Blog - Letterpress

I am still focused on birthday cards every day but

I make time to obsessively google Novara Big Buzz Bike. Oh, I’ll find one. MARK MY WORDS. When Pam the Cat got smashed by a car, I looked to Craigslist for another kitten to fill the cat-hole-sized space in my heart — enter: Tib.

Different than being raised from the dead (a la Lazarus

or Gage from Pet Semetary – a book I didn’t whip across the room in the middle of the night, circa 1988. Just kidding, I did whip it across the room, circa 1988.) Thanks to Craigslist, bikes and cats can be replaced!

Stay tuned!

I don’t always (usually) (ever?) do what I’m told but when our New England rep said she wanted MORE BIRTHDAY CARDS and less Freaktastic,

I said, FINE. After crying myself to sleep, I woke up and made this:

I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY, PAM.

When I need to know what month it is I just observe the animals around me. Simple!

HANG IN THERE, TIB – only 25 days till April!

Jen and The Intern and I are taking a break from a heated discussion about which cards should be dumped and which cards should be spared. Decisions like this require heartlessness and detachment. I don’t even care because I replaced my heart with an alligator’s heart. (COLD BLOODED.) I threw the dumped cards in the alley just to prove how much I didn’t care. 

(That’s one of the dumped cards and I STILL DON’T EVEN CARE.)

I already moved on. 

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?

ME TOO.

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:

FINGERS CROSSED.