Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where the problem is, there is just never enough time in a day. Well, time there is, but daytime, there is not. The days are shorter than I ever remember them being. It is already dark when I drive home from work. I don't like it.

I am sitting here, stealing a bit of time from my day, knowing I need to get to work, but feeling heavy and draggy and tired. Andy was so completely enthused about his new compressed rawhide bone last night that he kept getting up to go hide it better, each time scratching and bumping and waking me up. And taking it away did not help, because then he whined and mourned for it. And at 6:00 this morning, he was up again, needing to go out, breaking the rule of no paws on the bed and jumping up to shove his bone in our faces, talking happily about it, his tail thumping the wall. He couldn't even eat his breakfast in one sitting, something that is usually of utmost importance, because the bone had him so distracted. He took mouthfuls of dogfood, and dribbled them across the floor as he ran back and forth between his bone buried under the nightstand and his dogbowl in the bathroom. By 7:30, he was asleep again, and so was I, long past the usual time I get up.

If I go to work at 9:00, that will give me about 12 more minutes on the computer, and still leave me time to get the fires put out by check-in. It is suddenly that time of the year. We have a new owner of one of our condos that is making our lives miserable right now. Huge freak-outs over a bit of soot on a mantle, a bedspread that did not quite cover the blanket beneath, and (gasp) haphazard pillows. Never mind that they just popped up unnanounced, immediately after a hurried clean by our housekeepers, and before I had time to go in, inspect it, and touch up the clean and fix the (gasp again) haphazard pillows. We got a lengthy letter detailing, in great repetition, their overwhelming disappointment in our management skills. Accusing us, or our guests, of stealing a lamp that upon investigation, we realized had been merely moved to a different room. And a strongly worded paragraph, since the low south sun had been shining directly on the walls and windows and had warmed the condo to a balmy 75 degrees, but they could not fathom a natural cause for the warmth of an empty condo. It certainly must have been because we had the heat cranked up, costing them unnecessary fortunes on energy bills. We spent two days after that casting about for ideas for after we quit this job. We really do wonder why we do it. It is our golden handcuffs. It pays well, which barely compensates for the headache, the daily drama of dealing with second homeowners and guests overextending their vacation budget. In the summer, we stress out because we have to do all the tedious jobs that could not be done over the winter, trying to wring money out of owners already on the brink of foreclosure, or merely tight-fisted, for repairs and renovations necessary to optimize rental income over the winter, or at the very least, keep us from losing money to guests furious over finding their condo in ill repair. We do have more time off, but it is not paid time off, so we fill our time trying to find obscure jobs to do that are guaranteed to get us paid. And then, the winter hits again, and we wish for summer. It hits Bobby the hardest. I try to remember how much stress he is under, and not make demands on him, but I occasionally forget, and in his overworked state, it does not take much to send him spinning. Oh, it will get better, but right now, we are in our pre-holiday rush of trying to head off all potential crises during the heavy bookings of thanksgiving and christmas, in a frenzy of delivering new hair dryers, shower curtains, cleaning carpets and bedding, removing all sign that the condos have been empty, or worse yet, rented long-term for six months by seasonal workers, and kind of hating life.

But all that aside, I have gottten a few days of riding in. Keystone opened with the best conditions I can ever remember on opening day, top to bottom, soft snow, a wide run, and even some snow in the trees, not that one would want to risk riding on it, but it did soften the edges of the two runs open so they were actual runs, not just ribbons of death. The terrain park opened with over twenty features, including a tabletop jump. Not that i've been jibbing, bonking, or jumping, but it has brought a good early season crowd to Keystone. And down in the Cove, the trails are dry yet. Or dryish. They do have icy patches in the shade. But I have been getting some good mountain biking in, Andy and I flying over the ice on the downhills, hesitant to brake for fear of sliding sideways. Yesterday I did not get a morning ride in, so I took my headlamp and went after dark. In a stand of willows and lodgepole pines, in the dark to the left and behind me, something went crash. Crackle, snap. Thump against a fallen log. I did not lose the prickles on the back of my neck for a good mile, at which point, something made a strange snorty-growly noise in the woods beside me. Andy tucked tail and headed for home, occasionally turning around to check on me, his eyeshine flashing in my headlamp light, my only clue to his whereabouts. We were both glad to get back to civilization. Usually when I headlamp, it is with other humans, and I find courage in numbers. And usually the dark does not scare me. But last night, it did. It was just too dark, without a moon, and too noisy.

And now it is time to hit the road. Lots of last-minute changes to the schedule, last minute bookings. It is the weekend. These knots in my shoulders will go away come about monday or tuesday, but first, we have to survive the weekend with all it's unforseen drama. Next time, I will try to do less complaining and have more happy anecdotes.