We’d hesitated to return to a restaurant we’d frequented countless times. It had new owners and a new name, and we arbitrarily decided it couldn’t possibly be as good as it had been previously. We drive past it every day and each time we debate when and whether we should give it a try. Last night we bit the bullet and went in.

There had been renovations – all favorable. The new owner told us that the chef who had made the previous place outstanding had remained, so we were delighted.

The owner came by our table several times. She was gracious and genuinely pleased that we had “returned.”

Marc asked what her name is. “Winnie,” she said.

“I’m Laverne and he’s Marc,” I added.

She asked me what I do.

“I’m a columnist and an author,” I said, which genuinely interested her.

Marc interrupted by asking what nationality she was. We weren’t sure whether she was Chinese, Japanese or Korean.
“Chinese,” she said.

“What’s your last name?” Marc asked.

“Ma,” she said.

“Ma?” He questioned.

“Yes, Ma,” she repeated. “What is it that you do?”

Marc is an artist of many mediums. He whipped out his cell phone and showed her a photo of his latest project: a one-foot sculpture of two horses, fighting.

Winnie’s jaw dropped. “Yes, that is my name.”

Marc and I were totally confused, and Winnie was astonished that Marc was able to pull up a photo of horses so fast.
Winnie left our table and we instantly went to Siri. “What is the Chinese word for horse?” we asked.

Siri answered. “Ma.”