When my daughter was small (until she became a giant),
she wrestled daily with Jungian archetypes… She was fascinated by the Actor/Storyteller… and the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf was a favorite.
Oh, that Boy!! She was disgusted and fascinated!
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Youth Is Wasted
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Don’t Look Away!
Ahh, there is nothing like a Midsummer Night’s Homebirth!
Oh, and here’s a card. I’VE BEEN BUSY, OKAY??
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Marinate & Ruminate & Distill & Purge
Don’t you hate looking at photographs when you’re not in them?
Me too!
Oh, and I made this for my gals.
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Deja Vu
We bought our house on the Cape in 1982…
this was the same year that The Go-Go’s penned their masterpiece.
Coincidence?? I THINK NOT.
Summers on the Cape were filled with so much adventure! There were trees to climb, sea-creatures to discover, rocks to paint (it’s complicated), and cans to return for 5¢ — imagine returning an ENTIRE BAG of cans. Your very own money to spend on candy at the Barnstable News. I dragged a garbage bag of empty cans up Millway, past the dead bodies
to claim my prize. I did not anticipate this being such a great windfall… The Adult behind the counter counted all of my (mostly beer) cans (thanks Uncle Gary!) and the total staggered me.“Two dollars and thirty-five cents.”
I gasped.
I walked past the wall of candy, right to the freezer full of ice cream treats. One box of six ice cream sandwiches, all for me. ALL FOR ME!!
I was a girl on a mission: Eat all six, share with no one, and never breathe a word of this to any of my siblings. 
I held the package to my (boyish) chest, and ran until I was sure I was alone. Across the street from the cemetery, and next to an abandoned house, I ripped open the box and started eating. 1…2…3… still going strong… 4… slowing down… 5… Five! Only FIVE! What a failure! I staggered home, and benevolently offered the final sandwich to my little brother. (What a fool he was for not even questioning my backstory!)
Present day: Southwest Airline’s Boeing 737: 40,000 feet.
I made these:
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July: Barnstable County
Would a plate-smashing scene make this trip more authentic? Maybe. Oh, but here we are bored out of our minds…
It’s tiresome, really! Just ocean, ocean, ocean… day in and day out.
And nobody even documents my joie de vivre! Sadly, I must document myself.
Jen sent me her selfie all the way from Zeichen Press Headquarters:
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When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Back on the Cape again…
Aren’t the kids so sweet? They have so much fun… Wait… WHAT?! How did I miss that??
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Is letterpress too classy for you?
It might be. I’m going to have to credit Martha Stewart with sparking the mainstream revival of the craft. Everyone settle down. If Martha and I ever met (someday on NBC 11:00AM CST) I would burst into tears. She’d slap me across the face and tell me to get ahold of myself. Oh, Martha! You always know just what to do! Zeichen Press has designed and printed its share of wedding related invitations – and we’re pretty certain that gives us some sort of carbon-neutral status. How? It’s pretty complicated – something to do with joy and decency neutralizing our usual gaucheness.
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Hi, zeichenpress. Martha Stewart is following your tweets on Twitter.
Oh, Martha Stewart!
I wish I could believe that you were following Zeichen Press on Twitter because of the recycled Panko Japanese Style Breading box/press kit I sent you last August…
Or because of the letterpress art print I sent you last October…
Or the baby I sent you last November…
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More on the new Zeichen Press website
We’ll be shooting our opening film using (surprise!) something that pre-dates my birth.
Didn’t I learn my lesson with that stupid typewriter?
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The true story behind the Zeichen Press logo:
Okay, let’s call her “Sheila” and let’s call him “Franz Ferdinand.”
She resented every one of his hair-plugs. Row after row of weak little sprouts – such an offensive landscape. Each bloody little ring contained 4-5 “transplant hairs,” the math was easy enough – she figured that each stubby hair cost $7.40. Her pre-taxed, hourly wage at the Seed-N-Feed was $7.45 – barely enough to cover the cost of a single hair.
He had convinced her that the new hair would make him a better dancer. She knew now that it did not – his “moves” reminded her of the farmhands baling hay. Each jerky swinging of his arms nearly punching her in the stomach.
His unemployment was running out and now, thanks to this unwise investment, they would have to move into his mother’s trailer. Her whole life she wanted to be a professional dancer and had been searching for the perfect partner – why hadn’t she listened to her gut or that certified psychic that really seemed to understand her? Still, she danced with him – her graceful movements, her twirling skirt – he would have been captivated by her beauty if he wasn’t so fixated on the pounding in his chest.
°°°°°
Wow! We all know what happens next. Thank the Lord she knows CPR and that despite the bitterness the hair-plugs caused, she still wanted to keep him alive. Sheila and Franz Ferdinand might just make it.
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Here’s the part about salvaging letterpress equipment:
People (my mom) always (whenever she feigns interest) ask me, “where do you get this stuff?” Type, cabinets, printer’s cuts, ink, chases, quoins, sticks, cutters, furniture, leads, slugs, tympan, rollers… letterpress takes up a lot more space than this tidy little laptop. I wonder if that’s one of the reasons people stopped using it? I doubt it.
Jen and I both agreed that our favorite salvaging-situation involved a compulsive hoarder with a murder/torture-pit (alleged) in his basement. This house had it all; two commercial espresso machines:
two Kluge Printing Presses:
(just in case you’re wondering: TWO Kluge Printing presses are massive and would look like this if not covered in books, dvd’s, televisions, kleenex boxes, grocery bags, magazines and mail):
a family-style restaurant booth: (this suspiciously barricaded the basement door)
dozens of old computers: (so sentimental)
“stackable” type cabinets: (we took these)
and this:
and this:
Oh, here’s a fun game:
Can you find the treasure in this photographic vignette?:
How about here?:
°°°°
Oh, well. Enough of the sweet, sweet memories. Here’s part of our latest salvage:
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A long, long time ago there was no Tanek. Only empty space.
I loved when Mom would get out the Scotch-tape and add my latest work to the dining room wall.
I’m not sure if one day she ran out of paper or tape – but she also let me paint right on the windows and the refrigerator.
I spent the last 10 weeks art directing Tanek’s new website. It was very similar to painting on the refrigerator except without paints or a refrigerator. I worked on the project with my old boss. Don’t confuse this old boss with another old boss I had at the Leeann Chin in Richfield, circa 1989.
You can go look at the new Tanek site. It’s not painted on the fridge or hanging on the dining room wall but it’s still super awesome. You can really build with the masthead blocks! … Actually, that gives me an idea… build something cool, take a screen grab and e-mail it to Zeichen Press - WHY? I’ll pick the best one, send out some fancy letterpress cards to the winner and publish it on the blog.
HEY! This is fun!
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Potato-Guns and Make Magazine
The other day, I needed to learn how to make a potato gun. It doesn’t matter why. Anyway, I made my way to the MAKE Magazine blog - If you haven’t been – I don’t know what to say. It’s not like we can’t be friends. It will just never be more than that.
So, they are doing this Maker Business Series and I thought, “hey, I make things… I own a business…” The potato gun would just have to wait. Sorry Edmund. …I sent an e-mail to someone named Gareth (Jen keeps referring to Gareth as “her” – I don’t have the heart to correct her) and told him about Zeichen Press – he responded and then it turned into an interview and… Go read it!!
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Wake up call
I try so hard. Really, I do. I try to follow the rules.
I’m jealous of those people (is it everyone?) that climb out of bed at a respectable hour, get dressed, fuss with their hair, apply make-up, brush their teeth, read the paper, make and drink a cup of coffee…
In high school, my morning carpool (I say “carpool” but really it was just my friends carting me around like some sort of package. A smoking, swearing package) would lay on her horn outside my house while I lay in my bed – dreaming that I was missing tests because I was laying in bed dreaming that I was missing tests.
