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.
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The image of that gnawed trunk stays in my mind as we continue down the river. I think of all the times I’ve given up on projects or people when—with just a little more effort—I might have broken through to some kind of solution. -
If you’re a people-watcher, you probably enjoy airports. Who are all these strangers and where are they going? And here’s the thing: the person who looks vaguely sinister or who has lots of children or an oversize back pack, that’s the one who ends up sitting next to you on the plane.
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I open the front door to pick up the newspaper and notice some trash out on the grass next to the curb. “What is this?” I think irritably as I go out to pick it up. But it is not trash. It is somebody’s personal papers—all folded up and soaking wet from last night’s rain.
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As a child, I was taught to say a prayer every night before bed, the one that begins with, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” At the end, I asked God to bless various people, starting with my parents, of course, and (somewhat reluctantly) my baby brother... These days, I have a different but similar ritual.
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As I pass a small park, I see a man sitting alone in a pickup truck and wonder idly why he’s there. Returning later, I see a woman climb out of his truck, get in a car and drive away. I wonder what their story is...
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If someone tells me he has a skunk under his porch, I am politely interested. But if that someone lives next door to me, I’m riveted.
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Booth’s was mostly a place to buy milk and ice cream, but they also had a little lunch counter where you could order sandwiches. I ordered peanut butter and jelly and Grandpa ordered ham on rye.
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The jar had fallen and shattered—spilling honey and broken glass across the wood floor. While I stood there scolding myself, my husband just said, “It was an accident.”
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When I was 15 years old, I went to visit my cousin who lived about 200 miles away. She was older than I and going steady with someone named Steve. I yearned to go steady but hadn’t found anyone to share my yearning.
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Years ago, a friend asked me, “What did you wish you had for the journey that you didn’t have?” She meant the journey of life and it’s hard to know what you’ll need when you start out.
