When Pam (our New England rep) calls me, I have to think for a second… Is this Classic Pam the Cat calling me from beyond the grave? 
But no, that would be silly! Classic Pam is too busy.
Pam spent last week at the Javits center in New York, I think because she loves us.
We love you too, Pam.
She is faxing orders over willy-nilly and I am busily taking pictures of kittens.
(She’ll thank me later.)
Spruce & Gussy -> 12 Mount Desert St. Bar Harbor, Maine
ANOTHER profile in that special series dedicated to bringing our readers biased reviews of shops that carry our goods.
This time, I’m two-timing Zeichen Press with The Book.
(Remember when I two-timed Zeichen Press with Tanek, and I made those paper dolls??)
OMG, good times!
Now I’m spending my waking hours wrangling kittens
and working on the book. Here’s a teaser:
PUT YOUR GLASSES ON.
Still blurry?? Wink.
I shed my layers this week and exposed my sun damaged, yet somehow pale, flesh to anyone unfortunate enough to glance over at me.
Sun was absorbed, golf carts were driven, and books were begun.
THAT’S RIGHT.
Golf carts were driven.
There were TWO mysteries at Zeichen Press HQ this week. I prayed and prayed to Benedict Cumberbatch,
and my prayers were sort of answered, because Jen came to search/tear the house apart.
FIRST, one of the five kittens was missing.
Tib had means AND motive. She was questioned and released.
Poor Tib… We accused her of eating her weakest kitten. (True story.)
The kitten was later found, unharmed.
Sorry Tib.
But what was the second mystery, Fran??
HUSH, it will be explained in my Tell-All book, coming soon!
OR to use a term I (maybe) coined:
Wintermission!
I’ve been enjoying hour after hour of On Hold Music
and eating all of the Holiday Cookies.
Oh, AND setting up a GoFundMe for Tib The Cat. (Donate today to be eligible for one free kitten. Please. I beg of you.)
—
AND HERE’S A BREAK-UP CARD. I’m a giver.
Who’s the fairest one of all?
There is SO much happening around here! First, I had to bait a squirrel trap
to catch the Kitchen-Squirrel. I was going to fill the trap with my kitchen garbage (her favorite) but I decided to go for something more bourgeois: Skippy Peanut Butter.
And then there was a serious decision to make: Which card would Paper Source like more?
I hope we chose wisely because one of our lives (Jen’s) is on the line.
Oh, and I didn’t forget that it is Valentine’s Day today, I am very romantic. Here is proof:
For Immediate Release: In an attempt to build the Zeichen Press Fan Base, Jen Shea and Fran Shea will appear on a local cable-access show locked in a cell and covered in Fancy Feast. 1,000 cats will be released into the cell through a small hatch. Fran and Jen will sing a medley of famous duets, including Islands In the Stream, Endless Love, and You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.
###
I’ve been told that life is full of challenges. And I’m sure that, someday, I’ll encounter one. I hope it’s not a shipwreck or banishment. …I will probably contract the Ebola Virus. I designed a card for myself in preparation.
Oh, but here’s a more “buyable” card for those of us that need encouragement:
In the belly of the Good Ship Whistlesnot sat two strangers one called Captain Fatchtinkle and the other, Timtim Lipskin.
They chatted like two gentlemen between rounds of whiskey-pong and Password and it wasn’t long before discovering they shared a passion for shuffleboard.
A friendship was born!
(To be continued…)
Hello.
My name is Pevenshire Wiffynuts and I’m here today to talk about targeting your demographic. Whether you are marketing adult diapers, cowboy hats, or cemetery plots, it is critical that you understand your audience. That may mean that you have to poop in your pants, herd cows, or bury a loved one.
Don’t be afraid to do these things they will help you effectively move product and change lives.
Wow! Thanks, Pevenshire.
I hear what you’re saying I ripped off my mom-mask to reveal the face of an eight-year-old-boy so I could create this birthday card:
The poor peasant said it best, “even if we had only one and it were quite small, and only as big as a thumb, I should be quite satisfied, and we would still love it with all our hearts.”
If Fairy Tales were true, hedgehogs would speak and donkeys would spew gold. And poor old peasants could wish and receive tiny children.
I wrote a Fairy Tale about an old childless couple and a duck. Inspired by true events. In the story, there is a duck, a baby, and an angry mob.
But I’ve said too much!
I’ll get that published someday but MEANWHILE here is a card for the new parent it features a disgruntled chick.
I’ve nursed a few babies in my day and that makes me an expert on sacrifice.
It does.
Or is it laziness? Making a bottle seemed like so much work! …Get out of my cozy bed, walk all the way to the kitchen, measure and pour powdered formula into a bottle, warm water in pan on stove, add water to bottle, test temperature
OR
lift up my shirt.
Anyway, I made a card for the new mother:
Isn’t that a comforting thought?
If I had a tumor, I’d want a group of strangers to pray it away.
Less messy than surgery.
Also, if I could train a field-full of meerkats to pray for me, I would.
That would be adorable.
Thanks (or no thanks) to Facebook, phrases that were once packed with meaning, are like a watered-down drink: You are in our prayers… We are all praying for you…
These, followed by a frowny-face đ are now much more common than a hand-written note.
đ x 1,000!
Someday we’ll create Encouragement Cards for the most grievous of events (will we??) but how about those events that still deserve more than a Facebook comment? How about: sewage backups, low-risk operations, stomach flus, power-outtages, lost dogs, lost luggage, car-jackings, rat-infestations, or hauntings?
Not quite tragic but still entitled to a show of support. A card like this (IN THE MAILBOX) would cheer a person up posthaste:
It was time for The Sign Of Peace, and as all members of the congregation turned to offer their hand for a firm shaking, I slowly let my sleeve swallow my hand.
With a forlorn look and one missing hand, I imagined the gasps of concern for my deformity. I turned to the family in the pew behind me they would wonder if I was born crippled or if my hand had been lost in a bloody accident. I was eager to extend my handless arm, my face already prepared and appropriately pitiful.
Oh, but why do parents have to crush their children’s fantasies?
And here’s another story about hands:
I took woodshop in highschool.
I did. I was the only girl. The room was filled with dangerous power-tools and I secretly hoped for the “automatic A” decribed by the teacher: ”If a student is dumb enough to sever a finger or an entire hand, they will receive an automatic A.”
Unfortunately, I successfully made a box:
Speaking of hands, here’s a new card: