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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David Hasselhoff, Jerry Lewis, Zeichen Press
The closest I’ve been to Australia is the Victoria’s Filet at the Outback Steakhouse in Blaine, MN (pop: 44,942). I’m not sure who to thank for introducing Zeichen Press to our Australian cousins. Maybe Ampersand Duck had something to do with it or maybe it was my grassroots advertising campaign. I stuffed (but first I drank) 1000 bottles of wine with Zeichen Press Cards and threw them into the Atlantic Ocean.
Maybe one washed up on the shores of Melbourne because this showed up in their newspaper:
Our CanCards are their Object of Desire. Thank you, Australia.
Someday I will visit you. And your kangaroos. And your boomerangs.
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Seven Pounds is the name of the movie not the weight of my head
About a jillion years ago, I was contacted by some Hollywood set designer – she wanted to know if I had extra letterpress “JUNK JUNK JUNK” for a new movie starring Rosario Dawson and Will Smith. Wait. What?! Trembling, I clutched my Fresh Prince of Bel Air collection to my chest and replied, “Oh, that’s cool. Yeah, I could Fed Ex some stuff to you guys – I won’t charge extra for the dust.” (Followed by cool and knowing laughter). What a comfortable rapport! I was talking TO Hollywood. Maybe they’d ask me to audition for the movie! The movie… Maybe Rosario Dawson needed an understudy… or a body double?
We could be twins!
I asked the set designer when they’d like to fly me out, explaining that my schedule was flexible enough to accommodate movie- shoots, sightseeing, and pool-parties. She told me she’d have her people call my people.
ANYWAY, it turns out they were able to pull the set together without my JUNK JUNK JUNK and Rosario politely declined my offer — we’re still totally friends
…So I finally watched The Movie last night. Ummm, Will Smith can fix my press anytime. Is that my review? Is that all I have to say? … Uhh, Rosario was convincingly ill and I bawled like a baby. There. Happy?? OH, and the garage-studio was super cute and perfect.
PS: Strangely, Rosario’s character ALSO nicknamed her press The Beast. What?!
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96°
I’m dripping with sweat. I’m marinating in sweat – the shop has got to be 100° . My head feels fuzzy… and my hands (are those my hands?) are leaving sweat-finger-prints on all the paper that I’m cutting.
Wait, I smell barbecue chicken! Wait, maybe I’m on fire…. False alarm. It’s really chicken.
So, I’m cutting paper in my bathing suit. I feel like I’m wearing a snowsuit in a sauna.
I love summer. I’m not even kidding.
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Wanamingo
My kitchen faucet broke (again) and as I crouched on the patio with the garden hose and plastic scrubby, my mind wandered to faraway lands. Specifically, Wanamingo, Minnesota. Oh, Wanamingo! Has anyone written an ode to thee? I was in Wanamingo today and overheard this “conversation” between a mother and child at the 60 Stop Gas Station:
Child: “I want eggs for breakfast.”
Mother: ” You can’t get everything you want. I wanted flowers for Mother’s Day and I got nuthin’!”
Oh, well. The REAL Wanamingo is full of chickens, barn cats, fictional alpacas and acres of hard-working folks that build chicken coops and excavate pig cemeteries – just for fun. These people walk around with just a hint of a smile, a smile that says, “I chop the logs to heat my house. I know how to grow potatoes. I know the difference between bush beans and pole beans.”
They also spend the Winter trying not to recreate a scene from The Shining.
I’M JUST SAYING.
Okay, so maybe I don’t have what it takes to step off the grid and live like Ma Kettle. Maybe the closest I get to feeling the heartland is living with a broken faucet. Fetching water for cooking makes me feel like a barbarian.
In between all my water fetching I made this :
It’s gonna be BIG people.
BIG.
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GRANDMA!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME??!!
Grandmas don’t read HOW and they certainly do NOT read SWISS MISS but they DO read Better Homes and Gardens. You know, BHG? See how I just dropped that abbrev? Grandma would thumb through the fashion and gossip mags at the checkout but like any good homemaker she would add the BHG to her cart. If she was feeling particular sassy, she’d throw in the DIY magazine (brought to you by the good people at BHG).
