![](https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims4/default/b8dd26c/2147483647/strip/true/crop/400x533+200+0/resize/150x200!/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2Flegacy%2Fsites%2Fwiaa%2Ffiles%2F201808%2Fkaren.jpg)
Karen Anderson
Essays by Karen AndersonKaren 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.
-
I set up a canvas chair in my back yard, but before I can turn around and sit down, my cat has leaped into it. I could remove Rosie, of course, but if you’re a pet owner you know what I do.
-
My first year in college I met a fellow who was a couple years older... I was dazzled by his attention—so dazzled that I couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t see him at all
-
My mother told me that when she was a little girl, there were times she couldn’t sleep at night. “I would lie in bed and imagine that somewhere in the world a single gas station was open,” she said.
-
I recently came upon a list I gave my daughter in 1995 when she was 22 years old and leaving for a year in Vienna. A list called, “What I Know So Far.” A list of 30 things I believed and wanted to pass on to her.
-
This time of year, the water is muddy with runoff from melting snow. My life feels the same, clogged with debris from the past, cloudy with regrets.
-
My dentist’s office is diligent about reminding me of upcoming appointments... My hairdresser, on the other hand, never needs to remind me because I am eager to see her.
-
In 1964, when they were middle-aged, my parents moved to Traverse City, Michigan, from Grand Rapids — where they had lived all their lives.
-
-
It’s Memorial Day and I’m visiting my parents’ graves at Oakwood Cemetery, a lovely scene of well-kept lawns and ancient trees. I sit on the grass and talk quietly with the two people whom I dearly miss despite our various conflicts.
-
“Maybe I wasn’t the greatest mom,” I said, “but I must have done a few things right.” “None,” my daughter said, grinning.