Blog - Tortured Soul

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…

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:

Secured to her bonnet with picture wire, butcher’s twine, and Christmas Spirit (egg-nog). That spruce-top sat atop her head for the entire season of Advent.

She knew that it offset her dour expression — an expression she couldn’t redesign. Oh, but the tiny tree brought delight to all she passed!

For those blissful weeks, nobody seemed to notice her stern glower, her face — twisted into the judgmental scowl went unnoticed. She imagined wearing other elaborate fancies on her head — but for now, this would do:

I was once one of them — an innocent amusement park customer. I looked down at them now, from the highest man-made point in Shakopee, Minnesota. I sighed and listened to the chug-chug-chugging from beneath our coaster — our lives depended on the integrity of a giant bicycle chain. Our open-casket hesitated for just a moment at the tippy-top of the steel summit — hesitated just enough for me to grasp the inevitable free-fall. And as we plummeted to our possible deaths, I screamed.

And wet my pants.

The End

How old was she?

Don’t judge me.

Obviously, I wasn’t born riding a roller coaster, I was born screaming. And wetting my pants.

*Hint: this photograph was taken close to the time of the event and **Double Hint: I’m not the baby.Speaking of literary themes, there is a lot (not really) to dissect in this new (Holiday/Winter Season?) card:

The Winter Walk Home from school included two memorable rituals: Dipping our un-mittened hands in 25¢ Tom Thumb coffee (how old IS she?) and passing by a very high retaining wall.

The wall held up the yard of our enemies: Two freckle-faced, red-headed brothers. These boys went to a Public School and as if that isn’t bad enough, they took great pleasure in tormenting me.

I will remind you that this is what I looked like:

Why would anyone want to harm such a sweet creature?

Armed with boulders of snow, poised-and-ready atop the wall — they would wait. Down Vincent Avenue I trudged: snow-pants under my plaid skirt, grease-covered hand-me-down coat, knit cap with sheepskin earflaps.

Again, why would anyone want to harm such a sweet creature?

I won’t tell you the ending.

We had a dusting of snow the other day but I knew better than to break out the snow-pants and knit cap. It was merely a teaser, a preview, an appetizer, an AMUSE-GUEULE.

Speaking of snow, here’s a new card: 

I can’t wait until scientists clone the Woolly Mammoth.

Some might call it reckless curiosity, I call it Vegas-style science. Implanting salvaged Woolly Mammoth nuclei into an unsuspecting Asian Elephant sounds safe to me — what could happen? 

Meanwhile, I lay awake and imagine receiving (or not receiving) a baby Woolly Mammoth as a gift. 

Bears have it best — fattening up and slipping into their Wintertime coma. I sit here, like a fool, planning my Wintertime Wardrobe — if I never had to shower, I would wear my neck to ankle long-underwear uninterrupted.

I have Faith that Winter will eventually turn to Spring.

In Spring, I will tear off my layers of long-underwear. I will bury my Smartwool in the backyard. I will shun my calf-length coat like an old boyfriend. (I can’t believe I was with YOU!!)

In Spring, kids graduate from educational institutions. And because I am a Giver, I give you these: New graduation cards. Don’t be like, “Why are you thinking about graduation in October?”

Just accept the greeting card calendar. ACCEPT IT.