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" Charlie was not at all what I&amp;#039;d imagined. He didn&amp;#039;t have a Helter Skelter beard, a long white robe, or spooky wide eyes that never seemed to blink. If I were casting a movie about a cult leader in Utah who brainwashes his followers, Charlie would play the nerdy computer wiz who works at the FBI and helps track him down.  He was a small man \u2014 around 5&amp;#039;4&amp;quot; with a George Costanza haircut \u2014 and a Hawaiian shirt.  &amp;quot;My goodness, you two are the spitting image of each other,&amp;quot; he said to me and Sis as he took my hand in both of his. &amp;quot;So wonderful to have you.&amp;quot;  Sis and Elke were unusually decked out for the occasion, wearing dresses and makeup. They&amp;#039;d even offered to iron my shirt and jeans, which I thought was odd. We sat down, and a man appeared in tight shorts holding a tray of appetizers. &amp;quot;Home-baked scones,&amp;quot; Charlie said. I took one \u2014 sniffing it first for poison \u2014 then took a bite. They were good.  Charlie asked me how my flight was, as if I&amp;#039;d come on a leisure trip. I told him it would be better with Sis and the kids sitting next to me on the way back. He laughed at that, but Sis seemed mortified. Charlie then told a story that I couldn&amp;#039;t follow about a man lost in the forest who was rescued by a family of otters. It was supposed to be a metaphor about understanding and building bridges, but I seemed to be the only one in the room who didn&amp;#039;t get the relevance.  He told a lot of stories that night. Long, complicated stories that seemed like they might be interesting but never really went anywhere. He also asked me a lot of questions: about my job, living in L.A., my views on the election. It was really disarming because I felt like I should be the one asking him questions, but also because Charlie really listened to me. I mean, he really listened. Usually when you talk to someone they don&amp;#039;t hang on your every word, but Charlie was downright riveted.  At dinner, I kept wanting to pipe up and say, &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re a cult leader and I&amp;#039;m taking my sister out of this place,&amp;quot; but it&amp;#039;s hard when your host is being so charming and warm. I figured I&amp;#039;d get the free meal and then blow out of there the next morning.  Nothing particularly eventful happened while we ate \u2014 I talked ad nauseam about myself, and Sis and Elke smiled as if they were proud parents. At one point Charlie said to Becky, &amp;quot;Your brother is a remarkable man.&amp;quot; Nobody had ever called me remarkable before. It felt kind of nice.  All was pretty normal until we made our way to leave, and Charlie turned to us and said with a straight face, &amp;quot;Chai is so happy to see you both together.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;She&amp;#039;s here again?&amp;quot; Sis said.  He nodded and closed his eyes. &amp;quot;Doesn&amp;#039;t want to cross over just yet.&amp;quot;  Becky held back a tear. &amp;quot;Thank you. Tell her I love her.&amp;quot;  As we walked back to Elke&amp;#039;s house, I asked Sis what that was all about.  &amp;quot;Charlie sees things other people don&amp;#039;t see,&amp;quot; she said.  &amp;quot;He was talking to Chai&amp;#039;s ghost? We don&amp;#039;t even know if Chai is dead or not.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s not a ghost. It&amp;#039;s an energy. He senses energies. Chai has been here all week. She wants to tell me something.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Like what?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Ask Charlie.&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/mens-perspective/a3706/diary-he-070208/>