Jen’s in Austria because she loves gazebos.
The Intern (Madge) is in Italy because she loves dreamy landscapes.
And I am here because I love the smell of flooded basements. 
Is that asbestos tile??
Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. See how we just throw caution to the wind over here?? I almost forgot what the floor looked like under 1,000 lbs of soaked carpet! And that was my lesson about not taking things for granted.
Between all that lesson-learnin’, I made a new card.
Don’t hurry home guys!
Tib knows it’s summer because the screens are on.
And *I* know it’s summer for other, more important, reasons.
But I’m trying to be a better person/less into body-sculpting, so I decided to read a book. It was written by The Intern’s daughter, Nora McInerny Purmot.
Chapter 25 was especially fun to read because Madge is so near and dear to my heart and I could relate to the notion of elder-abuse.
Except my mom has made it very clear that she wants to be euthanized via pillow-suffocation, pre-elder-abuse.
Oh, mom!
Wait a sec… This ice cream truck drives slowly by the house/Zeichen Press HQ every day,
but I have never really studied it…
Zoom… Enhance…
And again…
…
…
…
…
…
I KNEW IT.
RSVP wanted MORE greeting card submissions. And having a wet towel for a brain makes it so much easier to wring.
Remember last year when my lung collapsed and my mom had to sleep on a cot in my dingy bedroom so she could walk me to the bathroom in the middle of the night?
And EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?
No?
I know you’re wondering if the EMTs were cute and why my bedroom was so dingy. Um, my mom volunteered to be their Resusci Annie doll and I’ve been a little too busy building the Zeichen Press Empire to focus on home-making frivolity.
But, between choosing paper/envelopes for the Spring Release and conquering territories, I did refresh my bedroom. And now I see no reason to ever leave it.
Choosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.
Speaking of self-medicating (was I?) here’s a Spring Release teaser (see/buy ALL 12 from the shop!):
1985 : Minneapolis
One 13 year old girl (me) biked to Calhoun Square in Uptown to buy a record for her friend’s birthday and almost kept it for herself (myself).
I might have forgotten to ask to borrow the bike from my sister. And might have forgotten to ask permission from my mom to bike there. And I might have not brought a bike lock. And the bike might have been stolen from the entrance where it was super-discreetly parked behind the Calhoun Square signage. AND I might have had to walk home.
But how could I not risk everything (being grounded) to get that album when I was pretty sure Prince wrote Paisley Park about me??:
Colorful people whose hair
On 1 side is swept back
Sigh.
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.
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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 🙠are now much more common than a hand-written note.
🙠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: