Essays by Karen Anderson

I can feel the cold coming off the river as we slide the canoe into the current. I shiver in my many layers, wishing I had more. April is my favorite…

My mother was a gourmet cook and wanted me to follow in her footsteps.One of my first steps was on a stepstool next to the stove where I had the job of…

We already know that not everyone can be the boss. But here’s the rest of the story. Not everyone wants to be the boss, including me. There’s an…

Mrs. Joy was my sixth grade teacher and she wasn’t anything like her name. With black-rimmed glasses perched on her large nose, she stared hard at each of…

When my daughter was about two years old, she stopped taking naps. I resisted this transition—not because she needed a nap but because I needed her to…

I was reading the New York Times Book Review a while ago and saw a Letter to the Editor from a man I’ll call Jerry Conrad. He was a history professor in…

There’s an old coffee mug on my desk full of pencils. Long pencils with full erasers, waiting to be selected. Short pencils with used-up erasers, waiting…

I was telling my husband about a good friend. “I just met her by chance,” I said.“Who haven’t you met by chance?” he said.Oh, right. Of course. “Thanks…

I have a big Norway Spruce in my front yard that’s about twice as tall as the house. From the upstairs bedroom window, I can see its branches and they are…

At the grocery store, I pick up orange juice and cat food and a few other essentials. I’m on my way to the check-out when I see my husband’s favorite…