Blog - letterpress blog

The New Zealand distributor placed another huge order and I found Jen rocking in the corner, muttering something about paperwork and international shipping. With the intern gone, we are forced to actually PAY OUR EMPLOYEES. What next? Bring your daughter to work day?? Oh, we both do that. Every day.

WHAT?! How did that kitten get in there? They’re everywhere.

This blog turned three yesterday. If I weren’t so self-involved, I would have sent it a card and filled a piñata with entrails. But today, to celebrate, I invited the squirrel into my kitchen

to share an avocado and sat in someone’s urine on a concrete bench. It’s sinful to be jealous of my charmed life.

The intern packed up her carpetbag and rode away. I felt like we should hug but we didn’t – hugs are best left out of print shops. She made this before she left:

Go, my young grasshopper, go and use the life-skills I so generously shared with you.

Fred photographed the new cards – here’s my favorite:

That’s a true story.

ALSO: Becki Iverson at Metro Magazine wrote a nice thing about us. I think we’ll keep giving out that photo until we are 60 years old.

Nobody needs to see a photo of us taken in February.

Jen and I have trashed our share of hotel rooms. Dangled from our share of balconies. Saddled our share of large-scale dogs. Roped our share of ferrel cats. But Monday night, while hanging out the back of a speeding pick-up truck, her hair covered in vomit, Jen turned to me and said, “Thank God for our fans. If it weren’t for them, I don’t know how I’d go on.” My response could barely be heard through a mouthful of cotton-candy, “Especially Andy Schefman. Especially Andy Schefman…”

The heat broke like a fever and I’m left shivering in my hot pants and (court ordered) tube-top. I think it’s time to head out to the shop to see what that intern has been up to while I’ve been at the lake.

Melissa Peterman and George Keller turned a hot, mosquito-filled night in the Zeichen Press backyard into something magical.

The swarm of bees came at me like a swarm of bees and stuck their stingers efficiently into my face and left arm. 

The disfigurement that followed was sideshow-worthy and while I’m as eager as the next gal to take the show on the road, I knew this hideousness was only (sadly) temporary.

My forearm doubled in size and I considered tattooing an anchor on it a la Popeye (the sailor man).

Don’t worry, a can of Raid was emptied into their home/my trellis/the doorway to the shop. I’ll be getting back to work as soon as this Benedryl wears off.

Summers on Cape Cod before the invention of electronic mail (or personal computers) meant low-tide foraging, wiffle ball and handwritten letters. Letters were elaborate and could include drawings, mix-tapes, whipper-snappers, and live specimens.

I learned that the more letters written, the more received, so rainy days were spent diligently embellishing the news: Picnics with the Kennedy’s, shark hunts, ghost encounters – all sort of true.

There was (and is) no mailbox at 29 Freezer Road and so the day includes a walk to town for the newspaper and a visit to the post office. The post officers knew us by (last) name and quickly slid the day’s mail across the counter.

The Intern has been pulling orders with a smile on her face. How does she do it it?

My job is to bring them to the post office. I am tempted to fill the boxes with live specimens and whipper-snappers but I will restrain myself.

We have a New Andrea.

The Original Andrea got a life and only wants to email me about hypothetical cold-press coffee dates and cramps. They grow up so fast.

Jen’s on vacation and that means two things:

1) I am crying less.

2) I (the intern) have (has) more work to do.

The reps are faxing in their Christmas orders because they want to remind me that this Summertime happiness I feel is fleeting.

It’s good to keep me grounded.

Oh, and here’s why my work environment is not safe:

The customs official demanded we tell him our plans while in Toronto. I told him it was none of his business, and as I reached for the silver cigarette case in my coat pocket, I was wrestled to the ground. The tasers saved me a trip to the bathroom.

Thank God my husband speaks Canadian or we’d still be in the interrogation room.

I should have told that official that my plans were to watch t.v. in my bathroom mirror while soaking in the tub. I think that’s what I did? My head still hurts pretty bad from being banged on the terrazzo.

Like Dora the Explorer, I packed a map and a monkey in my backpack, finished my screwdriver, and headed out.

Using the handy Where To Buy page as a guide, I was able to track down three local stores that carry Zeichen Press goods. Needless to say, my reception was overwhelming – being hoisted up on shoulders and paraded down Queen Street was too much. Do you hear me, shopkeepers??

°°°

First shop: Outer Layer, a cheerful boutique. Full of fun and, dare I say, whimsy? No. I’ll never say that again.

But how else could I describe a doll that is also a cheese grater?

Or the Ann Taintor magnet collection on the antique bank safe?

Or a manager named Jett Black???

°°°

On to Shop #2: Valhalla Cards & Gifts:

This shop felt like everything in it was curated by a man named Chadwick. Wait, it was! From the Dumpling Dynasty Bunny Kit:

To the Unicorn Wishes action figure:

This shop wouldn’t let me leave – Chadwick finally had to throw me out. But not before he placed an order for more cards.

°°°

Okay, onto #3: The Paper Place:

Because paper is my bread & butter, I felt extra reverent crossing the threshold. As I knelt before the card rack, something inside me said, “hey! I wonder if this place has erasers shaped like peanuts.”

And it did! I bought the whole bowl.

I hugged the sock zebra before I left. It was time to go. I knew this because I saw the policeman walking through the door.

Until we meet again, Toronto. Until we meet again.