More on vicarious living…
Some people have places to go and people to see. NOT ME. I planted myself in a pot of dirt years ago and rely on friends, relatives, rumors, and Facebook to satisfy any (two-dimensional) cravings and wanderlust I might have.
Already this month, Jen texted me a photo she took of my brother (her husband) standing next to a card rack (with our cards) at Small World Books in California.
As if that wasn’t enough, my nephew met/stayed with our New Zealand distributor! I’m so glad she didn’t murder him! I asked my nephew to take photos of himself in front of our cards but he only sent a photo of his foot with Helen Harvey in the background.
I told him that was close enough.
Oh, AND The Intern ran a half marathon in NYC
so I made her a card using a printer’s block she gave me.
Running from the law and dressed as a 50s housewife, Pee-Wee said it best:
But I can’t help it. Thanks to my handy iPhone, I snap photos constantly… The animals have started building fortresses to hide from me.
Nice try, Millie. NICE TRY.
Here’s a new (Christmas) card. INSPIRED BY MY COMPULSION.
I stopped going outside sometime in November because I’m waiting to try out my Earthing Sandals.
I am thinking (fingers crossed!) that April will be the lucky month. Maybe I can join my neighbor’s walking club… they use walking poles and I don’t want to look like a weirdo without them… I better order some today…
Oh, I have created a lil’ masterpiece for an insurance company in Florida.
A two-sided card that Jen will print and the Alltrust consultants will throw at CEO’s as they run out the door. It turns out that Floridians need to be insured for more than just sinkholes, gator-attacks, and flakka-induced cannibalism. Who knew??
All of the Walking Club Fantasies and Semaphore-Practicing, inspired two new cards. I tried to make a Valentine’s Day card and I might have succeeded. YOU TELL ME.
And this one is actually Based On A True Story.
Back to daydreaming…
February 7, 1992 • 1:10 a.m.
Did I just wet my pants a little bit?? No… I am, like, totally, 42 weeks pregnant… That has to be my water breaking…
AND THUS BEGAN MY ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER OF MOTHERHOOD.
That baby turned 25 the other day and despite the challenges (super-poor, a string of stalkers, household hygiene issues, pretending to be a graphic designer/art director, more babies, homeschooling, Fran Shea’s Cat Ranch, and Zeichen Press) he still tolerates me.
I made a birthday card and I’ll show it to him after I explain where babies come from.
Oh, and SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS, RSVP licensed more of our art.
I believe I made myself pretty clear five years ago. And now I have no choice but to watch every season of everything on Netflix. I hope you’re happy.
I think Jesus said it best:
Who needs wax paper and crayon shavings when there are Zeichen Press cards??
And certainly not you. Order you loooover a card today.
Between writing poetry and sprinkling rose petals all over my own bed, I made this:
CRYING AND LAUGHING IN
THE SAME HOUR MAKES
HUMANS BETTER; STRONGER
“You know how every day someone asks “how are you?” And even if you’re totally dying inside, you just say “fine,” so everyone can go about their day? This show is the opposite of that. Hosted by author and notable widow (her words) Nora McInerny, this is a funny/sad/uncomfortable podcast about talking honestly about our pain, our awkwardness, and our humanness, which is not an actual word.“
Sure, talking about your gut health and fermented foods might make you the hit of a New Year’s Eve party, but try to remember it’s not about being popular… it’s about being healthy. HEALTHY.
Do I miss the days of eating and drinking whatever I wanted?? No, sir! Not when there are teenagers in the house who keep me from choking to death! Phew!
Thank the Lord I don’t ALSO have a tap-dancing sociopath in the house. That would make my new diet even more difficult and winning penmanship medals impossible.
Sometimes Millie puts her face right up to my face and her breath is so bad it fills me with rage. SPEAKING OF SMELLS, the third floor of my second apartment reeked of body odor (not mine) and potato curry, and every day I trudged down the hallway with a fat newborn and a backpack full of dreams. And that was how I crushed the Spring of 1992.
2016 is almost over but who’s still laughing? ME. That’s right, I may be surrounded by bad smells and bad news but I’m still on top. Here is my (perhaps) last Christmas card of the year:
Sandwiched between Freshman French and Physical Science was a class called Winter Sports. Three solid months learning badminton and cross-country skiing. Vintage equipment was pulled from a locked storage closet
and it was just like renting shoes from a bowling alley if the bowling alley was a Run on Baileys Building and Loan
and the disgruntled customers were 30, fifteen-year-old students
Class lasted for 50 minutes which was exactly enough time to gather winter wear from our lockers, run to the first floor, check out/swap boots and skis, bundle up, ski across the parking lot, turn around, ski back to school, return our gear/disrobe, run to our lockers, and head to class.
Speaking of Winter Sports, my friend and I discussed her Solo-Sledding adventures the other day. She told me it’s her Me Time. Good for her!