Karen Anderson
Karen Anderson is a writer who lives and works in Traverse City, Michigan. She was a columnist for the Traverse City Record-Eagle for 30 years and published two collections.
Since 2005, she has contributed weekly essays to Interlochen Public Radio. An illustrated collection of her essays was published in 2017, “Gradual Clearing: Weather Reports from the Heart.”
Karen has a master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Michigan and is retired from Northwestern Michigan College where she was director of marketing and public relations. She enjoys camping, canoeing, reading, writing, listening, learning.
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On the radio, the weatherman announces "Blizzard Conditions". I stare out the window at blowing snow, poor visibility, and I have to admit... it's just beautiful! -
The truth is I need a new address book. The one I’m using is full of people who aren’t even in my life anymore.
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I am 19 years old again and have left my boyfriend back at home. He hasn’t written for a week and I’m sure the relationship is over. Sure my life is over. Frank Sinatra understands.
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I was in awe of bus drivers, navigating those big awkward machines up and down those narrow slippery roads. Not to mention the noise factor behind them in the seats.
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In mid-August, my husband and I spent a couple days with my brother and his wife in Tawas City on Lake Huron. Driving east across Michigan was like going back in time—arriving in a town that looked like Traverse City fifty years ago.
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I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks—being home for Christmas.
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Years ago, I joined a women’s discussion group and began to get acquainted with the other members. Although I know it’s wrong to judge people, I have to admit I found one of the women annoying.
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The ancient Christmas Cactus on my table almost went in the compost a few months ago. Shriveled and gray, it looked unhealthy and unhappy and no wonder. There were little teeth marks at the end of each branch from encounters with the cat.
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I am standing in line at the post office, counting the people in front of me, feeling impatient and annoyed... I’m not in a hurry. I’m just feeling lonely and lost and it’s not about the post office.
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I am walking in my neighborhood on a winter day and see a mother pulling a small child on a sled. As they cross the street, the sled bounces down a curb and suddenly I feel the jolt and it is my mittened hands gripping the wooden frame.
