Essays by Karen Anderson

The world is such a big place when you’re a child with so many mysteries and threats and dangers. So many misunderstandings.

Before my mother taught me to iron, she taught me to sprinkle. Next, I learned about the iron itself which—like many adult appliances—was dangerous.

Jock took a group of us pony-trekking and as we rode up into the rugged mountains—the mist lifting and the sheep calling—I knew I belonged to this lovely, melancholy landscape.

Rain changing to snow in the forecast.

I was smiling as I went on my way, surprised to discover how much pleasure it gave me to help these people. And I think most of us are really yearning to be of help to each other.

How lucky, I thought, that I got to start out at the candy counter!

The green cabbage was so big, it slipped out of my hand and rolled into the carrots just as the overhead spray came on, misting the vegetables and my shirt.

Mildred was a large, middle-aged woman who sat in the back row of my workshop and told me she had to leave at the break. A few weeks later, I received a letter from Mildred, a letter that was postmarked Hawaii.

I had grown up believing the body and mind were separate things, but I learned a new way of understanding

In a world of people wanting to slim down, my daughter and I are trying to plump up.