Essays by Karen Anderson

When I get to the waiting room at the Women’s Imaging Center, almost every seat is taken. “Looks like a full house,” I remark but no one answers. We are all waiting for mammograms and we are all a little tense.

When we adopted our cat, Rosie, we only knew that she had been a stray and was very shy. We soon learned that she was also very hungry. Hungry for anything we put in her bowl.

I find an old recipe box in the basement, a gift from my mother when I was in high school—and it’s full of the meals and menus I would need to be a good wife.

Richard Dalloway decides to tell his wife that he loves her. His decision is not spontaneous. His wife Clarissa has just had a visit from a former lover, a man she might have married instead of Richard.

Every Memorial Day, I plant a few annual flowers in a sunny corner of my back yard. It’s not much of a garden but the ritual nourishes me. When I put the zinnias and marigolds in the dirt, they’re so frail, it’s hard to believe they’ll survive.

On an early spring morning, my husband and I are paddling the Manistee River. The water is high this time of year and the air cold, but the sun feels warm on my back.

A while ago, I met a young reporter at Interlochen Public Radio and we became friends. At lunch one day, I asked about her plans for the future. I assumed she was on her way to a bigger station in a bigger city.

The calendar says April so I’m ready to trade in this winter coat for my spring jacket. My mother is not ready. “It’s only thirty degrees,” she says. “Wait a few weeks until it warms up”

Standing in the checkout line at the craft store, I am flooded with a sense of pleasure and anticipation—but it’s not about purchasing this bottle of glue. It’s about the display of new coloring books.

It’s my turn at the checkout counter and the clerk rings up my items. She’s courteous but not friendly and I don’t mind. It’s been a long day and I’m not especially friendly either.