I heard a story about a Minnesota fur trader.
Tromping through the snow in seasonably cold weather, sans Northfacewinter gear and, more importantly, SANS Smartwool socks he found his feet to be frozen solid.Frozen like a forgotten chuck roast buried under the pile of pizzas and popsicles.
What did he do?
Simply dragged his body through the snow until warmish accommodations were reached, asked the hardy men in the room for an awl,punctured his feet, and had those same hardy men pour brandy over his numb tootsies.
There. Feet saved.
I didn’t write a card about that. (I’m sure I will.) Here’s something more lighthearted:

And I can’t speak for Jen (just kidding, I will. Right now.) but I’m pretty sure she has beenon pins and needles JUST WAITING for cards from me in her inbox.(Between the printing, billing, and shipping.)




This mash-up won’t happen again for another 77,000 years.




PS: I wrote this blog post on my iPhone because I despise easy things.