An Early 20th Century Seattle Immigrant

 

Paula, Doris, and Hans Pederson

 

Those of you who recall that I’ve spent years writing a book may think that by now it languishes in a box in the back of my storeroom. Not so! The collage of images above represents the cover of a memoir to be published in the coming months.

My father, Hans Pederson, an early 20th Century contractor, helped propel the building boom that transformed Seattle from a frontier town into the vibrant city that existed by 1929 when the Depression shut down commerce.

I never knew this, because my father died when I was one month old. After many years I obtained a crucial document that pointed the way to the truth about Hans Pederson’s contribution to the Pacific Northwest.

Solving the mystery of my pioneer immigrant family has been a singular journey. As the story nears publication—stay tuned!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seniors Feel Like Immigrants

 

These days there’s a lot of talk about diversity and prejudice, but nobody talks about age prejudice. To be inclusive, how about including old-timers? Sometimes, like immigrants, we feel like newcomers, but we’re the ones who have been here the longest.

256px-Maes_Old_Woman_Dozing

 

Maes: Old Woman Napping, courtesy Wikimedia

 

Look at her! This is Wikimedia’s image for a Senior. She’s taking a little snooze, but at least she’s probably not a pothead or zonked out on Oxycodone. They snooze too.

 

Once I reached 5o, paid work  that included medical benefits was hard to come by. Employers figured I was either too old to learn, or that I’d get sick.

Young parents need time off from work to care for sick kids—they must also cope with vacations, team sports and recitals. Been there, done that. I’ve raised five children. Of course it’s stressful for parents, but a few seasoned staff members can handle the double duty  until parents return.

I started serious writing after I retired. Have you ever noticed the grants, awards, and fellowships for writers under 40? Well, I still have things to say at 82.

A few years ago, an alumna at my college published a book called, Still Boy Crazy at Ninety.

She’s got the right idea.

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