Kathleen Anderson
Bio
I love stories. I love to read, watch, and create stories. Since childhood, the library has always been a sacred place to me. Writing transports my soul's hidden depths so the world can share them with me.
Stories (22)
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Stranger Things Finale
After 10 years, Stranger Things has ended. And we are not okay. Threads members are asking, "Is there a support group?" People are sad, and upset over the ending. I too was sad and upset. Why are we so devastated over these fictional characters? I have some thoughts.
By Kathleen Anderson 8 days ago in Humans
No SNAP? Don't panic!
When my older kids were little, I did not have food stamps. I learned how to basically make something out of almost nothing. Kitchen Witch magic, I call it now. Back then, it was survival. The Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, became my best friend. I would look in my fridge, and pantry and go find a recipe using the ingredients at hand. At the time I had four mouths to feed. My fifth child was a baby, and number six was not born yet.
By Kathleen Anderson 3 months ago in Lifehack
How Billy Joel Inspired Me
Billy Joel recently released his first new song in 17 years. Billy Joel is 74 years old now. The song hit me unexpectedly hard, partly because it is lyrically and musically beautiful, and partly because it was Billy Joel. I grew up in the seventies listening to Only the Good Die Young, Vienna, and others off his The Stranger album. I would not call myself a fan. He was simply part of the sound track of my childhood, along with many other artists.
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in Art
Senior Coffee
Last fall, I wandered into a Wendy's to try out their pumpkin spice frosty. I sat in the restaurant savoring my icy treat. When I was finished, I went to the counter to get a soda. When I pulled out my card to pay, the young lady behind the counter waved me off saying, "I'll ring it in as a senior drink."
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in Longevity
Hippy-Dippy
I have always thought of myself as a hippy. Not the free love, and psychedelic drug part. I am a hippy in terms of believing in equality between races, and love for all. I was born in 1968, the year Martin Luther King Jr. was shot for dreaming of such things. By the time I was in grade school, I was taught about his greatness. Seventies public schools, at least in my Maryland suburb, emphasized positive change in interracial relationships.
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in History
No Rules
I once heard someone say Gen X kids were feral. It's pretty accurate. I remember sitting on the roof of our green house, staring up at the night sky. No one even knew I was up there. I was a kid. Having fun. I also remember climbing into the attic of our garage. Playing up there. I remember lighting candles in a closet, hiding behind the clothes in a little hideaway. When I think of my childhood, I don't remember being supervised. Both of my parents worked, and though I had family around, they were not concerned about my activities.
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in Families
The Warehouse
My father's sister, Louise, lived five hours away with her husband John. They lived in a semi renovated warehouse in a town called Valencia. They owned Fox's Antiques, and ran their store out of the basement of the warehouse. Upstairs were my cousins' bedrooms, two living rooms, kitchen, and dining room. In the back of the house was a giant room with odds and ends, and behind that room was my Uncle John's studio. He was, and is, a painter and poet. A third floor reached by an alarmingly open iron, twisting staircase, was where they had their room.
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in Families
Tunnels in the Snow
In 1979, when I was 11 years old, our Maryland suburb was hit with the President's Day Storm. Twenty inches of snow fell on my town. I remember waking up to look outside, only to find our screen door forced shut by three feet of snow. The wind had blown the snow into a heap. When we finally got the door open, I went out to help my neighbor deliver newspapers.
By Kathleen Anderson 2 years ago in Earth
