Essays by Karen Anderson

It was a high school open house and I didn’t know many people besides the graduate. Looking around the back yard, I saw a young man sitting alone and decided to introduce myself.

It’s likely that Neutrogena soap is still good for my skin, but I use it because of the smell, slightly medicinal and piney. More than anything else, that familiar scent evokes my college years.

Those of us who own cats and dogs are fond of saying that pets don’t hold grudges.

“You’d be bored with that in ten minutes.” Like a good daughter, Sara put it back on the shelf. Like a bad mother, I put it out of my mind.

Fragile and fraught as it is, I don’t want to lose this connection. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but there have been moments

A friend next door retired recently so, I told everyone, “Bring a dish to pass and some advice for Bill.”

“There oughta be a law,” I say, “businesses that go out of business ought to take their signs down.”

Each of us has some kind of specialized knowledge, which can become a lens through which we view the world. So, I’m wondering, Dear Listener, what do YOU notice?

I’m ready to trade mountains for lakes. Ready to return to the limited visibility of the place I call home.

On a morning in late spring, my husband and I are canoeing a section of the Manistee River. Close to shore a merganser duck is swimming with ten ducklings in a row behind her. Ten.