Blog - Letterpress

I’ve nursed a few babies in my day and that makes me an expert on sacrifice.

It does.

Or is it laziness? Making a bottle seemed like so much work! …Get out of my cozy bed, walk all the way to the kitchen, measure and pour powdered formula into a bottle, warm water in pan on stove, add water to bottle, test temperature

OR

lift up my shirt.

Anyway, I made a card for the new mother:

Isn’t that a comforting thought?

If I had a tumor, I’d want a group of strangers to pray it away.

Less messy than surgery.

Also, if I could train a field-full of meerkats to pray for me, I would.That would be adorable.

Thanks (or no thanks) to Facebook, phrases that were once packed with meaning, are like a watered-down drink: You are in our prayers… We are all praying for you…

These, followed by a frowny-face 🙁 are now much more common than a hand-written note.

🙁 x 1,000!

Someday we’ll create Encouragement Cards for the most grievous of events (will we??) but how about those events that still deserve more than a Facebook comment? How about: sewage backups, low-risk operations, stomach flus, power-outtages, lost dogs, lost luggage, car-jackings, rat-infestations, or hauntings?

Not quite tragic but still entitled to a show of support. A card like this (IN THE MAILBOX) would cheer a person up posthaste:

It was time for The Sign Of Peace, and as all members of the congregation turned to offer their hand for a firm shaking, I slowly let my sleeve swallow my hand.

With a forlorn look and one missing hand, I imagined the gasps of concern for my deformity. I turned to the family in the pew behind me — they would wonder if I was born crippled or if my hand had been lost in a bloody accident. I was eager to extend my handless arm, my face already prepared and appropriately pitiful.

Oh, but why do parents have to crush their children’s fantasies?

And here’s another story about hands:

I took woodshop in highschool.

I did. I was the only girl. The room was filled with dangerous power-tools and I secretly hoped for the “automatic A” decribed by the teacher: “If a student is dumb enough to sever a finger or an entire hand, they will receive an automatic A.” 

Unfortunately, I successfully made a box:Speaking of hands, here’s a new card:

Should I shower today or plan a fictional vacation?

Should I take down the Christmas tree or pet the cat?

Life is so challenging.

Decision du jour: Which card is funnier??

A)B)I have fictional vacations to plan and cats to pet — help me move on with my day.

Why hide your abnormality under a dingy flannel sack? Love suffers enough in this disposable culture and I will not be a lemming — I will stand up for the odd, the fractured, the misfit, the offbeat, the freaks. I will stand up and say, I embrace the grotesque!

As long as they don’t smell like urine.

I can handle just about any disfigurement — emotional or physical — that sits next to me on the bus, but my achilles heel in my mad-dash for sainthood, is my keen sense of smell.

Damn my olfactory perception.

I don’t think John Merrick

smelled like urine, so we would probably have been great friends.

I made two new cards that celebrate this subject. Feel free to give them to the person in your life that needs to know they’re special.

If you have someone in your life that smells like urine, they would probably appreciate this card very much.

Congratulations, future St. Blankblank.

**Spoiler Alert** Zeichen Press triumphed over Twenty-Twelve.

At times, the year was a nail-biter: will 2012 take it’s boot off of Zeichen Press’s face?… Will 2012 stop hitting Zeichen Press with a folding chair?… Yes and YES.

And as Zeichen Press says adieu to this Year Of Pestilence, Zeichen Press welcomes Twenty-Thirteen — welcomes it the way a mother welcomes the news of another pregnancy. The gift of amnesia is powerful and we are grateful for it. I’m wrapping up the year, as usual, in Brainerd, Minnesota. The temperature is hovering around a balmy 0° and as the supplies dwindle to beer and bacon, we are considering sending the children to town for chocolate and dvd’s. And medical marijuana.

Stay tuned…

I welcome the extra-ordinary. In fact, I am hyper-vigilant and ever-watchful for signs of miraculous happenings.

I ate two pounds of filet mignon on Christmas Eve and I’m pretty sure that was a miracle. It felt like a miracle — béarnaise sauce drizzled over huge hunks of very rare cow flesh doesn’t happen every day.I love Christmas Miracles, they are the most powerful kind of miracle — A change of heart is better than filet mignon and antlers growing out of a dog’s head is, perhaps, the most miraculous of all.

Jen did say I couldn’t make any more Christmas cards but I squeezed this one past her because she is a sucker for dogs and because I threw her computer in a snowbank.

It’s almost January and you know what that means: It’s time to wash my Smart Wool socks. And celebrate Christmas.

Jen told me I can’t write anymore Christmas or Chanukah cards. After I egged her face, I wrote a Get Well card:

The Christmas Tree lot shack doubled as a meth-lab and while I admire ingenuity and entrepreneurship, I like my Holiday Traditions to be more “cozy-by-the-fire” and less “mix-up-a-batch-in-the-tub.”

BUT THAT’S JUST ME.

The “lot” contained exactly eight trees but due to a Christmas Miracle, we found the perfect tree!

We only had to retie the tree back onto the car once. To be fair, cooking meth doesn’t really prepare a person for handling Christmas Trees.

My Jewish friends don’t have these stories and this saddens me, so I made them a card:

The No-Coast Craft-O-Rama was a success!

I think it might be because Jen and I were wearing our new uniforms. It’s hard to know — but marketing is SO important these days and we really do our best to be, as the kids say, cutting edge.

After the show, we packed our uniforms in bubble-wrap, sat by a roaring fire, and watched the snow fall.

And fall.

And fall.That inspired a Chanukah card!

This goes out to my Jewish brothers and sisters: