“I’ve got you under my skin . . . ” Lovin’ Shane Nelson’s show tonight.  But how can you lose with 1966?

Can’t believe the weekend is gone already. I did get one side of the house sanded (I’ll seal it tomorrow). Worked on the golf course—new plants and rocks. 2010 at Martini Rock will bring more challenges! (That sounds like a fortune cookie.) Graded a paper, edited an index (well, almost finished). Talked to my mom, who said that she always feels so good after spending time with me. Nice to hear, especially since she seems to be fading and I’m trying everything I can to make life easier for her.  Just tried to teach an old dog (he’ll be 9 on Saturday!) an old trick—he is for some reason under the mistaken impression that “down” also means “roll over.” We’ll have to work on that.

And tomorrow, back to Monday. Sigh.

Bear alert! Only the third one this summer. And 85 Pounds o’ Love heard/saw/smelled him and barked like crazy. So his attempt at our birdfeeders was thwarted. Yay for dog! I’ve brought the feeders in since it’s a day with my mother. The goldfinches will have to fend for themselves.

For the record, it is March 11 and we had our first bear of the season last night. And for once the dog heard him. Around midnight we heard the dog barking and snarling. Joe turned on the light and there he was, all 300 pounds of beautiful black bear, raiding the front birdfeeder. (I’d been wondering when one would show up and bring the end of leaving the feeders out overnight.) The dog was rewarded for his good work, the bear ran off at the sound of Joe’s voice, and we didn’t lose so much as one feeder. A happy ending for everyone except the bear who didn’t get to finish his meal. He didn’t even come back for the pile of seeds he left behind!

Ever since we moved to the mountain, people have commented on how high up we are. I often walk the dog up and down our side of the mountain (the less steep side) but I’ve always wanted to try walking the other side. It’s not as amenable to foot traffic (narrow berm) but, outside of rush hour, it’s not well traveled. Last week I got a taste of that side when my car overheated and I had to hike the last mile (half mile up, half mile down). It was an unusually warm day and the dog and I both enjoyed it.

So today I decided to hike down that side—into town—to pick up the car at the garage. It’s about 3 miles. I could have asked a neighbor to take me, but I wanted the challenge. I wanted to know that if I ever really needed to do it, I could.

It was great. I got to walk, with my own thoughts, for an hour. Only the first half-mile was uphill, and I’ve done that many times before. I couldn’t take the dog because he can’t ride in that car, but I think it was safer for me not to have to deal with him anyway. I got to see my neighbors’ houses, mailboxes, yards—places I usually zoom by.

At our former home, I walked Foggy Hollow so many times over the years I knew every inch of the road and the houses on it. All my neighbors knew “the lady who walks her dog” even if they didn’t know my name. I didn’t realize it until today that I miss that feeling in this neighborhood. But here the houses are farther apart and I have other things to look at (bears, foxes, turkeys, etc.). And a definite plus, I now have neighbors who would take me down the mountain if I needed it!

When it comes to doggie chewies, there have always been the pro-rawhide and the anti-rawhide camps. “It’s bad for them!” “It’s just animal anyway!” “It’s got arsenic!” “Not if you buy the right ones!”

Once I learned about the arsenic chews and started giving our first dog US-manufactured ones, he stopped getting gas from them and everyone was happy. He also chewed a lot of sticks and loved big beef bones. Our second dog enjoyed rawhide chips better than rolls, and composted vegetable matter more than sticks, but nothing seemed to bother him.

Now it’s ol’ 85 Pounds of Love, Mr. Delicate Digestive System, Mr. Oh-no-that-gives-me-colitis.  He can’t eat real bones because they make him ill. When he was young, he ate a number of plants that made him sick consistently. He clearly didn’t associate the two things. It was so regular every spring that I could just call the vet and get his pills . . . we all knew what it was.

But rawhide wasn’t giving him a problem. I bought tight retriever rolls (no knots at the end) and he gnawed and chewed and cleaned his teeth on them. He likes to chew while we’re eating dinner. But it seems the manufacturer or supplier has changed something. I still buy my rolls at the same (non-chain) store, and the rolls have the same label, but they are now much lighter and loosely wrapped. The dog can pull them apart with his teeth, which gives him a chunk of rawhide to eat.  This is not good.

Twice in the past two weeks he has thrown up. The first time I chalked it up to something else, but twice means it’s the rawhide. The second time he was sick all night and had to have the boiled-beef-and-rice treatment yesterday. I don’t know if they’ve changed the rawhide itself or if it’s just that he can have more by peeling it apart, but that doesn’t matter. He’s going to have to satisfy himself on his artificial chews, which I know just isn’t the same. That’s too bad.

