Blog - New Cards

This isn’t the first time I blamed The Cats for a crime they didn’t commit.

Nor will it be the last. The odor of rotten animal is unforgettable and like the odor of rotting potato, it is embedded in the brain. But sometimes the brain jumbles the smell of decomposing rodent with the smell of a blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can.

And that is where my story begins…

The Summer Breeze gently wafted through the upstairs windows. It was pleasant, until an occasional repulsive odor stung my nostrils. I blamed The Cats for hunting, killing, and hiding their prey somewhere on my second floor.

But a search for a body was in vain and a garbage can investigation led me to the real suspect: that damn blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can!

Mea culpa, Tib!  When will I ever trust you again??

Speaking of breezes (and puns??)… Here’s a new thank you/congratulations card.

Jen’s in Austria because she loves gazebos.The Intern (Madge) is in Italy because she loves dreamy landscapes.And I am here because I love the smell of flooded basements. Is that asbestos tile??

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. See how we just throw caution to the wind over here?? I almost forgot what the floor looked like under 1,000 lbs of soaked carpet! And that was my lesson about not taking things for granted.

Between all that lesson-learnin’, I made a new card.Don’t hurry home guys!

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!

Remember last year when my lung collapsed and my mom had to sleep on a cot in my dingy bedroom so she could walk me to the bathroom in the middle of the night?And EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?

No?

I know you’re wondering if the EMTs were cute and why my bedroom was so dingy. Um, my mom volunteered to be their Resusci Annie doll and I’ve been a little too busy building the Zeichen Press Empire to focus on home-making frivolity.

But, between choosing paper/envelopes for the Spring Release and conquering territories, I did refresh my bedroom. And now I see no reason to ever leave it.Choosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.

Speaking of self-medicating (was I?) here’s a Spring Release teaser (see/buy ALL 12 from the shop!):

1985 : Minneapolis

One 13 year old girl (me) biked to Calhoun Square in Uptown to buy a record for her friend’s birthday and almost kept it for herself (myself).

I might have forgotten to ask to borrow the bike from my sister. And might have forgotten to ask permission from my mom to bike there. And I might have not brought a bike lock. And the bike might have been stolen from the entrance where it was super-discreetly parked behind the Calhoun Square signage. AND I might have had to walk home. 

But how could I not risk everything (being grounded) to get that album when I was pretty sure Prince wrote Paisley Park about me??:

Colorful people whose hair

On 1 side is swept back

Sigh.

Chickenpox?Broken femur?SERIOUSLY???

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.

Sandwiched between Woodworking IIand tanning booths at Golden Tan in the Richfield Hub (Um, Off-Campus Study HalI),was a class called Printmaking. *Actual linocut carved while under Sr. Bernardine’s tutelage. 

Maybe I should thank Sr. Bernardine (‘s grave) for opening my mind to all things print-related?

Inspired by that lil’ puppy:

Oh, wouldn’t I look smart in my new floral, lightly quilted, Guinnea Sax dress and ivory blouse! The thin silk ribbon under my collar tied so prettily… Real leather open-toe sandals with cuffed socks actually MATCH MY BLOUSE… Eleven years old and I just knew I already had the world by the shanks. THE SHANKS. 

First Picture Day at my new school was going to change everything! Sure, I spend nights in bed carefully drawing miniature Black Stallions in the margin of my diary. And sure, I rarely brushed my stick-straight blonde, center-parted, mom-cut hair. But I was pretty sure I looked like Sissy Spacek, circa 1973.With backpack securely fastened over both shoulders, I proudly marched through the alley-entrance onto the school playground/parking lot.

WHAT’S THIS?! The girls/my classmates are wearing Guess Jeans and white t-shirts!My heart sank.

And they burst out laughing at the very site of me!HOW COULD THEY?! THE AGONY! Thank God my call home from the nurses office only resulted in my mom coaxing me to stay at school long enough to have my picture taken, otherwise there wouldn’t be this evidence. THANK GOD.

~Dedicated to the cool kids~…And someday I’d enact my telekinetic revenge… 

Discovering Instacart might change my life.These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.

IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.

And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?

If only the shop were actually connected to my house.Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.

Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.