Nothing against seahorses I’ll get around to writing about them one of these days. But for now, here is a card about a Victorian mermaid.
I think it could be used as a thank-you note? I don’t know… you will have to make that decision. These mermaids were less common than the typical topless mermaids.
While filling out the application for a small business grant from Chase and Living Social, something occurred to me:
Zeichen Press Headquarters is located exactly behind my house in a building some might call a “garage.” 
There. I’ve said it. I feel so much better.
It is 360 square feet of letterpress goodness. It is 10 tons of letterpress finery. BUT, IF we got that grant (would it be in the form of a giant, novelty cheque? I will accept nothing less.) we could expand … We could punch another hole in the leather belt of our business! We’d be that much closer to World Dominance.
We are in over 500 shops around the world. We have dozens of reps. We have distributors in New Zealand, Australia, and the United Kingdom. BUT, what if we were able to operate from a larger venue? … What if we could hire a big, hairy man to operate our presses?
Step 1) Go to missionsmallbusiness.com and click ‘Log In & Support’ and log in using Facebook.
Step 2) Type “Zeichen Press” in the search field.
Step 3) Click on the blue Vote button next to our business name.
Step 4) Weep, openly.
We need 250 votes (what?! That’s all??) to be CONSIDERED for the grant. How much is the grant?
$250,000.
Or whatever.
NO BIG DEAL.
Please vote I’ve been starving myself so I would take up less space in the shop. I’m so hungry.
There was a canopy bed in my bf’s bedroom with a Holly Hobby theme. There was a room covered in pink carpeting, but not entirely covered in pink carpeting one wall featured a mural of a day-glo leopard when the “black light” came on, it was party-time. There were, at least, four fireplaces a bronze peacock guarded one of them. In that room, there was an off-limits record collection. Ziggy Stardust confused and intrigued me. An indoor pool in the basement? Yes. Sauna? Check.
This was the Mary Tyler Moore house, circa 1980. AKA: Heaven.
You know, Mary Tyler Moore?! Once Laura Petrie, reborn as herself and the star of her very own situation comedy set in my fair city?
I haven’t been back to the MTM House since my friend’s family moved out, BUT one of my spies was just there (it’s on the market for a cool $3,620,000) and saw our Room and Board prints hanging on two walls. Now, I know: Not as cool as a day-glo leopard mural, but as Miley Cyrus would say, “still pretty cool.”
The Zeichen Press shop has a concrete slab for a floor and this magically keeps the room from feeling like a sauna until mid-July. Surrounded by all things letterpress, the air thick with a healthy wi-fi signal, and the temperature hovering around a tolerable°, I streamed some Netflix.
And while watching reruns of Portlandia, I bumped into this:
Powell’s Books.
I paused.
Could it be? Yes, it is! That little bookstore carries Zeichen Press cards!
We’re famous-ish!
I’ve been told that it’s important to take a break get in the car, hop on a plane, inject yourself with propofol whatever it takes. I love free advice remember when everyone told me to get my cat fixed? She did die but I hate dwelling on details.
Anyway, I decided to take that break…
Step one was important and involved shaving the dog.
This took about two hours because she insists on wearing the wig.
Step two involved tuna-salad. That’s self-explanatory.
And step three was spent poring over maps. This step was critical because, for some reason, I would be the person driving the car. “WHAT?!” you say. And rightly so.
Yes, for two and a half hours, my passengers/prisoners sat with clenched jaws, praying for safe passage or a quick, painless death.
Praise the Lord, prayers were answered, tuna salad was consumed, ticks were pulled, and screens were repaired.
It was only 24 hours, but it felt longer. If someone you love is diagnosed with a terminal illness and wants to make their life feel like it’s dragging on and on, send them to a place without flushing toilets a place where you are forced to haul your own water to pour into the toilet bowl so the toilet will (magically) flush.
The drive home was terrifying and I gripped the steering wheel like a scrap of wood floating by a freshly wrecked ship. If the other drivers on 35W only knew my fear, they would have given me my own lane and maybe a police escort.
Off-key Christmas carols float dreamily through the Summer air, the ice-cream truck trolls for kids using low-fi audio technology. Water-balloons are filled, teams are picked (bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?) but distractions are everywhere and soon talk turns from who is on which team to pretend lands filled with orphaned children. Poor, parentless children, left to cobble together meals from mint leaves and wild rhubarb.
Summertime, and the children and animals are off-leash days are filled with sprinklers, wet bathing suits, hot dogs burned on the grill, and day dreaming.
Here’s a new card:
Farewell my Wintertime Prison… Springtime is the amnesty hors d’oeuvre and reminds all (in these Northern climates) of the duality of nature.
See the flattened squirrel on the bike path? (Why is it SO flat on a bike path? WHY??)
And see the lilacs in full bloom? (DO YOU??!! Face-meltingly beautiful…)
Hmm, people also think about baseball in the Spring? Right? How about a congratulations card for the bros?
