Karen Anderson

What I most want for Christmas is for someone to say: “Tell me about your mom.”

Everywhere I look, something needs fixing.

Her name was Nelle but I always called her Miss Curry. She was my teacher, as long as she lived—and longer.

“Egad,” I shriek, “I just took a cat treat instead of my calcium!”

I will never plant my garden again without sturdy little petunias.

I set up a canvas chair in my back yard, but before I can turn around and sit down, my cat has leaped into it. I could remove Rosie, of course, but if you’re a pet owner you know what I do.

My first year in college I met a fellow who was a couple years older... I was dazzled by his attention—so dazzled that I couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t see him at all

My mother told me that when she was a little girl, there were times she couldn’t sleep at night. “I would lie in bed and imagine that somewhere in the world a single gas station was open,” she said.

I recently came upon a list I gave my daughter in 1995 when she was 22 years old and leaving for a year in Vienna. A list called, “What I Know So Far.” A list of 30 things I believed and wanted to pass on to her.

This time of year, the water is muddy with runoff from melting snow. My life feels the same, clogged with debris from the past, cloudy with regrets.