“Huge elephants! Huge jellyfish! Huge whale!”

That was Charlotte, as we made our way through the American Museum of Natural History about two months ago. There’s nothing quite like going to the museum with an active, curious toddler in tow. You see everything as if you’d never laid eyes on it before and it’s all magic, all over again.

We make it up to the natural history museum whenever we can, and the last time we went, about two months ago, she was on fire. We spotted jellyfish, seals, zebras, squirrels, owls, butterflies, fish, deer…just about every animal you can think of. Nevermind for the moment that every specimen at the museum is long dead; it will never cease to amaze me that in New York City, where you can feel so removed from any sort of wildlife, you can walk in and see all of these incredible organisms that inhabit(ed) our planet. It’s incredible.

Post-Marked #5: Animalia is now available exclusively in our shop through Monday, December 5, 2011…and Post-Marked #4: Remaining Wilderness is available through this coming Monday, November 28 – two at once, for the weekend!

And, suddenly…it’s November!

My mom has an incredible green thumb, and her dad, Grandfather Bud to me, studied forestry at Syracuse. Growing up identifying every plant that crossed our path (or was even close to our path), I’ve learned enough to identify most common plants, but I’m still no expert. More than anything, I have a serious appreciation for the astounding complexity of plant life.

Between printing, packaging, and sending out holiday card orders like mad, I also launched the third new collection of Post-Marked journals and albums on Tuesday. The stamps on these books celebrate everything botanical, and feature a gorgeous, bright selection of vintage U.S. and international stamps. My favorite would have to be the Moroccan olive branch…although the diamond Russian mountain flowers stamp is a close second!

There are a few of the Botanica books left in our shop and they’re available until November 14. On November 15 we’ll launch the fourth collection in the Post-Marked series and Botanica will be all gone!

I know this press is meant to be ours because when I went out to meet it for the first time, it had its own Charlotte-in-residence. I saw a brilliant little brown spider and egg sacs galore on her web. Hundreds of tiny spiders were crawling out in to the world in bright sunlight. It was meant to be.

Charlotte #2
This press belonged to the inimitable Kim Merker and made its way to us via Tim Fay, one of the most dedicated printers I have the pleasure of knowing, who publishes The Wapsipinicon Almanac. It’s by luck of timing that the press became ours and we certainly intend to keep it working in the tradition of its previous operator, doing the very best work we can…and lots of it.

The Great Nebula in Orion / Robert Gendler

That’s one thing I love about this time of year, after the intense hustle and bustle of the holiday season – that moment when I finally stop for one second and actually look around and notice the stars, my breathing, the cold air on my face. Like a car starting a steep uphill climb, I feel myself shift gears. Here we go.

If you asked me to come up with one wish, it would be that Matt and Charlotte could know Grandmother Maggie – I am her namesake, after all. Matt has picked up on her weight in my life by now and I hope to be able to have Charlotte learn how much this one woman means to the person I am.

My grandmother died in November of 1996, a little more than a month shy of her 73rd Christmas. Not one Christmas has passed since that felt quite right.

Last February, a package arrived at our little apartment in Brooklyn; a long delayed package that the post office had attempted to deliver but had been returned to the sender, our good friends the Thomases in Omaha. My brother, sister, and I grew up with Johnny, Chris, and Geoff Thomas in our earliest years in Omaha. Chris now lives in Brooklyn and we are great friends and see each other regularly. John & Gretchen (patriarch and matriarch, respectively) keep in touch and the whole family is near and dear to us.

The package that was shipped in December finally arrived in our hands last February, after being redelivered to Chris. Chris and Charlotte and I met for lunch and he handed off the package, not knowing what his mom had so carefully packed, shipped, and re-shipped. All we knew was that it was “irreplaceable” and we “had to have it!” Charlotte and I walked home with the light box under my left arm, my right hand holding up the hood on Charlotte’s winter bear suit against the cold weather.

We arrived home and set the wrapped gift aside, waiting for Matt to come home so we could all open it together. When he arrived, he opened the box, with Charlotte on his lap, and read aloud Gretchen’s card.

Charlotte & Matt, unwrapping the gift

“Dearest Charlotte,

Your Great-Grandmother Maggie Steele & Gretchen”

Never in my dreams did I imagine Charlotte would be able to receive a Christmas present from Grandmother Maggie, the Queen of Christmas. Yet, here it was, 13 years after her death, on our kitchen table in Brooklyn, next to my sweet girl’s tiny hands; the thing I wished for more than anything was real.

This little gesture; first, by my grandmother more than 20 years ago, and then by Gretchen, elicited an intensely visceral response from me. Maggie Steele was a force for style and love and energy and she created so much good in our lives. I can’t even begin to tell you the wonder of Christmases at my grandparents’, or of the love and pride she felt for my brother, sister, and me. We all need someone like that in our lives – someone who not only supports us unconditionally, but sings our praises, unasked.

The Royal Doulton Santa mug stays out year round, the way Maggie Steele’s framed eggnog recipe does, a reminder of the joy, happiness, and wonder in the world and – most importantly – the magic of Christmas my grandmother so fervently believed in and worked so hard to spread.

Not a day passes now that I don’t look at that Santa mug on our kitchen shelf. Charlotte is quite taken with it. Maybe it’s the full white beard, or the sweet sparkling eyes, but all I see is my grandmother every time I look at that little red and white smiling face.