(((flashback)))
My husband was on a business trip, and that meant it was time for one or more of the kids to get the stomach flu. Because we love tradition, the youngest barfed in her own bath water. While I was cleaning that up, and not to be outdone, the middle one inhaled and regurgitated his macaroni & cheese right back on the plate.
The older one slunk away.
While I was cleaning that up, and unbeknownst to me, the cat coughed up a slimy hair-ball. I stepped on it (barefoot).
While I stood on one foot, crying, the dog came over and licked it up.
The End
By age nine, I would delicately,
with my right hand, fold down the sharp fins of a Sunfish.
Why?
So I could use my left hand to insert the rusty pliars into the gasping mouth of my catch to retrieve the swallowed hook.
If I was lucky.
If I wasn’t lucky, I’d stare at my motionless bobber for hours.
*Some backstory: My older brother (third of eight) allowed me to fish with him if I did whatever he said, and didn’t cry. He was SERIOUS about fishing. I had glasses and greasy blonde hair.
**Some backstory about the backstory: My brother was born in September, and I was already a sprouted seed in our Mom’s belly by the next Summer.
I think I’ve used the bobber-watching metaphor before, but it is APT. Everyday, I wait for my agent to tell me to get the rusty pliars.
Why doesn’t he ever tell me to get the rusty pliars??
He just tells me to “hang in there.”
Oh, back to my Mom… She has 22 grandkids. This is her with the latest:
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
I’ve heard that we are only prescribed challenges tailored to fit our deficiencies. I don’t really have any deficiencies so I’ve just been row-row-rowing my boat, gently down the stream.
But poor Jen spent the week hunting for bedbugs (that’s what she gets for going to Turkey) that turned out to be fleas. 
It took six flea-bombs and one hijab to properly fumigate.
Doesn’t Henry look ashamed?
Doesn’t Jen’s forehead look youthful?? I photoshop-botoxed it! AND saved her $200.
She’ll thank me later.
While she was busy meeting her prescribed challenge (I pray that she learned her lesson), *I* was busy nobly accepting rejections for The Book.
Eight rejections so far… twelve still unresponsive. But don’t worry about me, I LOVE waiting, and see rejection as an opportunity to grow as a person.
SPEAKING OF MOTHER’S DAY, here’s a new card:
Is that a true story??
They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true.
Sally Struthers says that for about four dollars, you can buy a Starbucks Caffé Latte Venti… In the Zeichen Press Shop, for just four dollars a day, you can bring laughter to someone who may or may not have been laughing.
The choice is yours.
NOW, visit the shop to see our new release for Spring! You can buy the rage-filled kitten, the generous old woman,
my kind of tea party,
Jen made me pull six cards from our line.
APPARENTLY, “they don’t sell” and don’t “make any money”.
But since when can you put a price tag on greeting cards??
Here are the cards, you can buy them from the shop until they are gone forever.
FOREVER.
This card was also on the list, but I refused to pull it because I’m not afraid of her.
I turned 42 (wtf?) yesterday, received 18 drinking glasses, a scallop taco from Sea Salt, and this:
BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I sent 20 little book samples to my agent…
So now he can go pitch them to 20 publishers.
I imagine his conversations go something like this:
Peter: Here’s a new little adult picture book by Fran Shea, owner of Zeichen Press in Minneapolis, maker of cards for people that like laughing.
Publisher Person: Let me put my eyeballs back in my sockets and write you a check for $1,000,000.
Peter: Very good.
END SCENE.
Oh, I also made a new Easter card. Don’t send me hate email like you did for my zombie Easter card. Jesus loves me, this I know for the bible tells me so.
Jen’s back!
Thank God.
She said she “missed ZP soooo much!”
ZP missed her too! To show her just how much, this rabbit (mascot) sacrificed and froze himself to the ground right in front of the gate she walks through to enter the ZP Headquarters.
ALSO, I wrote/designed a new cover for my book… Kara is busily drawing pictures while I bark directions at her. I’m sure she’s already made a voodoo doll of me.
I don’t blame her a bit.
No, no… don’t worry about me I’m fine! I actually enjoy imagining exotic travel. Who needs all of that packing and jet-lag… and those language barriers?… No thanks!
Jen is (still) in Turkey
(is she ever coming home??) and I am here.
See how I put my feet in the picture so that you can tell that I’m REALLY here?
My daydreams are broken only by Tib the Cat.
And the other inmates’ bickering.
But shouldn’t I embrace this opportunity during Lent for self-denial?
FINE.
Jen is in Istanbul (was Constantinople, now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople)
and I discuss cannibalism after a family dinner. “Apparently,” says Number One Son, “human meat tastes just like bison.”
And so on.
If this Winter ever ends (will it?? Did I just imagine warmer days??), students will graduate and I made a card for such an occasion: