Edith Andersen

Welcome to my blog of ruminations and essays.

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With two family weddings on the horizon, I order Co’Coon Bra-Less Shaping Cami. It used to be called a girdle. The different name is not the only difference. Now, you choose the level of compression, light, medium, medium-high, or high.

Women groan about hubby needing something to do. “Hey,” a woman announced at a female neighborhood gathering, “my husband is really handy. He can paint, do house repairs, even replace your garbage disposal whether it needs it or not.”

We know the story of the frog in the pot who doesn’t notice the water heating up until it’s boiling and he’s no more. Could that be happening with us and big data algorithms (AI)? Are we slowly relinquishing making our own decisions?

Every year passing, we experience or read about record-breaking hurricanes leaving the impression that climate change is not far in the future or imagined. Mickler Beach, a few miles from my home, has changed dramatically in less than five years. The sea has pushed the sand further up, eroding the shore, leaving a massive amount of shells to walk on instead of smooth sand. Mansions with a view of the Atlantic…

My one conversation with mamma took place in the basement laundry room. I sat on the first-floor cement open to the laundry room as she heaved sheets and clothes from one wooden barrel to another with an oar paddle. Fastidious about cleanliness, our laundry went through pre and post soaks. “Mamma, what’s it like to have a baby?” She strained to untangle sheets full of water refusing to separate. She didn’t answer. That wasn’t so unusual. Her concentration and work ethic was the stuff of legends.

Pabbi (my father) spent Sunday afternoons in the living room reading or working in his vegetable garden even when there seemed to be little to do. To my teenage self, with its short supply of insight and wisdom, my father’s behavior was irritating. Why would anyone sit alone hour after hour? Today, half-a-century later, I […]

When my sixth grade students crossed the threshold into the classroom on the first day of class… what was on their mind was to secure a desk near friends. Some knew what was coming. Most didn’t. “Good morning, and welcome to Sixth Grade. Boys and girls, just now, crossing over the threshold into the classroom, you stepped out of democracy into a dictatorship.” Some chuckled, and others gave each other worried looks. I gave them a moment to digest what I’d said. No other time in our year together would this lesson velcro as tight as on the first day of class.