(you can visit this site for the full text of John Koethe’s beautiful poem “What the Stars Meant”)

It’s absolutely redundant to say that I love the physical structure of books. If I didn’t love the structure, I wouldn’t be doing this work. That said, I have aspirations of creating books that beautifully and successfully blend text, imagery, and binding. That interest led me to The Fine Press Book Association and I became a member the moment I saw the letterpress printed cover of the Fall 2010 issue of their journal, Parenthesis.

My copy arrived Thursday and I’ve had it in my hands every moment I can since. There are wonderful reviews of fine press editions, as well as articles about process, technique, and about printers and binders and their background and inspiration. There is a wonderful review of Deep Wood Press’s incredible edition of Heart of Darkness and of Carolee Campbell’s edition of Nathaniel Tarn’s collection of poems, The Persephones (Ninja Press), featuring lushly textured leaves of domestic etch shaded with sumi ink layered with salt. Just the photos are breathtaking; I can only imagine the actual poems.

The moral of this little Saturday post: It’s important to keep feelers out for great inspiration all the time.

Running through the sprinkler with Charlotte

During Iowa’s massive drought (one of those climatic markers of seasons and times in agricultural areas), in the roasty toasty summer of 1988, my whole family sat outside in the backyard at our house on 21st Street in Cedar Rapids, Iowa by a small fire reading The Long Winter from the Little House on the Prairie books well into the evening, enjoying the vicarious cooling that their 19th century winter transmitted to our 20th century selves.

My mom read to the three of us all the time and it remains one of my favorite things; someone reading a story out loud to me is up among the most relaxing things I can imagine. When I was little, we read the Narnia books, Charlotte’s Web, Stuart Little, James Herriot’s animal stories, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth, Lafcadio, Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile, Corduroy, The Nutcracker, The Phantom of the Opera…and so much more. My mom’s nightly routine ensured our young lives were downright packed with fantasy (which is probably a good thing when both parents’ income depends on the success of theatre and visual arts in Iowa!).

Now, Charlotte and I read everything we can get our hands on; she heard a large chunk of John Irving’s most recent novel at two months old and we’ve graduated to The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Goodnight Moon, and George & Martha books. Part of me can’t wait until she’s about 6 or 7 and we get to read the really fun ones!

On Father’s Day this year (Matt’s first Father’s Day!), we were out and about and stopped in to Unnameable Books, a classic bookstore with a smart mix of used and new volumes. Matt picked up a copy of E.B. White’s One Man’s Meat, a collection of the monthly essays the author wrote for Harper’s Bazaar from 1938 to 1943. Each essay is quick, smart, and easily digestible; perfect bedtime stories since they clock in between 13 and 17 minutes apiece.

I know Mr. White’s writing mostly from his smart animals in Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, and these essays are, in some ways, like reading a version of those stories for adults. He chronicles his years in Maine away from New York City, itemizes the expenses of his small farm (including the actual cost of raising a Thanksgiving turkey…$463), his love for his sheep and chickens, and his poetic despair for the world around him turned on end by the war across the ocean from his small plot.

As we’ve read these stories to each other each night after we put away our work but before we tuck in for the night, I’m reminded of how important it is to do the things we loved as children. There are so many expressions of just plain fun that melt away from our lives as we age, figuring out which path is the right path (the one you’re on!), and focusing on the things that are most meaningful in our lives. Part of that meaning we treasure so much now was derived from the joy and pleasure we felt as children and there’s honestly nothing better than the feeling of looking at someone or something with fresh eyes and curiosity, and drinking up every last drop.

My thanks to Mr. White for the oceans of drops he shared with the world.

I’ve had the Anagram Press website in my bookmarks for years and have drooled over Chandler O’Leary’s imaginative, detailed letterpress and book work at length.

Chandler has just added a beautiful new piece to her great “Dead Feminists” series that she creates with Springtide Press. This new “Drill, Baby, Drill” piece is gorgeous, and a portion of the proceeds from its sale will go to Oceana, an organization helping the gulf oil spill.

The text in these pieces is so thoughtfully chosen and the imagery is beautiful. I’d invite you to look through the portfolio of work on her site and enjoy her illustrations and the intelligence that comes through in each piece.

The Harriet Tubman piece? Tugboat Thea? They’re gorgeous, fun, and poignant and appeal to all of my history-lovin’, fascinated-with-feminism, crazy-for-a-good-marriage-of-text-and-imagery tendencies!

Enjoy looking through Chandler’s work. It’s incredibly important to look at other people’s work as you do your own and I find Chandler’s downright inspiring.

I’ll be back with some new things next week, including perfect bound journals and a peek at some new printing projects, as well!

Here’s an itsy bitsy sneak peek at the drawing-in-progress for one layer of next year’s calendar. I’m excited about how the ideas are making their way out of my head and on to the page!

And I want to leave you with a little Shaker philosophy to keep us on the right track as we go through our days: “Don’t make something unless it is both necessary and useful; but if it is both necessary and useful, don’t hesitate to make it beautiful.”

Here’s a peek at a drawing that may or may not make it in to a 2011 calendar or some cards or an invite design, plus a couple of shots of inspiration from around the neighborhood.

And here’s a passage that is quoted at the beginning of one of my recent reads, How the Irish Saved Civilization. I’m neither religious nor quite this realistic in practice, but it’s a beautiful statement:

“Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuos, can be accomplished alone; therefore we must be saved by love.”
- Reinhold Niebuhr