September is the schizophrenic sibling in the Year Family—one day a beastly 90°, the next day fighting off dinosaurs in the living room. Dust off your crock-pots, it’s time for meat and vegetables to mingle on the countertop for hours. 
Once Upon A Time, I got a massage in September. It was from a hobbit—he blessed the vessel that was me and scampered around the table like his footsies were on fire. When it was over, he requested a hug. I consented because I have never hugged a hobbit and I didn’t want to crush his tiny hobbit-heart.
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Gather Ye Nuts While Ye May
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Killing Several Birds With Two Seahorses
I am all about efficiency. It’s one of the (two) things people love about me. If I can’t multi-task my way through a problem, it’s better left to a pre-schooler. I always say.
Yes, it’s an enviable quality; I can think about any number of things while I work on something else.
The neighbor that flipped me off called me the other night. She wanted to accuse my kids of egging her car. I told her that I egged her car. She couldn’t hear my confession because she was too busy talking about someone stealing Bounty Paper Towels from her backseat.
I thought about my conversation with her while I worked on some seahorses in photoshop. Here’s the thing/a little secret: Not every image comes to us as a perfect little mounted printer’s block.
There are some that need finessing:
I’m sure you knew that.I feel like I have to apologize for the latest card.
I’m sorry.
Here it is, sss. (sorry so sappy)
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State Fair Inspired Christmas Cards
Maybe it’s the Grilled Spamwiches
or the Walking Tacos. Maybe it’s the 4-H Barn, full of homespun country talent.
Or maybe it’s the Birth Barn.
Ham!Perhaps it is a combination of these magical happenings. This yearly phenomenon fills me with such joy… such eager anticipation! There are visual delights to behold whenever the head is turned!
It reminds me of The Birth of Our Lord. I bet the shepherds know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I shouldn’t question my inspiration.
Here are two new Christmas cards:
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Old-School Birthday Card
It was Jen’s birthday yesterday. She celebrated by cramming her car with kids and driving East for five hours.
I celebrated by going to my In-Laws to hear some family history — a combination of Downton Abbey and Angela’s Ashes.
BUT before these festive events, I gave Jen a card:
Perhaps you recognize that man?
His pants are usually radioactive, but not for this card. -
MERRY (name)MAS!
Times were simple then — pre-Facebook… cats fixed… no Dance Moms…
The air was thick with anticipation — it wasn’t fair to keep Zeichen Press hidden from the public.
It was time to pry open the (heirloom-quality) tupperware lid. Time to expose the rotting and pungent living carcass to the unblinking eye of its critics.The Universe demanded documentation. Who am I to refuse?
That was four years ago (today).
Now, readership of the Zeichen Press blog hovers somewhere between cable-access viewership and meaningful Craigslist encounters.Cheers!
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THINKING OF YOU
Time alone was rare. But in a pinch, I was forced to conjure up an imaginary playmate. This was a strange exercise and not something I was particularly good at.
Other children lived in complex and exotic worlds of make-believe — I don’t think the “friends” in their pretend worlds were from Minnesota — with names like Carura Fadida and Anarada Salsa.
There was a girl who lived in the glossy tile next to the toilet. I spoke with her when there was no soul around.
Her name was “Fran.”
Rooted in reality, with a strong sense of the superfluousness of an imaginary world. I was, and am, from German stock. Zees duss neecht make senss.
It must be that toe-hold in reality that permits me to create the following:
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Decisions, Decisions
Should I shower today or plan a fictional vacation?
Should I take down the Christmas tree or pet the cat?
Life is so challenging.
Decision du jour: Which card is funnier??
A)
B)
I have fictional vacations to plan and cats to pet — help me move on with my day. -
Cuttlefish Tentacles And Giraffe Heads
Why hide your abnormality under a dingy flannel sack? Love suffers enough in this disposable culture and I will not be a lemming — I will stand up for the odd, the fractured, the misfit, the offbeat, the freaks. I will stand up and say, I embrace the grotesque!
As long as they don’t smell like urine.
I can handle just about any disfigurement — emotional or physical — that sits next to me on the bus, but my achilles heel in my mad-dash for sainthood, is my keen sense of smell.
Damn my olfactory perception.
I don’t think John Merrick
smelled like urine, so we would probably have been great friends.
I made two new cards that celebrate this subject. Feel free to give them to the person in your life that needs to know they’re special.
