Thank you pussy willows for literally stopping me in my tracks with your silent soft buds, giving me the chance to hear the songbirds against the clear sky and feel the cold gentle breeze brush my cheeks. As I stepped closer to you, and the icy melting pond, I noticed a busy chipmunk sipping droplets of water as they slid from above where they were once frozen to a bare branch. You may have seen the way that chipmunk freaked out noticing me so close. I had to laugh. And when the hawk dipped into our precious scene reminding me of something I tried not to remember what. Thank you pussy willows. I felt like I could have stayed with you forever. I will take you into my dreams tonight.
I had an affair when I was married to Roger Knapp who died in March of 2008. When our children were young we were asked to be in a cousin’s wedding together and so I am pictured in their wedding album, much to the bride’s horror. This woman makes sure I know how disgusted she is by my face. She keeps me in the frame labeled “whore, cheater, gold digger, liar” for reasons she may or may not understand. This is okay.
As I write this, I am married to another man I love. I remain faithful and true to him as I, once again, am interested in creating a strong marriage. Whenever someone wants to hurt me or him or our marriage, they bring up the subject of the affair in which I participated as a married woman decades ago. This, also, is okay. It’s not like the affair is a secret I’ve kept from him.
I understand why I had the extramarital affair in the first place. I understand what choices I made and why. I take great care to make sure I do not retrace those steps as it is not a place I care to live or visit again.
Why must I write about this here? Because I write. And I am free. And I always will be. I was born that way. Loving people understand freedom and want it for themselves and others.
My rapist could be played by Susan Sarandon. She raped me and my sweet young family for years and I’m happy to say everything is okay (even for the one who has been dead for ten years).
I am grateful to my mother and mother-in-law, Irene, for warning me repeatedly. Why I ignored their admonitions, when I had nothing to gain from a relationship with this rapist, was not easy for me to understand but I worked hard to find the answers. Her partner rapes innocently if there is such a thing. He is unaware. She knows exactly what she’s doing. They are well-matched.
I’m here to report that it is possible to move beyond the pain, freely, with love and kindness. There is no need to become a bitter, harsh, badass, designing Christmas cards that flaunt resentment. Happy people are not dumb. They are not avoiding the truth. The past is kind. It is always over. Pain in inevitable. Suffering is optional. I’m happy to be rid of my rapist who could easily be played by Susan Sarandon. Something tells me she’s not satisfied yet. People like her are insatiable. There is never enough (for them).
And, as for the men by whom I’ve been harassed or assaulted: they are either 1) grown up married and living beautiful lives 2) off to parts unknown and I wouldn’t know where to find them or 3) dead. You do not have to report. You can live a beautiful life free from the pain of the past. Here’s hoping Dr. Christine Blasey Ford can.
Billie Jean King beat Bobby Riggs fair and square, right? Right! Bobby Riggs boasted he could be any woman even she had two serves and the doubles boundary while he played with just one serve and within the singles line. He was wrong. He lost to Billie Jean King in straight sets, 6-4, 6-3, 6-3 in Houston on September 20, 1973.
On that day, I was a ten year-old quiet child. I watched the whole match from a secret place in our California home while dozens of adults, mostly women, cheered on Billie Jean King. I didn’t understand all the hoopla. Of course she was going to win. I was a good tennis player and knew a 29 year-old woman would beat a 55 year-old man with those terms. And I’m so glad she did!
Why did she agree to such a biased match-up? He was an asshole who kept baiting her and she wanted to prove him wrong and shine a light on women’s tennis. Thankfully, she accomplished both goals with her victory.
50 million people tuned in to watch the match on television. Over 30,000 watched the match live at the Astrodome. Very few of us talk about the terms of the match. Speaking for myself, I just don’t care that this substantial fact is left out of the historical narrative but maybe I should. This is how history is written and risky investments are pitched – leave out certain important information that doesn’t line up with the desired narrative. Sell it!
If you Google the debate about the terms of their match, you will not find unedited footage of the match. What you will find is this article by “Cecil Adams”. Evidently, such an esteemed writer, who won’t even show his face, has an assistant who can access the unedited footage. Right.
Of course, my (and millions of others’) memory could be wrong. One thing is true – we who saw the match, actually watched every moment, will be dead soon. And this excellent movie (which deserves some Oscars) will live to tell the story and share all the really important stuff.
Message received: Never make fun of others (except the president). Don’t be cruel to any living thing (except the president). Be a good sport (unless your candidate loses).
We love you and you almost dismantle everything you claim to stand for with each twinkle in your eye every time you make fun of the president and his family. You enjoy it. You encourage others to do the same.
I wonder if you could keep working to impeach or replace the president without making fun of him? Could you? What would be so bad about that? Please try. Thank you. It would be a shame to lose all you have worked for with one irresistible target you keep hitting and hitting and hitting (smiling with every punch).
I write here for Peace, my true love. It brings me the balance I crave during this short human time that sometimes feels unbearably long. The human time, for me, is like an Artist’s Residency. I observe, adjust and create. Repeat.
I’m far from private. A simple web search will tell you more about me than you’ll learn in a lifetime about many people. I’m quiet.
Here, at AmyKnapp.com, I am not Gg. I am not Gingerbread Amy. I am not a mother or a daughter or a friend or a writer. I am not even Amy Knapp. I am the spirit that resides in the body some of us call Amy Knapp.
I am reminded time and time again that I could benefit by more grace in certain situations. Sometimes these situations seem so outrageous, grace seems out of the question for anyone, especially me. Still, I will explore grace and more grace.
Years ago, I noticed I get as excited about my family as many people are about celebrities. I watch people all amped up about meeting or seeing or bumping into someone famous. That’s how I feel about the people I live with, sleep with, eat with, fight with, and celebrate with. In thinking about this, I recently asked family members to sign their 8 x 10s for me and, luckily, now I have a beautiful growing collection for which I am very grateful. They are my superstars.
Sure, some family members are too busy to sign a picture, or think I’m foolish and corny. Someone even dismissed my efforts since “everyone is a fan of their family, Amy.” Not true in my experience.
Now, I’m going to go say hello to God by looking at a tree for a long time. It’s nice to be loved wholly and eternally. I’m grateful for this residency and the close companionship available at all times. Such sweet peace.
The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love ~ Osho.