we were a large party, but I think that we were American was the bigger problem. Our sojourn in London began when we were overwhelmed by the choices and wary due to the reputation of English food. We were hungry. So, what does a large group of hungry people decide on? Chinese. It suits everyone.

We were the only clientele. That should have been a warning, but we were jetlagged.

Photo by Elena Koycheva on Unsplash

Nobody seemed to speak English–not even the language that passes for English in Great Britain. I have never been to a foreign country before where I had such a hard time understanding people. I think Mark Twain described it as two countries separated by a common language.

Anyway.

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Hit the Floor in ’24

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I don’t know how it ends, but I can read the writing on the wall. I’ve been in nesting mode which has thus far involved provisioning my abode with things to make it cozy and quirky, but without doing any cleaning or emptying of closets to make room for the new. This is a disaster. I can see how it ends if I don’t get going.

Photo by BoliviaInteligente on Unsplash


If I continue on this path, I’m going to be the creepy old woman who lives in the shack on the hill and hoards cats, books, and cooking utensils. Cats she doesn’t pay any attention to, books she doesn’t read, and cooking utensils in a house without a functioning kitchen.

I’m going to set aside a year to reclaim my life. 2024 is it. Hit the floor in ’24! we’ll call it. More peace, more tranquility, more grace, and more self-love all wrapped up in a whirling dervish of activity.

Years ago, after a rough patch with Doug’s illness at Christmas time, I decreed 2013 the year of Connie.

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My letter to Santa 2023

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Dear Santa,

Remember the year I wanted an EZ Bake oven and my brother wanted a television?  And I kept telling my brother Santa doesn’t bring TVs as I was kind-hearted enough to not want him to be disappointed but also bratty enough to point out how stupid his request was.  You brought me a nonfunctional console tv that my dad later turned into a desk. The note on it said, I got a TV that didn’t work because I hadn’t believed.  He got a freaking television.

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The Mirror

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Anita stopped and nearly tripped over a footstool at the opening to the stall. The mirror was Victorian with all the excess that style had to offer – and then some. It would be completely ridiculous in her Mid-Century modern home, but it called to her in that way that some things do. It was like she had sniffed out a treasure just waiting to be rescued and given a proper home.

Usually, her finds were starburst clocks or Danish modern furniture, but this heavy mahogany, intricately carved cherubs, gods, goddesses, and roses behemoth wouldn’t let her be. She was enchanted.

The mirror was easily eight feet by four feet in dimensions and would dominate a wall. “Where in the world would I put it,” she said aloud. At that the shopkeeper bustled over and said, “Why anywhere that needs a bit of beauty! I can let that go for $100 – cash and carry.”

“Wow. That seems awfully cheap for a Victorian mirror. What’s wrong with it?”

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