On Monday I visited my mom in the rehabilitation facility where she’s been staying since an especially difficult setback in her lung cancer journey a few weeks ago.

As I sat on the edge of the bed next to her, we perused the papers left by a CNA which listed various activities meant to get the patients up and about and socializing. I read the options for group entertainment to her.

“Bingo?”

Nah, not her thing.

“Room-to-room scavenger hunt?”

Nope, not her thing.

After suggesting the remaining options to my currently anti-social mama, I pointed out that the staff also offer activities for folks not up to leaving their rooms. Crossword puzzles, word searches, jigsaw puzzles, adult coloring books.

When I suggested coloring books, my mom said, “I don’t know why there’s so much talk about those.”

“Adult coloring books?” I asked, telling her after she nodded that a while back I tried it myself. I bought a book and colored pencils and set out to see what all the hoopla was about.

“Didn’t calm me down much,” I told her, “but I did end up with a pretty picture.”

Mom looked at me with surprise tinged with disgust.

“Well, with all the news right now about such things, I don’t understand why they’d pass out pornographic coloring books to the patients,” she said. “I certainly don’t want to sit here coloring penises.”

Nix the coloring books for grownups! Obviously not my confused mom’s thing either.

(Though she sure left my sister and me giggling. Perhaps a stand-up comedy night on the rehab facility calendar might be more her thing.)