1 result for (heading:"delet session decemb 24 1983" AND stemmed:christma)
6/36 (17%)
McClure
Christmas
Madeline
Sullivan
ragged
DECEMBER 24, 1983 4:32 PM SATURDAY CHRISTMAS EVE
[... 8 paragraphs ...]
(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.
[... 2 paragraphs ...]
(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.
[... 19 paragraphs ...]
(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.)