Oh, DIY! You know Martha Stewart (PS: Martha, I DO want to see how you hay your fields) reads you under the covers with a flashlight – praying that Alexis doesn’t march into the room and flip on the soft-and-natural light.
DIY magazine is doing a story on handmade goods – a “Best in Show” collection of the various craft shows around the country. We’ll be featured in the “Printed and Pressed” spread. Mmmm, printed and pressed… that makes me want a panini. Here are some photos – we can’t decide, although I think #4 tells a good story. Sometimes I go into the shop at night and Jen is just standing there like that. Shudder.
ONE MORE! (I photoshopped a smile on Jen’s face):
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A Poster on Rosin Paper
Recently, my roof was crawling with roofers and I watched while they threw hunks of 80-year-old shingles into my Lilac bushes. After screaming at them in the only Spanish I knew (¿De quién perro es ése??!! : Whose dog is that??!!) I grew very interested in a particular part of the process: a giant roll of red paper was used to cover my roof like gift-wrap – I thought it was strange and tried to mime some sort of conversation – my arms waving wildly, like I was landing a plane on an aircraft carrier. The foreman handed me a hundred-dollar-bill and told me I was special. I still don’t know what happened.
Madge is turning sixty AND ALSO celebrating her 35th wedding anniversary. I have the honor of creating a poster to commemorate this Holy Convergence. There is a roll of red rosin paper and a couple cans of ink in the shop that are dying to be a part of the project. Here’s a sneak peak:
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Are you my logo?
Back in the day When Men Wore Hats, back when cuffs were linked, when the boardroom had a bar, when men were men and women were secretaries; way back then, The Logo was king. I wish I could have been there. Thank God for Mad Men. Dear Lord, please protect Don Draper from small cell lung carcinoma. Amen.
I love a good logo. I love it like I love my mother. I want it to challenge me at every turn. I want it to lodge itself into my relational thinking. I want it to manipulate me. I DO.
Observe:
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Californy is the place you ought to be
California would be the perfect place to be except for one teeny-tiny thing. No Zeichen Press. But soon all of its fine citizens will gobble up our goods like manna in the desert. LIKE MANNA.
Will Los Angeles (and its glorious surrounding areas) embrace the simple and slightly twisted humor from Minnesota?
Stay tuned.
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My Google Shrine is bogus
What am I doing wrong? I devote myself to one search engine. ONE. There are so many more but my eye has never wandered. Sure, I played around a little bit with Yahoo – who didn’t? I just feel like this relationship is completely one-sided. I do. I give and give, search and search and when I FINALLY search for me, I get nothing but pages and pages of other letterpress studios. UM, that makes me ill. Listen, google: (If that is your real name) You either put me first or it’s over. That’s me; Zeichen Press. A design and letterpress studio in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Maker of fun and funny greeting cards and disc sleeves for one and all.
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First Base with Trader Joe’s
The Trader Joe’s card chick sent a fat check with a little note that said, “Dearest Zeichen Press, let’s get it on.”
Isn’t that romantic?
Sighhh, I love this stage of a relationship. Both a little awkward, both excited – sniffing each other’s bottoms. Other things go unnoticed – cleaning, bills, cooking, dad’s life-support machine.
I used to raise my hand in class, working my face to communicate a message to my teacher. It was important to get into character – my character was The Girl That Needs To Use The Bathroom Super Bad. It was serious. Of course, I’d be excused and head to the library. The librarian was the tough but lovable hunchback, Sister Avila. She loved the Dewey Decimal System. Never a word from her mouth – just the stern pencil-tapping was enough to make me stuff a sock in it. Every day there was a crisp new StarTribune on the big table. I would feign interest in Global Matters but couldn’t wait to get the comics.
If Trader Joe’s likes this next round of cards I owe it all to skipping class, Sister Avila, and the comics of the late-1980’s. I claimed to despise the Family Circus, but dammit – I read it every day. I also followed Mark Trail - the Cary Grant of the comics. BUT I saved The Far Side for the very end – Gary Larson was the Pope of the Funnies. If he ever comes out of his pen-and-ink cave, I will kiss his ring.
Okay, here we go:
