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 Sheas résumé
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
1988-1988 (Nov. 1-Dec 23) Lyndale Garden Center
My first job. Silly me, I heard making Christmas wreaths and thought Id 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) Pearsons 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) GJs 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 dont 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) Meyers Bakery
A job that required cash register skills. Id rather wash old peoples bottoms than use a cash register Id try to push customers into buying things that would result in even dollar amounts so I wouldnt 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?
Youre 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.
Have I mentioned how much Millie The Dog 
barks at anything and everything within a 500 foot perimeter of our house? Mailman, delivery-person, solicitors, neighbors, guests, the kids, trick-or-treaters, my mom… We’ve talked a lot about it and she feels super responsible for alerting us – I told her that we really don’t need that kind of help, BUT WE DID. SHE WAS RIGHT. SHE’S ALWAYS RIGHT.
SO, my driveway was full of a dumpster filled with bathroom remodel debris, Millie was having a staycation with a friend, AND SOME JERK CLIPPED THE LOCK ON OUR SHED AND STOLE MY BIKE.
And he threw the lock in the dirt like some sort of criminal.
AND THEN, the loser (no judgment) tried to sell MY bike on a site called OfferUp.com.
But he is as slippery as an eel wrapped in a banana peel, and disappeared INTO THE NIGHT. Police have been alerted, prayers to St. Anthony have been said. I asked St. Anthony if he could forward my prayers onto the Patron Saint of Stolen Goods and he told me to go back to sleep and stop Googling escutcheons for the new bathroom.
FINE.
While I wait for my miracle, I spend days mindlessly migrating ALL of the content from the Zeichen Press site to THE NEW Zeichen Press site. DON’T WORRY, you won’t even be able to tell the difference because we wanted to spend a lot of money on something that nobody notices.
OH, and Jen got some new/old cuts
so I made a Father’s Day Card out of that little man.
BACK TO MIGRATING/WEEPING.
I did the math and figured out that two toilets MINUS one toilet EQUALS one toilet. And one shower MINUS one shower EQUALS zero showers.
I desperately yelled that equation to the boys during my bathroom demo, but they pretended not to hear me.
I only gave birth to them to provide me with free manual labor. Ha! Who’s laughing now, boys??
Anyway, who needs a shower??
OR a bath??
I barely do.
And as soon as all of my family and friends get back from being out of town for a month, they’ll tell you the same.
Here’s a new birthday card/fantasy:
Everyone celebrates Jenmas Eve differently.*I* like to go to Hot Plate SANS Jen to eat a Mexican Omelet surrounded by a gallery of paint-by-number masterpieces.
YEARS AGO, Jen (carefully) slaved away over *her* masterpiece and it sits atop a shelf of knick-knacks in Cape Cod.
She was so dedicated!
I bet she knew that someday I’d repay her in birthday cards.
The Art Licensor (RSVP) asked us for some birthday cards and because I love to work/need money, I made nine. I won’t bore you with the details/need to get back to listening to my new podcast (My Favorite Murder).
Here are a few… Will they choose any???
Stay tuned.
Thank you, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. I can’t wait until Alexis Stewart and I meet you in person!
“What street is this??” I yelled up to the boy watching us float past him. He told me that we were just about to enter the Ninth Circle of Hell.
PHEW! Almost done!
Three hours to travel 2.5 miles… Could we have walked faster than the creek carried us? Oh, THAT’S the point my kids were making when they got out of their tubes and dragged them the last four blocks! Oh, kids! So subtle!
I didn’t get a photograph of them on our adventure, BUT a giant spider landed on my belly! AND who needs a picture of all three when one of them modeled for the company that made our tubes?
(Grip those handles! Safety first, Dylan!)
I only thought the creek-pollution caused blindness one time and I only lost my sunglasses one time — I’d call that a win!
Here’s a card, maybe inspired by laughter-induced bladder incontinence. MAYBE NOT.
My life is one big Sexy Action Thriller. And being a bouncer at the Double Deuce in Missouri when I was only ten years old was pretty intense. Sure, I had great hair and sure I had a winning smile, and sure I always made breaking up bar fights and drinking black coffee look sexy. That’s just who I am.
Truth is, practicing tai chi in your brother’s sweatpants and running a letterpress design studio with cards SOLD AROUND THE WORLD, takes discipline and dedication.
Live Wires, our New Zealand distributor, knows this and sent us a token of appreciation.
I think they’re supposed to be for tea but I already used mine for sopping up blood from a letterpress-related (packing tape dispenser) injury. Thanks Helen Harvey!
After I bandaged my wound, I made this:
My little sister had baby #2 last week, she gave birth at home but, strangely, didn’t ask me to participate.
Despite my lack of presence, the birth went off without a hitch because anyone can boil water and get towels. (SORRY MOM.)
I will give her this card the next time I break in to her house:
ALSO, I made this because I am so into politics:
So, you don’t need to watch the news tonight. You’re welcome.
Dinah told me about her crazy dream!
She said we left her for two weeks with Tib and Jen so we could go to Cape Cod, and she had a fever and hair-balls. She said it was actually more like a nightmare poor thing!
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her nightmare was real… that we did leave her for two weeks with Tib and Jen.
But she isn’t alone. When she reads the blog, she’ll find out about our scary flight home. The airline warned us, but people just do whatever they want.
The other passengers made calls on their flip-phones, watched who-knows-what on portable televisions, drove their remote-controlled cars up and down the aisle, talked to each other on walkie-talkies, and blasted music on transistor radios! Meanwhile we, The Law-Abiding, were stuck in the teeny-tiny bathroom, forced to take hysterical selfies.
BUT, we managed to land safely, no thanks to all of that recklessness. I will NOT be giving them my latest Thank You Card.
Cape Cod 2016 is (so far) drama AND cage-free. Wait, we did lose one member of the party searching for the water shut-off valve in the cellar.
He was brave and will be missed.
More importantly, we never found that shut-off valve! One life wasted.
But we must carry on, he would have wanted it that way.
The very next day was filled with so much splashing and laughter and sunscreen, I’m sure Ben was looking down on us and giggling! Oh, how he’d giggle!
AND here’s a little thing from The Boston Globe about Millennials’ loving PAPER greeting cards. DUH.
This isn’t the first time I blamed The Cats for a crime they didn’t commit.
Nor will it be the last. 
The odor of rotten animal is unforgettable and like the odor of rotting potato, it is embedded in the brain. But sometimes the brain jumbles the smell of decomposing rodent with the smell of a blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can.
And that is where my story begins…
The Summer Breeze gently wafted through the upstairs windows. It was pleasant, until an occasional repulsive odor stung my nostrils. I blamed The Cats for hunting, killing, and hiding their prey somewhere on my second floor.
But a search for a body was in vain and a garbage can investigation led me to the real suspect: that damn blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can!
Mea culpa, Tib! When will I ever trust you again??
Speaking of breezes (and puns??)… Here’s a new thank you/congratulations card.