My cards express all of the feelings for Mother’s Day.
Done.







The weather is (finally) nice and that means the shop is open!
Like, LITERALLY, open.
I observed Jen scurrying about (just like the mice we had to poison last year) while I took photos of The New Cards. Here’s a teaser:
I won’t even speak of the weather BECAUSE IT’S UNSPEAKABLE.
You can’t break me, Weather.
You’ll never break me.
Everyone knows that the only cure for the cold is wood type. And alcohol. 
Jen and I have been having a debate about the next birthday card. And by debate, I mean she is, like, “I don’t care.” Doesn’t she know the dangers of Not Caring??
ANYWAY, here’s the card. BTW, that’s a vulture, waiting for you to die.

Whew! This birthday was a doozy!
Yes, we played 221B Baker Street.
YES, we ate ham & swiss sandwiches.
Here’s a new birthday card… that girl and pig look familiar…
Oh, another Spring is here!
Should I have photographically documented the first card printed for our Spring Release?
Probably.
But I was pretty busy having a Nurse Jackie marathon.
I DID write/design these:
See how I give and give and give??
Growing up one block South of Lake Calhoun in the 1970’s meant two things:
1) Over-charging for watered-down Kool-Aid on the boulevard
2) Wearing a neighbor’s pilly-bottomed blue leotard for a swimsuit
Like little ducklings, we’d follow my mom down the block for a day at Thomas Beach; she’d stand ankle-deep in the water, hands on hips, plotting. And staring at the only skyscraper in the Minneapolis skyline.
Nothing could come between a girl and her Etch A Sketch in 1981.
NOTHING.
Just look at that tight-lipped concentration… LOOK AT IT.
Maybe I was creating a message for my mom? Or a beautiful design? Or a note to my brother begging him to stop slowly poisoning my parakeet and calling me Oot Head.
WHO KNOWS?
My Etch A Sketch has been replaced with 10,000 pounds of letterpress equipment, a laptop, and Jen. (Sorry, Jen.)
Here’s a new Valentine’s Day card… Lead type and an antique cut can barely compare to the magic of my childhood.
Oh, wouldn’t I look smart in my new floral, lightly quilted, Guinnea Sax dress and ivory blouse! The thin silk ribbon under my collar tied so prettily… Real leather open-toe sandals with cuffed socks actually MATCH MY BLOUSE… Eleven years old and I just knew I already had the world by the shanks. THE SHANKS.
First Picture Day at my new school was going to change everything! Sure, I spend nights in bed carefully drawing miniature Black Stallions in the margin of my diary. And sure, I rarely brushed my stick-straight blonde, center-parted, mom-cut hair. But I was pretty sure I looked like Sissy Spacek, circa 1973.
With backpack securely fastened over both shoulders, I proudly marched through the alley-entrance onto the school playground/parking lot.
WHAT’S THIS?! The girls/my classmates are wearing Guess Jeans and white t-shirts!
My heart sank.
And they burst out laughing at the very site of me!
HOW COULD THEY?! THE AGONY! Thank God my call home from the nurses office only resulted in my mom coaxing me to stay at school long enough to have my picture taken, otherwise there wouldn’t be this evidence. THANK GOD.
~Dedicated to the cool kids~
…And someday I’d enact my telekinetic revenge…
Discovering Instacart might change my life.
These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.
IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.
And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?
If only the shop were actually connected to my house.
Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.
Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.
January has already been SO busy. I don’t know about Jen, but I’ve had to take a really active role as a listener/watcher.
First this: (Sherlock!)

And then this: (Serial Podcast: season 2!)

And now THIS?? (Making A Murderer, brought to you by the good folks at Netflix and Men’s Wearhouse!)

It’s a lot to keep track of… I’m taking notes if anyone needs them.
Don’t ask me how (DON’T ASK ME), but I was able to squeeze in one card:

I’m pretty sure it was our Jewish neighbor (and not Santa Claus) who put our presents under the tree when we were at Midnight Mass.
I got a globe.
But I barely remember that! I barely remember crying and sulking in my bedroom! Because this was the Lord’s day, not mine!
Merry Christmastime, everyone!
Feeling pretty fancy over here because The Washington Post picked up the Religion News Service article! (Is that how it works?? See? TOO fancy for me!)
But, obviously, not as fancy as Dinah.