When I first thought about writing this blog, the working title was Letters at Breakfast. I love letters – both writing them and receiving them. Lagging behind the curve as I do, I’m not sure if anyone else even thinks about letters. The world’s attention span seems to be 140 characters, and I get the impression that a letter in a stamped envelope may be rarer than a double blue super moon in a leap year with five Friday the thirteenths.
Ages ago when I was young (even before the idea of email; before Mark Zuckerberg was born; before texts, and Snap this and Instant that), letters in the mailbox were not all that plentiful. Still, they came along from time to time, and I could maintain a bit of hope.
Reading letters at breakfast has always been part of my fantasy life; when mail was delivered twice a day, it was once part of everyone’s normal life. No longer. In April 1950 the USPS cut daily home delivery from twice to once a day. I remember my mother telling me about the huge outcry at the time, as no one could imagine life running smoothly with only one postal delivery. And now, I would bet that in the future, even a once a day delivery is no longer a sure thing.
But, this isn’t about the USPS; it’s about this blog reboot. After some thought, it seemed to me calling a blog Letters at Breakfast, would drive the writing into completely personal lines and I was pretty sure I was not exciting enough to write a personal blog. Really, who, other than my family, might care what I am up to? I’m not artistically crafty or particularly frugal, so I couldn’t write a lot of how to do this, that and the other thing. My children are grown up, and I never home-schooled, so I have nothing to share there. I am not adventurous, so I couldn’t write from exotic places with juicy descriptions of bars and sunsets. I’m simply an ordinary cook, so there is nothing special to impart from my kitchen. And I’m too private to want to name names and put my family on the spot. This all adds up to complete failure in this live-your-life-in-the-public-eye age.
And so I hit on the title Not the Target Market as I thought it leant itself better to commenting on the doings of a world I often find puzzling. But the problem with commentary is that it can easily become irritatingly know-it-all.
There is so much that is not right with the world these days. So much darkness, craziness, and unkindness. There appears to be little rational thought, or for that matter, little value on rational thought. I’m talking about the kind of thought that gets people to take an idea from A to B to C and show that whoops – emotion is not the way to go here. Truth is now apparently optional in any discourse, as is self-control; and all of this makes it easy, for me anyway, to get exasperated and slip into a sneering, superior voice, which does nothing to advance the argument.
I hate snarky writing and yet everything I wrote during the last six months of 2017 seemed to slide that way, and so after I would write, I would hit delete. Which led to this embarrassing gap in posts.
But now, with this re-boot, I am not going to worry so much about writing an edifying commentary. I am going to blog on what I feel like writing about. If this means the blog takes a turn and becomes more like a letter to a friend, full of ordinary life, without any great insight underpinning it, then so be it.
Besides, no one is forcing anyone to read this; in fact, as I tell people who want me to pay them to help me “monetize” this blog: I write for myself. If other people like to read it – great. If not – it doesn’t really make any difference to me. Besides, I think I’m too shy to have more than 17 readers anyway.