We North Americans are a restless lot. All our immigrant forebears came from somewhere else. In addition, we seniors are also on the cusp of an emerging trend according to The Wall Street Journal, Hipsters (http://%20Hipsters Discover the Shuffleboard Set).
Personally, we have downsized twice, each time to smaller condos in small college towns—first in Maine, next to North Carolina.
We know how cool it is to step out the door and stroll across manicured campus lawns shaded by venerable trees to attend concerts, ball games, and plays. We seniors keep the Active Older Adults classes filled at the Y.
One young man told the Journal, “If you love Jethro Tull, you’ve got to go where the seniors are, where they pump ‘Locomotive Breath’ into the yoga center 24/7.
The Journal tells me we’re transplanted ourselves to “slumbering, unsuspecting college towns—auditing classes, biking through the quad, hanging out in student cafes.
True. When I audited a Memoir course at the local college, the class encouraged me to tell the story of my immigrant forebears—Ukrainian grandparents to Alberta and my Danish father to Seattle. Recently, I’ve published my research in a memoir, MYSTERIOUS BUILDER OF SEATTLE LANDMARKS: Searching for My Father—now in a second edition
The North American continent has always had room for people who want to start again. Pollination between generations is good. College students see through fresh eyes. Seniors have a lifetime of experience behind their cataracts.