Peg Kehret Blog

I’m having a contest on my Facebook fan page. To enter, write a threesome (if you don’t know what that is, read Ghost Dog Secrets) about your favorite animal and post it on the fan page. The best three will win a signed paperback copy of Ghost Dog Secrets. I’ve asked a friend to choose the winners. Contest closes Sunday night; winners will be posted on Monday. Here’s the link if you want to enter: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Peg-Kehret/203309931640?ref=ts

I try hard not to have mistakes in my books, or in anything that represents my writing. I can correct my own errors, but it’s a constant challenge to monitor the misinformation that other people supply. For example, my next book, Animals Welcome is posted on Amazon, but the link that people click to learn what the book is about does not lead to a synopsis of my memoir. Instead, you read about One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  

On the same day that I discovered that error, I saw the changes that my new web master had posted on my web site. It lists a teacher’s guide for I’m Ghost Doc Secrets. A teacher who had figured out what the title should be alerted me that the link to the guide doesn’t work. Until the web site is fixed, anyone who wants a free teacher’s guide to Ghost Dog Secrets can email a request directly to me. Meanwhile, someone at Dutton, who is publishing Animals Welcome, is correcting the situation with Amazon.

Then there was a lovely letter from a college professor who has written a book about authors of books for children and wanted to alert me that she has included a chapter about my books. Unfortunately, she misspelled my last name.

On it goes and I’ve quit being cranky and started to laugh. Maybe my life is a cuckoo’s nest, after all.

My fellow author of books for kids, Bill Wallace, died yesterday at age 64. I loved Bill’s books, and so did the young readers. I have two favorite memories of Bill: one was an evening at the Opreyland Hotel in Nashville. Bill and I were both speakers at a conference. My husband, Carl, and Bill’s wife, Carol, were there and we had such a nice visit.

The other memory is from 1998 when my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was scheduled for surgery on the day that I was supposed to be the luncheon speaker at Encyclomedia, a large conference in Oklahoma. I canceled my trip and, on only two days’ notice, Bill graciously filled in for me. My mother died the day after her surgery and I have always been grateful to Bill for allowing me to concentrate on her without guilt or worry about the conference.

I send my love to Carol and the Wallace family.

Last week’s storm left my driveway piled with broken branches and downed trees.  On Saturday, there was still so much ice that I couldn’t even walk down my driveway, much less start trying to clear it. Mid-afternoon, two young men knocked on my door. They were about 21 or 22 years old, and called me “Miss Peg.” They told me that when they were in school, they had read Small Steps: The Year I Got Polio.  (They knew where I live because all of the kids in my small town and the next town over know who I am and where I live.) They were driving past, saw the condition of my driveway, and said, “Miss Peg has polio problems. She can’t deal with those trees.” So they did it for me! They dragged all the heavy branches off the driveway and told a neighbor who was out with a chain saw about the one tree that was too heavy for them, and he cut that up.  When they had finished, I could get my car out.  They asked if I needed anything from town, and then they both wrote down their names and cell phone numbers and told me to call them if I needed any more help.

I’ve always known from my mail that I have the best readers in the world, but I never expected that the memory of a book they read a decade ago would prompt two young men to be so caring.  

The birch trees, the vine maple, and the mock orange trees all survived. As the snow and ice melt, those trees are gradually standing up again. Hooray! All but the birch will need to be staked in order to grow straight but they didn’t snap off.

As I write this, I am in the midst of a horrific ice storm. Freezing rain followed a foot of snow, leaving an inch-thick crust of ice on everything, including the branches of the trees. The weight was more than many of the trees could bear. Many lost large branches; some snapped off eight or ten feet from the ground. Others bent low, bearing the weight but not yet giving in to it. Many toppled.

When I stand on my porch (the ice is too treacherous to venture out around the property) it sounds as if I’m surrounded by gunfire. The sharp snap of branches breaking is followed by a waterfall of ice hitting the ground. The mock orange trees, transplanted from Anne’s yard, that guard the entrance to my nature trail are bent so low that the tops of their branches now touch the ground. A clump of three birch trees, a long-ago Mother’s Day gift, look more like a weeping willow. The vine maple that’s so glorious in the Fall now arches forward like a supplicant on a prayer rug. My woods look as if a giant had flung down fistfuls of match sticks. The trees lean in all directions.

When we first bought this property, Carl and I took classes in how to care for the forest and we registered to participate in a reforestation program. As a part of that, we planted more than two hundred trees. The deer ate all the dogwood trees the first week but most of the fir and pine survived and were watered and nurtured. I have continued the program. Many of those first seedlings are now more than forty feet tall. I’m especially sad to lose some of those.

Some of the downed trees will provide firewood for next winter; others will become shelter for the rabbits, mice and birds. Fallen branches will turn to mulch and feed the forest that remains. And when Spring comes, as I know it will, I’ll plant again.

I have more than a foot of snow and can’t get out of my driveway. The view from my windows looks like a Christmas card, complete with deer. My exercise program this week has consisted of shoveling my front path and back steps multiple times, filling and refilling the bird feeders, carrying hot water to the birdbath that the deer drink from, and shoveling an area for Lucy to use as her bathroom since the snow is now higher than she is.

After months of procrastination, my freezer is finally defrosted. The form for my state Business and Occupation tax is filled out and I know how much I have to pay (yes, the state of Washington considers me a business) and I’ve sorted - and shredded or saved - all of last year’s receipts so I have a head start on my income tax.  Keep me stuck indoors long enough and I resort to doing all the chores I dislike. But it isn’t all drudgery. I’m knitting a coat for Lucy and I’ve done a lot of writing and reading.  The snow is beautiful but, like a true Northwesterner, I say, bring on the rain.

Right now on my county library system’s web site there is a headline that says, “Book signing with local author at….etc.” When I click the link, I get a press release where the headline is the same as above.

The first paragraph of the press release states, “People will meet a local author during a free event at….” It gives the date, time, and place but still no name. The author isn’t identified until the second paragraph! I don’t know this author or his new book, but I do know that where he lives has nothing at all to do with the quality of his writing. In this case, Michael Schein’s book, Bones Beneath Our Feet, is a nominee for the 2012 Pacific Northwest Book Seller’s Association award, so it must have merit.

I have been introduced numerous times as a “local author” and I’ve often been identified that way in print, too. I get cranky every time. Any well-written book is a good read whether the author lives next door to you or in Australia.

Winter’s here - the perfect time to read a good book.

It’s been a long time since I posted because I was not able to gain access to my blog! Wordpress told me I had an invalid user name, although it was the same user name I’ve had since the start of the blog. I won’t bore you with the frustrating details of trying to resolve this, but I will say a loud THANK YOU to Chris at Skynetbb in Enumclaw who fixed the problem quickly once I consulted him.

My big news is that Dillon, the cat that I was taking care of for my neighbor, has moved in permanently. He had been an outdoor cat, but he clearly likes his soft bed (mine) in a warm room. He is a purrey, silly cat and I love him already. Molly was sick for a long time, and then I adopted Purrlie with all her health problems, so it is a joy to have a cat who plays and makes me laugh.

Chris, the neighbor who rescued Dillon eight years ago when he was dumped as a kitten, has kindly agreed to “shared custody.” Her two indoor cats never accepted Dillon, so he became an outdoor kitty, with shelter in one of Chris’s outbuildings. Now that Dillon’s getting older she is happy for him to be indoors during our cold weather. We are both sure that Dillon will continue to visit Chris and follow her around as she does her farm chores, as he has always done. Now when kids ask me how many cats I have, I will have to answer, “One and a half.” Although Dillon’s size makes him a lot bigger than half a cat!