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:
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
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:
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:
I was once one of them — an innocent amusement park customer. I looked down at them now, from the highest man-made point in Shakopee, Minnesota. I sighed and listened to the chug-chug-chugging from beneath our coaster — our lives depended on the integrity of a giant bicycle chain. Our open-casket hesitated for just a moment at the tippy-top of the steel summit — hesitated just enough for me to grasp the inevitable free-fall. And as we plummeted to our possible deaths, I screamed.
And wet my pants.
The End
How old was she?
Don’t judge me.
Obviously, I wasn’t born riding a roller coaster, I was born screaming. And wetting my pants.
*Hint: this photograph was taken close to the time of the event and **Double Hint: I’m not the baby.
Speaking of literary themes, there is a lot (not really) to dissect in this new (Holiday/Winter Season?) card:
The newspaper is delivered to our doorstep each morning (by horse and buggy) and I comb through it — if I find a particularly odd/sad/absurd story, I read it aloud to whomever (the dog) is nearby.
Here is an abbreviated digest of the only (two) articles I remember from the past (two) months: (In alphabetical order)
1) Stratosphere jump by daredevil, Felix Baumgartner: In an attempt to break the world record, Felix jumped from a capsule suspended 23 miles above Roswell, New Mexico.
I plan on breaking that record when I get tired of this whole letterpress thing.
2) Talking elephant in South Korea loves Zeichen Press. Strange but true.
Crazy?! I know! Koshik’s trainer must $*#%-love Zeichen Press.
Enough time-wasting.
Here is a new Christmas card (available NEXT Christmas. Sorry).
The only way to find out if you’re truly compatible with another is to spend a year together aboard a Portuguese fishing vessel.
Unfortunately, that’s not always an option. Don’t spend another minute agonizing!
Forget the touchy-feely Relationships aisle at Barnes & Noble or (gasp) your local library! Forget the $120/hour couples counselor! Forget mind-reading, unmet expectations, behavior prediction!
Zeichen Press has created a $4.00 cheat sheet! 
Collect them all (there’s only one) and store them safely in a polished mahogany box. Tabulated by topics, like: Division-of-Labor, Apology, and so much more!
*A Mating Tip Card and a BB gun make the perfect wedding gift.
My retirement plans are needy and demand an Airstream Trailer
and a plot of land in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee — as close as possible to Dollywood.
That would be fine as cream gravy.
Yes, retirement — everyone does it differently. Some like to join communities in Arizona and some like to hoard cats. Hoard cats until one day they have a stroke, can’t get to the phone, die of starvation, and their beloved pets eat their face.
But everyone is so different! And as my Grandma Shea used to say, “It takes all kinds.”
So wise.
When I heard Jen was participating in the Loon Call Contest at the Prairie Home Companion Street Party, I said a quick prayer to Saint Genesius.
I can’t believe she didn’t win.
Earlier that day, this angel—dressed in plain clothes—was spotted:
If I wore a hat made of money, I’d have a faraway look in my eye, too.
Did you know that the Arboretum has a pick-your-own vegetable garden? The signs were more intuitive than posted.
My latest health craze (the last one turned out not to be a “health” craze) promises an upward trajectory of boundless energy and crisply firing synapses. Kale, spinach, green chard, cucumber, celery, lemon, parsley, and apple in one glass.
In one glass.
I’ve learned that a bagful of smuggled kale equals one thimbleful of juice.
One thimbleful.
I wonder how many ounces I would be if I were juiced. Note to self: Juicing bodies would make them easier to flush down toilet.
Look at these beautiful Dahlias and forget everything I just said:
Weren’t those lovely?
All of the flowers and vegetables inspired a Father’s Day card:
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.
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)
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:
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.
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!
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:
