Not The Target Market


Not the target market – that’s a phrase that goes through your head a lot when you, through no fault of your own, appear to reside in the 21st century and you know that your talents would have been better employed as a 14th century duchess or a Jane Austen heroine.

I have spent my life being puzzled by life. Lately more so than ever.

In my youth I never embraced (or understood) the rush to embrace denim for all occasions, the cool factor of cigarettes or the urge to drink until you threw up your brains.

In my dotage I can’t wrap my head around the need to be wired 24/7, the glamour of tech, or the real purpose of social media.

In the time between these two data points, while I can’t cite any specific examples (because I am old and have forgotten them – there I said it for you), I know my children will back me up when I say that a familiar phrase from their childhood was: Just because everyone is doing it doesn’t mean you are.

Perhaps the only response to all this is that I am just boring. Perhaps the answer is that I am the worst anti-fun-loving, grouchy old lady you will ever come across. Was born that way and will die that way. I would prefer to think, however, that there are a number of us who have our own definition of “ordinary, productive lives.” We just don’t get any press.

In lieu of any other interesting facts, I’ll offer a few random bits and pieces:

I have degrees in linguistics and communication disorders. I have worked as an editor, document abstractor and indexer; as an English-as-a-second-language teacher and refugee resettlement coordinator; as a speech language pathologist and adjunct professor. I have also help run a printing company and a Catholic high school. Currently I go about my daily business as a writer and graphic designer. When I’m not working on client projects or unleashing my confusion on this blog, I’m watching my 3 year old grandson.

You will find no photograph here because I can’t find one that at once matches up what I think I should look like and reality. Reality, to my mind, is highly overrated and the gap here is just too dispiriting to face, so feel free to call to mind a charming, scintillating, vivacious petite creature and we will all be happy. Or, if you don’t want to be happy, you could imagine Maxine of greeting card fame…

The Cast of Characters most likely to traipse through these posts are:

The Hunter – my, as they say, better half. He is, among his many other talents, a woodsman and marksman, an off shore captain, a brilliant business consultant and, as should be obvious from his pursuits, not nearly so puzzled by life as I am. It is helpful to have an interpreter.

My Daughter, or Mrs. S as she is known on another blog. As I was never fortunate enough to be a Jane Austen heroine, I raised her to be one in my place. You can read more of her life’s adventures in England here:

My Son, a tech genius with a black belt in “Google-fu.” He is the only reason this blog is up and functioning. Being born after 1981 (which I find is the cutoff for having tech savy-ness in one’s DNA), he is the one I turn to when electronics and digital devices blow up or code doesn’t do what it is supposed to or the tech side of life side reduces me to tears.

Both of the “children” are married and so a delightful daughter-in-law or son-in-law might also appear.

Then there are the Sources of Much Amusement. First, the British Ones: The Engineer: a grandson, age 10; The Theologian: his younger sister, age 8; and The Mastermind: the youngest, but certainly in her mind anyway, by no means the least, age 6.

On this side of the pond there is The Moose, who at 3 years old is almost bigger than his grandmother.

Outside of these, you are likely to hear about The Parisienne, The Model and The GOC (short for Glamorous Older Cousin,) who all, in spite of being incredibly well adjusted and competent, are longtime friends, dispensers of advice and best of all, the people who will be sitting next to me in jail saying “Let’s do it again…”