Was a good steak. Tender. Cooked just past the point where it still had reflexes. A proud Idaho potato that had fulfilled its brown-jacketed destiny. ...nd a good hoppy beer.“If you’re having one, I’m having one,” Gee stated.“Says the girl who chaperones Baptist church groups.”“One beer. When you said it, I imagined the bite of the hops. Sounded perfect.”“Two beers,” I told the waitress.Yes, good.We got back to the car. She looked over the parking lot. “Hey, can we get to that bookstore before. " Well, you're seeing the image I want you to see," she said. "Actually I'm a hundred and two, all wrinkled like a prune and wasted away to practically nothing."I laughed right back to her, but I understood she had just told me another interesting thing about being a Spirit. The image I project is what the others see. Just like the image she had conjured up for me to see.I put together an image of an eighty year old, fairly gnarly guy, and sent that off to her. She laughed and said, "Wrong!". More

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