Driving in the snow . . . not usually this hair-raising. I sold my first item on eBay this week and the buyer and I agreed to meet instead of having me ship it to her. No problem, right? The forecast called for snow after 8 p.m. So she thought she could make it between 3 and 4, but it turned out to be 5:15. Not a problem, except that it had started snowing around 4. Remember, I live on the Mountain. I do have four-wheel drive, but the rest of the world doesn’t necessarily. I put 85 Pounds o’ Love in the back of the Jeep and we headed out. Up the mountain no sweat.

But when I started down the other side I saw a car in front of me creeping, creeping. I put on my brakes and I saw why that car is creeping. It was icier than . . . I slid within a few inches of the guide rail. Okay, I get it, so I started creeping, creeping. We came upon another car trying to go up the mountain. I don’t know if he made it or not. We did some shoulder driving, me and that other car. I was in hi-4wd the whole time, but it was still dicey.

Finally, that car turned off and I was progressing nicely. Until I came around a curve and a van was sitting in the road/shoulder position in the middle of the curve. I started yelling, “Move, move, move!” and some other choice words. Then I slid onto the side of the road. But the van moved and we went creeping, creeping the rest of the way into town.

I met my very nice eBay buyer, she shared pierogies, blini batter, and Boyd’s Bears crates with me, I gave her what she bought (shh! It’s a surprise!), and we went on our way. Lucky for her, she was headed for Philly, which means she should have quickly driven out of the snow.

I headed back up the mountain. Well, I headed in that direction. I got to the same curve where the van had been sitting and in front of me was a car and in front of that a school bus. I couldn’t see what was in front of them, but it was clear they were stopped. And I stopped, and then I slid backwards, followed by sideways. Oh, what a thrill.

I managed to get my Jeep turned around and headed back toward town. Called my husband, told him I was taking the long way home. It was about 15 miles instead of two, but  when you live on a mountain, you only have so many alternate routes.

Slow go, snowy, then wet, then snowy roads. But no one stopped in the middle of curves and, when I finally got to the other side of my mountain, no one in front of me.  It’s a thrill to be home. Normally I don’t take the dog when there’s snow, but I didn’t realize how bad a quarter- inch of snow could be. Next time there’s any snow at all, he is not coming with me. He’s safer here and it’s one less worry for me.

And I missed the FL/AL game, which I had been looking forward to all week. OK/MO is about to start, but we think we know how that one will turn out. Looks like it’s USC for the Rose Bowl, too. Don’t listen to the pundits on that one.

and it’s only November 21.

(Or “writing isn’t the only way we can suffer . . . “)

I am often annoyed by the fictionalized versions of a writer’s life—so often it’s made to look easy, as though we write a few things and ta-da, people are lining up around the block to buy our book.  Well, if you’re at all considering this career, I can tell you, in the words of a certain rockstar, “it isn’t gonna be that way.”

I was excited for my first few book signings but the luster was soon replaced with disappointment, then frustration, and finally plain old boredom. Although a really fun read (just read the reviews!), my book was overpriced for the market. Very few were sold at book signings, despite my best author-patter (but the entire first print run did sell in a good amount of time and the publisher reprinted).

So when my friend Marion Winik came to town for her own signing for her latest book, The Glen Rock Book of the Dead, of course I went to support her. The Borders staff was incredibly friendly and helpful. The table was placed in a good area. Marion’s a well-known, phenomenal writer (read her!). And still nobody came.

At one point I wandered around while Marion talked to someone. I was surprised to find one copy of my own book. I also discovered that my publisher has once again raised the price. (Guess they like keeping that second printing in their warehouse!)

Finally, just as we were about to pack it in, a man came by and bought a copy for a friend (and I found out he knows my neighbors). So we ended on a good note. But she’s got three of these events left in the next two weeks. I don’t envy her.

(P.S.: For the record, last night I beat her [and my husband] at Scrabble. )

Haven’t seen a bear in weeks, but it seems we had a visitor last night. The dog acted strangely this morning when I let him out, circling the house instead of hanging near me waiting for me to pick up the leash. I figured something had been here.

Then we walked up the mountain and our neighbors’ trash was a mess, all over the side of the road. In the park at the top of the mountain, both trash cans had been turned over and emptied. Definitely not a day to take the path into the woods, so we turned around and headed home. Saw neighbor picking up the trash; he said they’d taken in their bird feeders overnight so at least the trash was the only damage they had.

And now the dog is staring intently out the window because the Three Musketeers—three male turkeys—are passing through the yard. They often pass through in the morning, eating as they go, and stop back at our little pond to take a drink before roosting for the night. Joe hunts turkey but I hope he doesn’t get these guys. I like watching them go by.

Certainly pleasant things to keep my mind off the election.