“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I explained all the aspects of our situation as best I could, and asked some good questions. I think I made clear our current ideas about insurance, our work, the need for privacy, our opinions of various doctors and the medical establishment versus the lack of psychology they often display, and so forth. She knows of Pete Harpending through a family connection, and I told her to feel free to call him. I’ll send Pete her name and number.

(She explained that Jane hadn’t been offered a room on the second floor—because there wasn’t adequate staff to take care of her. [Jane later said Fred Kardon might have mentioned this some time ago; I don’t recall.] Madeline Sullivan said we were well off as far as our insurance goes, and I laughed and said, “Yes, only we can’t collect.” But she knows from family experience, she said, about troubles with medical expenses, insurance, and so forth. She said something about hospital policy being to review cases after a six-month period, but I couldn’t elicit from her when Jane’s current six-month period might have begun. The end of it could be as far off as next summer, I’m not at all sure.

(Jane ate a good lunch. I filled out the menu for tomorrow so that I too would receive a full Christmas dinner to eat with her. I described to Jane a very strong, vivid dream I’d had last night of her being fully recovered and in excellent health. The scene was at a neighbor’s down the street we lived on—not Pinnacle Road—where there was a party going on. Bob McClure, who is dead, was there. I was telling everybody that Jane had just spontaneously recovered her health and the ability of walking: I could see dimples in her knees as she moved about. She was telling people—many of them strangers—about all of it too. I knew this was an excellent dream.

(After lunch, and I’d done a little mail, Jane and I exchanged some of our gifts for each other. I gave her the hair barrettes, combs and other accoutrements, which I was pleased to see she liked, and she gave me a vest which Debbie had picked up for her, and an umbrella which Margaret Bumbalo had picked up for her. Unfortunately, the vest was too tight to button, and the umbrella couldn’t be properly folded up, once opened, for storage; I finally figured why after fussing with it for half an hour, and after a bit of a struggle I got it collapsed and tied so it couldn’t open up. Jane was irritated by then, and I’d almost forgotten how I’d laughed when I first opened up the package. A nice idea, and I could have used such a shelter last week, all right.

(4:36 PM. “I’m glad he came through, at all,” Jane said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

(And I’ll see you on Christmas Day, and we’ll exchange whatever gifts we have left. That will be nice, Sweetheart, but the real things I’m grateful for can’t be put into words. I’m grateful that we’re still together, and functioning, and all of the things we do that that statement implies. It’s a lot more than I thought I’d have to look forward to this season. And I’m surely more than grateful that we have so much more to look forward to—that many years yet lie ahead if us, of creativity and freedoms of kinds that now we probably only can consciously dream about. 1984 will be a good year, Jane, never forget that. Good night.)