I’d accidentally committed myself for two events on the same Saturday: one roleplaying/reading/writing/fandom-related, and one church/choir-related. Each was with a handful of other people, non-overlapping. I’d made six small posters (or one poster with six panels) for one of the events and I knew people would expect me to explain it/them, or show it off, or at least talk about it. The events were on opposite sides of my home town, both reachable by bike, but still at the same time. And that time was very soon: in less than a week. Though I’d done all the work I’d promised to do, I’d have to be at both events in person unless I found someone to replace me.
I was worrying a bit about that when I woke up (dreamed that I woke up, in fact) and realised that one of the things was this Saturday and the other not until the 28th. (Never mind that “this Saturday”, as in the day after tomorrow, is the 28th.) Relieved, I went to a meeting related to the earlier event, in a house that I could find because I recognised the little garden at the corner of the street. A long thin sleek black cat walked ahead of me, and when I wanted to pet it over the garden fence there was another cat even closer, a sort of washed-out calico, sand and grey and off-white.
When I got to the house it started snowing. A lot. In no time there was a couple of inches of snow on the window in the roof. I tried to put a piece of plastic sheeting up to keep the window from breaking under the weight but it turned out that there was so much water on the sheeting from the melted snow that it fell on me and on the landing, spreading water everywhere.
My mother was sitting at the kitchen table, looking about the same age as me (in waking life she died in 1998, about ten years older than I am now). We talked a bit about how to keep the water out. I think the house was hers, though she probably wasn’t involved in the meeting or the event.