WOLFEBORO, NH – Camp Hattie during the holidays. I love our tree’s little lean.
Flocked!
December 25
Mom swears it doesn’t bother her that people celebrate the birth of Christ on her birthday. Nevermind that across the board, bible scholars agree, Jesus was not born on December 25.
Still, it doesn’t bother my mom, who really was born on Christmas Day. In any event, I won’t be voting for Mike Huckabee, who completely ignores my mom’s birthday in his advertising.
Mom will be celebrating with Howie this year and having a damn fine time.
The Des Moines Register?
This is a little blog that a few people read. Like other things, it started as a joke between Christine and me. Not everyone likes me or my writing or my jokes, but I highly doubt anyone at The Des Moines Register has the time or interest to comment. On the other hand, ANY comment from The Des Moines Register is welcome.
Still, when someone tries to hurt me, they usually succeed. Hopefully, this admission will provide comfort: congratulations, you’ve hurt me.
My next play? Dog-Sitting in Des Moines. Maybe it will play in a warehouse near you soon.
Punishment for bad behavior during a hearty game of Scrabble, perhaps? Haw!
I arrived in Des Moines on December 1 during an ice storm. Two planes skidded off the runway before my little jet touched down. At least Midwest Airlines serves warm cookies. I couldn’t care less if we crash landed. Ova!
I only read Kathleen Parker every dozen years. Her column, “Survival of the Stupidest,” makes me want to upchuck. Cur!
Take Comfort
Happy Halloween
Chinese Thinker
Fleet Week
It’s Fleet Week in San Francisco which means when you’re sipping a latte on Fillmore, you might get a free air show with it. Here I am with my latte (obviously the drink was beautiful and I should have shot it before drinking). I was alone. I like it. Except for the alone part, it reminded me of the time weeks ago, when I had breakfast with Ron Howard at Cora’s in Santa Monica. He sipped his latte like he didn’t even know me.
Anyway, after this latte on Fillmore, I walked up the street. See the angels in the sky?
Caught in the Surf
You’ve probably been Googled a time or two. If you Google “Amy Knapp” chances are, you’ll meet at least three. There is Amy Knapp of family organizer fame (she’s all over the web); there is Amy Knapp, the prized San Francisco designer (I love it when people think I’m her) (she probably doesn’t love it); there’s the Amy Knapp who just got married (check her out!) and there’s me which is why I’m posting a picture of gg. I don’t know how much longer I’ll write for her, but it sure has been a wonderful surprise. Five years. Thanks.
Reality-Chicked
If controversy can get you Dixie-Chicked, then the Pelican Press can get you Reality-Chicked. Ever since Mary Catherine Coolidge wrote about my friend, Laura, in Sarasota’s intriguing magazine, Downtown and Beyond, I’ve been keeping up with MC’s column, “Reality Chick.”
“Reality” is something I’ve been thinking about lately. I find it irritating when presidential candidates are criticized for not knowing the price of a loaf of bread. “Not in touch with reality!” people chant. Wealthy people are often criticized for being out of touch with reality. Here’s my thought – flying privately IS reality. Theirs. Homeless people are out of touch with reality. Cheerful people are out of touch with reality. And on and on it goes.
Live your real life. Whatever it is. It’s yours (but you might want to check out MC’s reality each Wednesday).
City Girl
Seriously, I cannot wait to attend a party in San Francisco where a stranger turns to me and asks, “So, Amy, what do you do?”
“I’m creating the new American sport.”
The stranger will 1) turn away and pursue less “creative” conversation or 2) continue with words like, “Um, really, what’s that all about?”
Many people have heard of the Adirondacks (the mountains) and Adirondacks (the chairs) but few have heard of AdironDACKING (the sport). It is my sport. I have created it. I am good at it – like Finger Crossing (the other sport I created). Pure jock, that’s me.
Just today, Mom and I were driving in the country when we spotted a guy practicing Adirondacking. He’s good!, I thought. He’s a contender. He had the drink, the reading material AND the grassy meadow.
I certainly hope he enters the next sanctioned tournament. Adirondacking – the new American sport. You heard it here.













