The End of 2024

The end of 2024 has arrived and heaved itself upon our doorstep, along with the fresh new year. They are knocking hand in hand like they’re collecting overdue rent, and I am cowering in the corner.

Last week, I had told Jon that I would send out a Christmas cheer newsletter on the Tuesday that was Christmas Eve, and I did not send it out and instead did nothing at all.

And now again, New Year’s Eve, and I still do not have my act together to arrange all of the delightful things that have arrived in the warehouse and are out on the shelves, over the last (now) two weeks. No photos have been taken of these things that are sitting in boxes on my desk, looking at me sleepily, with low expectations, no chirpy little quips about the weather and the cats and the spilled eggnog on the carpet that is leaving a dubious waft that will no doubt get increasingly dubious as time passes.

Instead! I am here with ruminations and nostalgia and disbelief at all that has transpired over this past year as I look through photos of who we were throughout this adventure of existence. Where else would I be?

What to make of a year that was filled with so much? It’s impossible, all of it.

So many tumultuous and turbulent and enormous moments for our small family and our small shop, comings and goings, small defeats and tiny victories, all of the life that makes up a year.

We made it through a Canada Post strike, several jars of Aquaphor, two cat emergencies, two cat emergency vet bills (barely), the start of nursery school, a layover in LAX, a hefty handful of journals, shipping errors, a solar eclipse, visits to the AGO, the library, the McDonald’s drive-thru, a workshop with The Superior Labor and a workshop with The CoffeeMonsterzCo, lots of good books, some mediocre books, a few bad books, too many books about pigs, countless bowls of noodles (in the same ratios as the books), a typhoon, giant snails, a broken iPad and lots of complaining about it, meet-ups at the shop, emergency bubble teas, celebratory bubble teas, a set of stamps inspired by a chicken, other stamps inspired by cats, and of course, more pens and notebooks and bottles of ink than I can count. Maybe a few rolls of washi tape rolling around, too.

The kids climbed their own mountains and made their own miracles, worked hard on various things with various levels of enthusiasm, squabbled and cried and shouted, ate snacks in their beds, found treasures under their beds (no relation, I’m sure), read books, learned new words, learned new ways of annoying each other (applied aggressively), learned new ways of loving each other (applied less aggressively). The cats continued their existence, and I squeeze them daily to ensure their organs still gurgle.

It is a continued rumination, the longer we do this thing, about who we are, what we are, what we do, why we do it. For how long can one wing it as a small business, with Canada Post tilting against imminent bankruptcy, with the existential crisis of being but a faceless commerce, with the cost of eggs forcing you to ration them to ⅔ of an egg per child, the cost of berries forcing you to faint outright in the produce section, the mist setting off into clouds around you? Scurvy, it is.

What’s the point of a stationery shop in this world? Who knows. Not us! But we forge on, doing the best we can as earthlings clinging to the side of the planet, trying to remember that it’s still worthwhile to act like a human while we can.

All we can do is appreciate the humans who keep the ship afloat. Staff who send out the emails and show people the pens and price tag the notebooks and sweep the floors and do it all with the good cheer of stationery nerds helping stationery nerds. I love the sneaky gossiping when customers tell me which staff member helped them with which pen, or who was in the shop to help choose out which birthday gift and if it was a disaster or a hit. I love it! Tell me more. The pen people who make the pens and ship the pens to us and the ink people who do the same with the inks. And our tentacles continue to sprawl outward, and we are so grateful for those connections that are made and that grow and deepen over time.

And of course a community of stationery people who keep along with us, sharing their stationery enthusiasm with us through their seasons of life. Our customers who are our community and our pen friends, who keep our lights on and our staff on payroll and our doors wide-open (weather allowing). We are so grateful for everyone who’s joined us on this journey and has stuck with us, whether you’re a fountain pen geek collecting Safaris or a chronic journaller gathering Japanese stickers for your notebook pages or a pencil writer always in need of the smell of a fresh box of cedar—or, maybe, you just want to keep up the faith in small business and the hope that a mom and pop shop can survive.

Thank you for it all. Happy writing in 2025.

Wishing you magic potions in all of your ink bottles,

Jon + Liz

+ the Wonder Team

See you next year for more pens and paper—and adventure.