Blog - Family

September is the schizophrenic sibling in the Year Family—one day a beastly 90°, the next day fighting off dinosaurs in the living room. Dust off your crock-pots, it’s time for meat and vegetables to mingle on the countertop for hours. Once Upon A Time, I got a massage in September. It was from a hobbit—he blessed the vessel that was me and scampered around the table like his footsies were on fire. When it was over, he requested a hug. I consented because I have never hugged a hobbit and I didn’t want to crush his tiny hobbit-heart.

Maybe it’s the Grilled Spamwiches

or the Walking Tacos. Maybe it’s the 4-H Barn, full of homespun country talent.

Or maybe it’s the Birth Barn.Ham!

Perhaps it is a combination of these magical happenings. This yearly phenomenon fills me with such joy… such eager anticipation! There are visual delights to behold whenever the head is turned!

It reminds me of The Birth of Our Lord. I bet the shepherds know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, I shouldn’t question my inspiration.

Here are two new Christmas cards:

It was Jen’s birthday yesterday. She celebrated by cramming her car with kids and driving East for five hours.

I celebrated by going to my In-Laws to hear some family history —  a combination of Downton Abbey and Angela’s Ashes.

BUT before these festive events, I gave Jen a card:Perhaps you recognize that man?His pants are usually radioactive, but not for this card.

Time alone was rare. But in a pinch, I was forced to conjure up an imaginary playmate. This was a strange exercise and not something I was particularly good at.

Other children lived in complex and exotic worlds of make-believe — I don’t think the “friends” in their pretend worlds were from Minnesota — with names like Carura Fadida and Anarada Salsa.

There was a girl who lived in the glossy tile next to the toilet. I spoke with her when there was no soul around.

Her name was “Fran.”

Rooted in reality, with a strong sense of the superfluousness of an imaginary world. I was, and am, from German stock. Zees duss neecht make senss.

It must be that toe-hold in reality that permits me to create the following:

There were three things needed for airplane travel with a group of (Shea) children (in the 1970’s):

1) Hubba Bubba

2) Mad Magazine

3) Air Sickness Bags

I don’t think there was ever a flight that didn’t involve one (or more) of us vomiting. Because of this, we quickly located our air-sickness bags in the front seat pockets before seat belts were even fastened.

My parents pretended they didn’t know us.

It was shameful (and a relief) to hand your vomit-filled bag to the stewardess. In those days, the airline logo was proudly emblazoned on each bag. But no more. Today, the bag is white! Who wants to throw-up in a white bag?

Not me.

I designed a bag that I can’t wait to get in front of the bigwigs at SunCountry. They’ll love it.

Our #1 Fan just joined us on The Capeand I’m so glad he’s not a serial killer. He’ll be here for a few days and then we’ll have to say goodbye. I really, really hate saying goodbye. I hate it so much, I made a card:

I’ve been told that it’s important to take a break — get in the car, hop on a plane, inject yourself with propofol — whatever it takes. I love free advice — remember when everyone told me to get my cat fixed? She did die but I hate dwelling on details.

Anyway, I decided to take that break…

Step one was important and involved shaving the dog.

This took about two hours because she insists on wearing the wig.

Step two involved tuna-salad. That’s self-explanatory.

And step three was spent poring over maps. This step was critical because, for some reason, I would be the person driving the car. “WHAT?!” you say. And rightly so.

Yes, for two and a half hours, my passengers/prisoners sat with clenched jaws, praying for safe passage or a quick, painless death.

Praise the Lord, prayers were answered, tuna salad was consumed, ticks were pulled, and screens were repaired.

It was only 24 hours, but it felt longer. If someone you love is diagnosed with a terminal illness and wants to make their life feel like it’s dragging on and on, send them to a place without flushing toilets — a place where you are forced to haul your own water to pour into the toilet bowl so the toilet will (magically) flush.

The drive home was terrifying and I gripped the steering wheel like a scrap of wood floating by a freshly wrecked ship. If the other drivers on 35W only knew my fear, they would have given me my own lane and maybe a police escort.

Off-key Christmas carols float dreamily through the Summer air, the ice-cream truck trolls for kids using low-fi audio technology. Water-balloons are filled, teams are picked (bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?) but distractions are everywhere and soon talk turns from who is on which team to pretend lands filled with orphaned children. Poor, parentless children, left to cobble together meals from mint leaves and wild rhubarb.

Summertime, and the children and animals are off-leash — days are filled with sprinklers, wet bathing suits, hot dogs burned on the grill, and day dreaming.

Here’s a new card:

Like Bread & Pickle (LOVE their lattes) but it serves turkey chowder in an air-sickness bag. 

Life is full of gratitude and regret. Both should be acknowledged. Hopefully via a Zeichen Press card. I am sure that if we all thoroughly examined our consciences, we would discover a whole room of regret. That room would be furnished with a urine-stained futon, a musty trunk, and an ash tray. That’s sad!

CONVERSELY, the gratitude room is full of Daylilies and cookie jars.

Here are some cards for both occasions: And don’t act like you don’t need both cards.

We still love you.

I think that means Seize Mother’s Day. But maybe not – I am really only fluent in Pig-Latin.

As far as I know, we all have mothers. I don’t think Science has done away with that yet. And I’m going to boldly state that the majority of readers of the Is That Funny blog love their mothers. Why? My research shows that people who $*#%-ing love Zeichen Press also $*#%-ing love their mothers. My research involved a picture-day slideshow and ham salad sandwiches. Also, $50 bills stuffed in a piñata. It was unorthodox but revealing.

You still have time to order a Mother’s Day card (and a card for your Mother-In-Law, dear God, DO NOT FORGET HER) from the shop! We will ship it to you so you have time to send (or give) it to mom.

But, don’t let me tell you what to do. I mean, if you don’t want to celebrate your mom (OR mother-in-law!) on this one day of the year, that’s your decision. I’m sure she won’t be hurt at all. It will never be brought up again.

Judy was tired of being stuck upstairs. She longed for the streets. She longed for adventure. She longed for danger.

Day after day, trapped by that drooling, excitable houseguest. It was just too much. She had only one choice: jump off the balcony. Thank goodness the deck broke her fall. This wasn’t the first time she threw caution to the wind. It was, in fact, the third. Words are unnecessary when there is photographic evidence of this nature (if you are squeamish, scroll no more):

That’s what a tail looks like when all of the nice stuff has been ripped off of it. Or, as the vet told me, “degloved.” We can’t imagine what she did in the cat world to deserve that treatment.

Just when we stopped crying ourselves to sleep, she came home looking like a BP oil spill casualty.Meow!

Poor Judy, only six lives left. Use them wisely.

Judy happens to be my mother’s name and so this is the perfect way to introduce a new Mother’s Day card:And just to keep it fair, here is a Father’s Day card: