Posts in Letterpress
Oh, I KID! I love hearing the signs of Spring! Cawing crow and distant chainsaw, I HEAR YOU. I also see the sun setting later, like it’s November, BUT IT ISN’T. If Winter were actually a six-month marathon, I’d shove so much grain-free chips and guacamole in my fanny pack, stock my running-bandolier with a variety of hydration gels and, ONCE AGAIN, salute the outdoors for being a worthy adversary.
But that’s silly! Guacamole would turn brown and my chips would get stale! I will just stream movies, write cards, and fashion the hair I pull off my sweater into a wreath.
My firstborn turned 26 yesterday and between bites of angel food cake, I did the math and figured out that’s more than 6 years older than I was when he was born. I invited him over when I was done with my calculations. He tied a cloth napkin on Millie’s head because he was so grateful that I saved him some birthday cake . Oh, to be young!
I’ll give him this card in about 40 years:
How could my mom have known when I was born I’d spend so much time trying to get Martha Stewart‘s attention?
And so little time in the space program?? Silly mom! Didn’t she know that Martha’s career as a stockbroker was about to be traded for a career in the catering business? And that I would hate wearing helmets??
I do challenge Martha to prepare a fennel and smoked salmon salad in zero-gravity while I set my lead type to create a greeting card for the disadvantaged masses.
HOW ABOUT IT, MARTHA??
I scream that repeatedly the morning after a substantial snowfall – it’s really helpful and my family appreciates it so much.
When I’m done warning everyone on my block, I always feel inspired:
It was 1979, so he only needed short shorts, roller skates, headphones, and passion. He skated, nay, DANCED, around Lake Calhoun — it was a performance for no one, or was it for everyone??
I’ll never know what came through the cans on his ears, but it must have been something funky because he danced like the good folks of Soul Train.
Now here I sit, maybe someday I’ll don my roller-skates and boogie with my new headphones…
UNTIL THEN, I shall create.
Don’t you hate when your Mom recommends movies crammed with compound fractures and skull-stomping
and you can only salvage your emotional health by writing/designing a Valentine’s Day card?
Is it wrong that I was more concerned about getting a good photograph of today’s event than of my house being engulfed in flames?
And why was the fireman so happy?
I guess he just loves the outdoors as much as I do! -12° makes me smile and laugh, too — and I’m not even a sociopath!
After the smoke cleared (LITERALLY), I made a Valentine’s Day card and called 911 to give it to him:
I’ve already not been murdered by a Craigslist poster selling firewood and done (most) of my Christmas Shopping via Amazon. If I were born 50 years earlier my house would be freezing and my kids would cry hearty tears on Christmas Morning. I can only praise newborn baby Jesus for my easy-peasy life. (Sorry that when He grew up He had to be tortured and die and stuff.)
ANYWAY, the fire is roaring and UPS is delivering whatever my warm-ish heart desires. Isn’t that what this Season is all about?? Between my online-obsession and stoking the fire, I channeled some important words spoken by the Virgin Mary:
I spend my days and nights writing and designing… Feverish and barely stopping to eat, I create.
If only I had my own Antonio Salieri. IF ONLY. I wrote a Christmas card. Or whatever.
Between stalking housepets
and watching scandalous/made-for-Netflix adaptations of Margaret Atwood novels,
I’ve been working on THE PERFECT thank you card to stuff in our online orders. Jen and the Intern keep rejecting everything I make and that’s really hard on my fragile ego.