It’s Day 17 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I’m here to talk about having fun. I’m not sure what kind of conversation we will have. I’m a serious type and not into fun at all, at least not the type most people think of. On top of that, I’m as cranky as can be at the moment. But if we were to have ‘coffee’ together, it would help. That’s the kind of fun I like to have. I’m not into gregarinous, belly laughing, cheer leading type of fun. I don’t like participating in team sports. I hate pickle ball. I could go for bowling but not the competitive team kind of thing. See, I’m no fun at all.

I enjoy solitary pursuits, competing only with myself. What do I mean? Well, I took up swimming at a late age. It was on a list of things I want to do along with riding a bike. I have no natural skills for either. I took Red Cross swimming lessons as a very matured adult. It took me a whole summer to learn to float. I have mastered it, then the front crawl, then swimming one pool length along the edge so that I can grab on at any moment. Now I can swim 20 lengths in an hour. Learning a skill is ‘fun’ to me. Mastering the bicycle was no easy task either. I’m still not at home in the saddle but I’ve ridden up and down some steep streets in Lake Havasu the year we spent a winter month in Arizona. I huffed and puffed on the way up and screamed all the way down. I was proud of myself none the less. I would ride more if there was less traffic. Traffic in my hood is no fun.

I’m feeling more mellow now. The coffee and tapping are helping. Writing agrees with me. It is fun. I love putting words and pictures together. I don’t know which comes first. Maybe both at once. They’re competing with each other. It works for me. Obviously I love having ‘coffee’ and this time together. And I dislike everything about Covid, especially not being together physically for our coffee. I miss my Saturday morning swims and breakfast at A&W afterwards. Everything changes. The good times will come again.

once a week big breakfast



What really matters to me is that I am able to give back to my mother what she has given to me….love and attention.  So when she tells me that she is missing her sister and that she is feeling so not all right and could I take her out for coffee, it is my pleasure to do so.

I had been wondering how she would deal with my auntie’s death.  Even though they were separated by many miles, they spoke frequently on the telephone up to 2 weeks before my auntie’s death.  By then she was not herself anymore.  She was sometimes confused and angry, hitting and scratching at my cousins, too weak to speak with my mother.  But she died peacefully at home.

My mother was a bit surprised by her own grief.  She felt a bit ashamed of her ‘weakness’.  She said that all her siblings were like that.  My uncles all cried unabashedly at the funeral.  When someone said that they shouldn’t be crying because my aunt was, after all 93, they cried all the harder.  So that’s my mother’s side of the family.  They lived in each others’ hearts.

My coffee times with my mother are somewhat akin to Tuesdays with Morrie.  It’s been a long time since I have read the book, but I remember that those Tuesdays were filled with love, communication and acceptance.  That’s how I feel about my time I spent with my mother.  She is a great storyteller and a very wise woman despite her lack of formal education.  I am who I am because of my mother.  And it is a wonderful thing.