If you have someone in your life that smells like urine, they would probably appreciate this card very much.
Congratulations, future St. Blankblank.
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Zeichen Press vs. 2012
**Spoiler Alert** Zeichen Press triumphed over Twenty-Twelve.
At times, the year was a nail-biter: will 2012 take it’s boot off of Zeichen Press’s face?… Will 2012 stop hitting Zeichen Press with a folding chair?… Yes and YES.
And as Zeichen Press says adieu to this Year Of Pestilence, Zeichen Press welcomes Twenty-Thirteen — welcomes it the way a mother welcomes the news of another pregnancy. The gift of amnesia is powerful and we are grateful for it.
I’m wrapping up the year, as usual, in Brainerd, Minnesota. The temperature is hovering around a balmy 0° and as the supplies dwindle to beer and bacon, we are considering sending the children to town for chocolate and dvd’s. And medical marijuana.Stay tuned…
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A Christmas Miracle
I welcome the extra-ordinary. In fact, I am hyper-vigilant and ever-watchful for signs of miraculous happenings.
I ate two pounds of filet mignon on Christmas Eve and I’m pretty sure that was a miracle. It felt like a miracle — béarnaise sauce drizzled over huge hunks of very rare cow flesh doesn’t happen every day.
I love Christmas Miracles, they are the most powerful kind of miracle — A change of heart is better than filet mignon and antlers growing out of a dog’s head is, perhaps, the most miraculous of all.Jen did say I couldn’t make any more Christmas cards but I squeezed this one past her because she is a sucker for dogs and because I threw her computer in a snowbank.
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Lousy Old Lovers & Limp Old Limbs
It’s almost January and you know what that means: It’s time to wash my Smart Wool socks. And celebrate Christmas.
Jen told me I can’t write anymore Christmas or Chanukah cards. After I egged her face, I wrote a Get Well card:
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Diversionary Tactics
The Christmas Tree lot shack doubled as a meth-lab and while I admire ingenuity and entrepreneurship, I like my Holiday Traditions to be more “cozy-by-the-fire” and less “mix-up-a-batch-in-the-tub.”
BUT THAT’S JUST ME.
The “lot” contained exactly eight trees but due to a Christmas Miracle, we found the perfect tree!
We only had to retie the tree back onto the car once. To be fair, cooking meth doesn’t really prepare a person for handling Christmas Trees.
My Jewish friends don’t have these stories and this saddens me, so I made them a card:
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No-Coast And Beyond
The No-Coast Craft-O-Rama was a success!
I think it might be because Jen and I were wearing our new uniforms.
It’s hard to know — but marketing is SO important these days and we really do our best to be, as the kids say, cutting edge.After the show, we packed our uniforms in bubble-wrap, sat by a roaring fire, and watched the snow fall.
And fall.
And fall.
That inspired a Chanukah card!This goes out to my Jewish brothers and sisters:
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Behold, I bring you Good Tidings Of Great Joy!
And like the Canadian Goose, she stayed. She stayed and embraced the cold, using her derriére to warm the waters of her pond.
And by derriére, I mean “bottom” and by waters of her pond, I mean “the Midtown Market.”
What?!
It’s time for the No-Coast Craft-o-Rama! TOMORROW (Friday, December 7 AND Saturday, December 8)!!
Here’s what I’ve done to get ready:
That’s a full cord of wood that I ordered.AND I made this card:
Jen did everything else.See you tomorrow!
xo,
Fran
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Umfa-Umfa and Itchy-Scratchy
A long, long time ago, when men roamed the wild, with sharp spears and heavy stones, a discovery was made: A charred nub-of-a-stick was scraped against the wall to create a picture, a representation of reality — why?
The need to communicate visually is unique to humans (and some elephants).
I wish I had a trunk.Here’s what I need to communicate visually:
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She Wore A Small Christmas Tree On Her Head
Secured to her bonnet with picture wire, butcher’s twine, and Christmas Spirit (egg-nog). That spruce-top sat atop her head for the entire season of Advent.
She knew that it offset her dour expression — an expression she couldn’t redesign. Oh, but the tiny tree brought delight to all she passed!
For those blissful weeks, nobody seemed to notice her stern glower, her face — twisted into the judgmental scowl went unnoticed. She imagined wearing other elaborate fancies on her head — but for now, this would do:
