Blog - Murder

Tib knows it’s summer because the screens are on.

And *I* know it’s summer for other, more important, reasons.But I’m trying to be a better person/less into body-sculpting, so I decided to read a book. It was written by The Intern’s daughter, Nora McInerny Purmot.Chapter 25 was especially fun to read because Madge is so near and dear to my heart and I could relate to the notion of elder-abuse.Except my mom has made it very clear that she wants to be euthanized via pillow-suffocation, pre-elder-abuse.

Oh, mom!

After coughing the web of mucus from my throat, it was time to choose paper and envelope colors for the Spring Release.Dinah told me later that she was plotting my murder while I took this photo.

Oh, Dinah! What will make you snap?!

Wait, tell us more about the web of mucus!

No! No more. Onto more important things.

Like frogs im Deutschland.Who needs pants when you have legs like that? Amiright??

One of our many cats had chronic diarrhea. We kept her around because she produced litter after litter of adorable white kittens.

And because coming home was always a surprise — where would we find her poop today?? In the mitten-bin… in the laundry basket… under my daughter’s pillow??

Life is so full of surprises!

Like, when the vet called to say she died after he removed her ovaries. SURPRISE! Oh, but now she doesn’t send us on poop-hunts, because she’s buried in a shallow grave in the backyard.

First life zigs, and then it zags!

Nothing could come between a girl and her Etch A Sketch in 1981.NOTHING.

Just look at that tight-lipped concentration… LOOK AT IT.Maybe I was creating a message for my mom? Or a beautiful design? Or a note to my brother begging him to stop slowly poisoning my parakeet and calling me Oot Head.

WHO KNOWS?

My Etch A Sketch has been replaced with 10,000 pounds of letterpress equipment, a laptop, and Jen. (Sorry, Jen.)

Here’s a new Valentine’s Day card… Lead type and an antique cut can barely compare to the magic of my childhood.

January has already been SO busy. I don’t know about Jen, but I’ve had to take a really active role as a listener/watcher.

First this: (Sherlock!)

And then this: (Serial Podcast: season 2!)

And now THIS?? (Making A Murderer, brought to you by the good folks at Netflix and Men’s Wearhouse!)

It’s a lot to keep track of… I’m taking notes if anyone needs them.

Don’t ask me how (DON’T ASK ME), but I was able to squeeze in one card:

Some things are predictable – and thank goodness! It’s important to have things to count on… runny noses in February, militant-radical beheadings, and birthdays.The kittens just stole the strand of toilet paper that I was using to wipe my runny nose… ISIS militants cover their faces in black balaclavas… and I write birthday cards.

OH, LIFE.

With the warm weather comes mating animals and flies covering the shop windows.And nothing else. NOTHING ELSE.

One might ask, “I wonder why that window is so filthy?” And another might respond, “Shhh, just close your eyes while I slowly and firmly place this pillow over your face…”

There.

Now, onto the flies. I did all the research and learned that these are no ordinary flies. The internet told me that they are called Cluster Flies, so I vacuumed them up and made this card:

By age nine, I would delicately,

with my right hand, fold down the sharp fins of a Sunfish.

Why? 

So I could use my left hand to insert the rusty pliars into the gasping mouth of my catch to retrieve the swallowed hook.

If I was lucky.

If I wasn’t lucky, I’d stare at my motionless bobber for hours.

*Some backstory: My older brother (third of eight) allowed me to fish with him if I did whatever he said, and didn’t cry. He was SERIOUS about fishing. I had glasses and greasy blonde hair.

**Some backstory about the backstory: My brother was born in September, and I was already a sprouted seed in our Mom’s belly by the next Summer.

I think I’ve used the bobber-watching metaphor before, but it is APT. Everyday, I wait for my agent to tell me to get the rusty pliars.

Why doesn’t he ever tell me to get the rusty pliars??

He just tells me to “hang in there.”Oh, back to my Mom… She has 22 grandkids. This is her with the latest:HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

Now that the temperature has dropped to depressing lows, I’ve turned to TLC reruns for comfort. …My Strange Addiction is the best thing on television… Why wouldn’t I gorge myself on other people’s dysfunction?

But enough about women addicted to drinking their own urine. Here’s a card about perspective.

I think that box was checked on my elementary school progress reports… But who could be bothered with such details??

Not me. NOT ME. And that’s why I secured a blank progress report, checked the best boxes, and brought it to my parents.

See? I wasn’t that easily distracted.

°°

I am busy taking photographs of the new cardsbut not too busy to document some pretty fascinating activity:

Aren’t you glad you watched that??

I know I’m supposed to be doing something… Oh, that’s right, putting hungry vegetables on a card.No??

It’ll come to me after I stare out the window and pet that cat.