Coffee Chats with Donna: I Should Have Brought a Notebook

Today’s coffee delivery was a small Dutch Bros Americano with vanilla and cream.

And I have an update: my friend has a name.

Donna Woods.

She’s the woman I’ve been getting to know while visiting my mother at the skilled nursing facility. Our previous conversations have covered burgers, sweet tea, prosthetics, and enough pets to require a separate address book.

Today, the conversation continued. My ability to keep up did not.

I learned that her husband was a trash collector and later built a Toys “R” Us. Before I could get all the details, we had moved on to pecan ice cream, a strawberry shake, coffee and donuts, and Pensacola, Florida.

I believe that was the order. There may have been a connecting flight I missed.

I was still mentally standing in Toys “R” Us while Donna was already ordering dessert.

She had to be talking 200 words a minute. That’s my unofficial estimate. I didn’t have the equipment—or the processing speed—to verify it.

But I was enjoying myself.

I’m learning that I don’t need to capture every detail to enjoy a conversation with Donna. I can listen, follow what I can, and accept that I may leave with questions about how we got from trash collection to a strawberry shake.

Then Donna had things to do.

The 11 a.m. Coffee Chats were coming up, and she was rounding up people. She was meeting new residents, saying hello to nurses, and making sure people knew there was somewhere to go and someone to talk to.

I don’t know whether she has an official role in organizing any of this. From what I saw, she wasn’t waiting for a title.

Donna was working the room.

Watching her, I got to see another side of the friend I’ve been writing about. I’ve talked about the importance of stopping to listen and making time for people. Today, I watched Donna doing her own version of showing up: greeting people, introducing herself, and inviting them into a conversation.

She had a full social schedule, and she appeared ready to help everyone else acquire one.

I came into the facility because my mother is there. Along the way, I’ve found myself looking forward to these conversations, too. Each visit, I learn a little more about Donna—and see a little more of the community around Mom.

Today, that community included an enthusiastic recruiter and an 11 a.m. coffee appointment.

Next time, I may bring a notebook.

Although at Donna’s pace, I should probably learn shorthand first.