I found myself in a huge room with all of the partners of a worldwide accounting firm. They were not gathered for an annual meeting, but to learn about the annual meeting. The person who was to lead this session did not appear, so for some reason I took it upon myself to lead. They knew I did not belong, and my questions, which I tried to make corporate speak, “big picture,” etc., were too specific. One man started speaking, but his answer was too garbled to understand. “He’s in assisted living,” someone pointed out confidentially. When the topic of newsletters somehow came up, someone else who shouldn’t have known announced that all the newsletters were being combined into one — thus spoiling what was going to be a surprise announcement.

I went into a large, dark (shadowed), snow-filled room where I knew there was a train I wanted to be on. I climbed into a cab, not through a side door, but through a front-opening door. Or I tried to, but the cab was filled with snow. Suddenly, I heard one or two snowplows approaching through the barn’s big entry doors. There I was, where I knew I wasn’t supposed to be, unable to get into the cab and unable to close the door because of the snow inside. I stepped out in the dimness to meet the plow and then I was worried because the center of the room was a hill with a narrow road around it (what happened to the train?), and by not being in the train, I risked being hit by the plow unless I could scramble up the steepness of the hill out of reach of the wide plow in the narrow road . . .