Man, I love going to church.
In addition to the obvious, for the feeding of my soul, I love that bad church coffee. I don't necessarily go to enjoy the flavor of the black liquid. No, it's the coffee hour that caffeinates my being.
Those old folks at church coffee know where it's at, I'm telling you right now. I have been more entertained at church coffee hour than at any movieplex in the nation. The retired officers' wives at the army post taught me everything I ever needed to remember, in case they ever matched me with bachelor brass, and these days, the hometown heroes entertain me with anecdotes that are on the edge of unbelievable.
This precious 83-year-old lady (and she was a lady, let me tell you) looked me square across the table tonight, at the last Wednesday supper before Lent, after making me laugh out loud in the Great Hall, and said, "you may use THAT in one of your stories."