Speaking of letters! The new prints arrived at all of the Room and Board stores across this great land. The photographs on their website are gorgeous and make me feel like I live in a crack house.
I have nothing against crack houses, I’m sure the people that live in them are perfectly lovely and are just misunderstood.
The legendary, Katie Dohman (Minnesota Monthly) already wrote a little something about them. I’m feeling pretty fancy.
Katie Dohman, style editor for Minnesota Monthly, made a special guest appearance in the shop. She was just delightful and for that she got one of these:
Isn’t that nice?
OH, also: It only seems appropriate that on the eve of the launching of the new site, the dog was caught nursing the kittens.
Enjoy.
I’ve never met a middle-aged man at a BP in Grantsburg and given him money for a Kitchen-Aid mixer — until now! The ZP intern was the recipient of the gift. She cried and looked like she was just crowned Princess Kay of the Milky Way.
It was beautiful.
I spent the last 56 hours holed up in my room (cell) uploading content for the new Zeichen Press website. And just to make it interesting, I didn’t shower or change my clothes. I DID leave once to get a new iPhone because my old one decided it would rather be a hot plate than a phone.
So be it/good riddance.
Fran Shea’s résumé
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
1988-1988 (Nov. 1-Dec 23) Lyndale Garden Center
My first job. Silly me, I heard “making Christmas wreaths” and thought I’d be “making Christmas wreaths.” Pre-made wreaths were heaped onto a lunch table – my job was to choose the sprigs for the wreaths. “Sprigs” was an industry term for cheap Christmassy crap.
1989-1989 (Sept. 1-Sept 15) Pearson’s Family Restaurant
I bussed tables and was told to clear as much of the table as would fit in the gray bin. It would have been very satisfying if I were training to be a power-lifter. Two weeks was too long.
1989-1990 (Oct. 1-March 1) Leeann Chin, Richfield
As a server, I wore a little white hat and jacket. Like a chef. A disgruntled, panicked, 17-year-old chef.
1990-1990 (June 1-Aug. 15) GJ’s SuperValu
A block walk from my apartment above Ribizza – this job required speed and superhuman strength. Bagging groceries during a “rush” filled me with doubt and indecision – eggs before bread or bread before eggs?? Should I take my smoke break now??
1990-1990 (Sept. 1-Nov. 1) Telemarketing for the Special Olympics
I don’t even know how I found this job – it was in a bland office in a bland office building on University Avenue. The script we were handed was written in the 1950?s and we were supposed to offer lots of garbage bags in exchange for donating to the Special Olympics. Our boss was, I think, Bob Saget.
1990-1991 (Nov. 15-Jan 15) Meyer’s Bakery
A job that required cash register skills. I’d rather wash old peoples bottoms than use a cash register – I’d try to push customers into buying things that would result in even dollar amounts so I wouldn’t have to make difficult change. Three cookies? Why not four?… Two loaves of bread? Why not two loaves of bread AND a cookie??
Fast Forward—>
1993-1996 : Carney Studio
The interview went something like this:
“So, you want to be a graphic designer?”
“A what?”
“You’re hired.”
1996-1997 : Odney Advertising
This is where I learned about advertising. And stealing office supplies.
1997-present : Stay At Home Mom
This is where I learned about cleaning up poop.
2006-present : Owner of Zeichen Press
The culmination of a life-long set of painfully acquired skills.
Jen and I share many things: Type wash, paper towels, dirty looks… But nothing… nothing even comes close to this weekend…
Whew! That was a tear-jerker! Um… there is no easy way to segue from a cat eating a placenta…
Well, other things happened this weekend, too… I biked 8 million miles to Hopkins to take some pictures of the new Pizza Lucé… I wrote about that on the Tanek blog… And, well I guess nothing can really compare to the moment when Jen and Susie the Cat locked eyes and Jen stated firmly (but tenderly) “I love you.”
Sigh.
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:
