“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(3:40. I returned to 330 from talking with Madeline Sullivan of social services. There’s no need to go into detail as to what we talked about. I explained to Jane that much of it was a rehash of what I’ve told other social service workers. We had a good exchange, and she’s a very understanding, perceptive lady. She made no notes, saying she usually doesn’t in order to keep other people from reviewing her files later. Who she may tell about our interview, I don’t know.

(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.

(She has talked with Andrew Fife, and so knows at least something of our situation. She at least appeared, I told Jane, to be quite open to our way of thinking. The point I stressed—politely—was that at this time I wouldn’t make a move without legal advice, and that I wasn’t going to do anything that would compromise our position versus the insurance company.

(3:50. Jane began reading yesterday’s session, and did quite well, holding the papers in her left hand as she usually does now. I might add that I’d had no interruptions this morning, and enjoyed not being bothered. I’m still pursuing my new ideas about ignoring as much as possible any potential hassles, and focusing on my creative work each day.

(4:15. After she finished the session, Jane said she’d been thinking lately about dropping taking the antidepressant medication each night. A long time ago Fred had said he didn’t want her to stop taking it, so she wouldn’t get depressed like she used to. Perhaps her renewed thinking about this is another sign of improvement? Fred had said the drug stays in the system about three weeks after one stops taking it.

(Jane did well eating today. She went down to hydro this morning but never got into the tank; it malfunctioned and she was finally brought back to 330 where Georgia gave her a partial bath.

(The day had been cold, and it was very cold as I stopped on my way home to pick up some little Christmas presents for Jane.

(The night had been very cold, and the temperature still was only 12 degrees above when I got to 330 this afternoon. Jane was okay. She’d gone to hydro this morning, and had her catheter changed at about 11:00 when it wouldn’t irrigate any more. I told her she’d received at the house a big vase of iris-like flowers from Larry Allen Hummer. I hadn’t received any calls from Pete or anybody else, which I hardly expected anyhow. Probably no action on business affairs until after the holidays, which suits me fine.

(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.

(Yesterday I finally remembered to tell Jane about another vivid dream I’d had last week. In this one I’d moved into an apartment down on West Water near the downtown section. I saw a nice big studio-type room, quite bare with polished wood. But when I looked outside, I saw a rundown row of apartments next door, and in the first doorway stood a young mother in ragged clothing, with several ragged children sitting on the steps, staring at me. No noise was involved. I’d connected those people with old beliefs.

(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.

(Jane did not exercises today. The time passed rapidly, and she finally announced that she’d like to have a session.

(“What was Bob McClure’s role in my dream of Jane walking last night?”)

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

(Note that Seth had referred to a dream Jane had had last night. She’d described it when I reached 330, but for some reason I hadn’t made any notes about it for this record. Perhaps she’ll refresh my memory on it tomorrow—Christmas Day—and I can place it in the next session.

(I’m intrigued by Seth’s rather mysterious closing phrase, above, about this season as it was established long before the time of Christianity. Something similar in meaning to our Christmas season? I wouldn’t mind getting more on this, Jane.

(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.)