“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] I was in the living room of the apartment with Alice and Clark, looking back toward a kitchen finished in brown wood paneling. [...]

(“The kitchen? [...]

[...] The same article describes in some detail how the Dominican order in Portugal now has converted an old farm into a new seminary, which is “largely self-supporting, having its own kitchen, laundry, reservoir, farm, fruit and vegetable garden, and vineyards,” etc.

[...] We have three black wooden kitchen chairs that ordinarily we press into service in the living room when company comes. [...]

(The third time, after 12:30 AM, I was standing in the doorway to our kitchen talking to Jane when I had the sensation. [...]

[...] For example, in the kitchen I had her try to lift an empty cup up from the counter. [...]

[...] Jimmy was the chief cook at Lib’s. Busy as he was, he always welcomed us when we stepped into his kitchen to say hello.

[...] Indeed, as we left the stairs two dogs in a back apartment set up a furious barking as they scratched at what I knew were kitchen windows. [...]

[...] The kitchen with its three tiny windows near the front of the house had been a closet; the three bay windows of the living room where Jane had held the sessions and her ESP class had been the main bedroom. [...]

[...] Did he stand protectively just behind my chair, ready to help me in my maneuvers into bed, or was he in the kitchen, rooms away? [...]

[...] One night, in the early days of our psychic experience, I dreamed I saw Rob standing by the kitchen sink. [...]

[...] I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. [...]

[...] When I went outside I made sure the porch door was latched so that Mitzi couldn’t get out; she sat silhouetted against the light coming from the kitchen window as she watched me walk down the driveway. [...]

[...] When she began writing Magical Approach, she even surprised me by occasionally helping me get breakfast, cooking bacon and eggs at the hot plate I’d set up for her some seven months ago on the kitchen table.⁴ Although she could work at the table while sitting down, she’d given up those simple, nurturing acts of food preparation many weeks ago; her fingers weren’t working well enough, she told me at the time; she didn’t trust herself enough to handle hot food—and I admit that when she implied a risk, the chance of an accident, I stopped encouraging her to help me with meals.

[...] I became very uneasy at her struggling to get up on the high stool she needed to sit on at the kitchen sink. [...] She did do some cooking on a hot plate I placed on the kitchen table, where we often ate lunch and supper, but I also cautioned her to be careful while using that appliance.

[...] Sometimes her singing carries from her writing room at the back of the house, through the kitchen, around the corner and down the hall into my studio. [...]