Bad to the Last Drop Read Online Free

example of crazy Mom. 'Why did you do that? Honestly, Mom. Give money to the coat drive. That would be the sensible thing to do. But your own coat? Now you'll freeze before we get to the restaurant!' She thought of me as an easy mark."
    Pat shook her head somewhat wearily, as she continued her explanation. "I guess I'm not very realistic or sensible or even logical. Maybe," she said, as if she had sudden clarity, "I'm not happy trying to be what I'm not."
    The bishop put on his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair, signaling the end of their talk. "No, you really aren't very realistic or logical sometimes, but then, neither was Jesus, was he? But he didn't try to be someone he wasn't. Maybe you need to take some time off—go paint or write a great mystery or just sit for a while. You know we will always find something for you. Whatever else you are, you are a good pastor."
    Pat nodded in agreement.
    They chatted a few minutes longer—about their families and the new hymnal but without the closeness from a moment before. As Pat rose and walked to the door, she looked back to see
    Peter, smiling and shaking his head as he murmured, "A bishop."
    Except I wasn't making a joke.
She realized she was a little miffed as she walked out to the parking lot.
I really was going to try to change the Church! The dear Lord knows it needs a good airing out. I'll ask for leave-of-call paperwork tomorrow.
    And she did.

Chapter Five
    Still thinking about her talk with the Bishop, Pat entered her townhouse and looked around. The sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to highlight the dust on the antique end table. She threw off her coat, walked into the kitchen, and picked up a dust rag. Her personal calendar was on the counter, opened to this day, and as she glanced at it in passing, she had a strange sense of awareness of the mundane details of her life.
    Today was Wednesday—that usually meant a "church night" filled with a variety of activities. There would be confirmation classes, Wednesday night school and supper for the little kids, meetings of one or more of the church committees, and then choir practice. But then every day was filled to the brim with activities: a Bible study on Thursday morning, followed by the women's group executive board. On Friday, a men's coffee and work group, and then the president of the council would be in to talk about building problems. It would be a rush, of course, to make sure her sermon was ready for Sunday. And she'd fit in one or more unhappy wives or husbands and a visit or two to a hospital. Another week of church work.
    On Saturday, she would have lunch with her old friend, Christine, but Christine would talk about all the trips she and Ron had been taking, along with the adventures and joys of traveling first class.
    Peter had said,
Isn't there something you've always wanted to do but never had the time?
    Pat tossed the dust rag on the chair, then reluctantly picked it up and dusted the table, knowing if she didn't do it now she would have to do it sometime. It was important to keep the house up. As she returned the rag to the kitchen, she stooped to pick up yesterday's paper that Mitchell had left by his chair the night before.
Might as well put this in the recycling,
Pat thought.
    She was about to toss the paper in the recycling bin when an article caught her eye on the front of the human interest section—a 58 year old woman about her age—two years younger, in fact—had quit her job, sold her house and all of her belongings, and joined the Peace Corps. For the last year she had been helping children in Uganda learn to read and had lived in a village in a small hut and written a novel in her evenings, which was now to be published.
    "I could have never done this when I was young," the woman had told the reporter. "Everyone thinks the Peace Corps is for kids right out of college, and there are a lot of them doing it, but I believe this village needed me, an older woman, who