One Woman's Quest II

Category: humour

• Brief Notes

  Posted at 4:01 am by V.J. Knutson, on June 10, 2017

  Dear Parents,
  Sorry I didn’t always do things in the way (or order) you thought I should, but quite frankly, your screwups made me seriously doubt your wisdom, and besides, what could I ever hope to learn from conformity?

  p.s.  I hope I turned out alright in your eyes.

   

   

  Dear Kids,
  I know I haven’t always been the best role model and that you have questioned many of my life decisions, but I hope you will one day appreciate that I never gave up on life, and that I had the passion and willingness to be adventurous.

  p.s.  None of my mistakes were ever a reflection of our relationship – you know that, right?

   

  Dear Self,
  I know that I have bashed you around a lot, and some of it must have felt like punishment, and some like foolishness, and I know that I have tested every ounce of trust and faith, but isn’t that what life is about:  pushing limits and growing?

  p.s.  I actually think I was both afraid and awed by you:  as an ego, I mean.

   

  Dear Life,
  It’s been a journey, and every time I thought I had a handle on things, you’d always pull the rug out from under me, and I was never quite certain whether you were breaking or making me.  It’s been a bit like navigating blindfolded while you drive.

  p.s.  I know this ride isn’t over yet, but I am getting older – could you go gently from here on in?

   

   

   

  Advertisements
  Posted in aging, creative writing, family, humour | 0 Comments | Tagged funny, letters, life

• Horizontal Champion

  Posted at 3:11 pm by V.J. Knutson, on December 15, 2016

  

  Sleeping in was a sin in my father’s eyes.  Even as a teenager, no matter how late we’d been out the night before, if we weren’t up with the sun, Dad would treat us to an icy face wash.

  The early bird catches the worm!

  Laziness was not tolerated either.  If we were ever caught lounging, we’d get:

  What is this?  The Horizontal Championship?  Get up and do something productive!

  So, I grew into an early riser, don’t-sit-down-till-the-works-all-done adult.  Admittedly, there were many advantages to this lifestyle:

  • Waking before the rest of the household was golden and highly productive time – no distractions!
  • I was already trained for the sleep deprivation that comes with having babies.
  • I would get more done in the first two hours than most people did all day.
  • I gained a reputation as a dependable work horse.

  Notice how I used the past tense above?  That’s because ever since ME/CFS came into my life, all my sleep conditioning has gone out the window.  Now, my days are primarily defined by horizontal time, as vertical efforts are exhausting.

  If I am able to fall asleep before midnight, the night will be restless and deep sleep doesn’t typically kick in until closer to morning, usually just as my husband is waking up.  This is the point where I start fighting with myself, Dad’s training kicking in. (I wrote about this struggle in the poem Harmonics.)
  The thing is, sometimes in life, we just to have to unlearn what we once thought was gospel.

  According to the Treatment Center for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS), 10 – 12 hours of sleep plus naps are recommended every day until the patient’s energy levels are restored to a 6 on the Energy Index Point Score.         

  I fluctuate between a 3 and 4 on the EIPS and tend to sleep between 4 – 7 hours a night, which is a huge improvement over my previous record of 3 -5 hours. Although I spend a great portion of my day in bed, napping doesn’t always happen. 

  CFS, or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, as my doctor prefers to call it, is characterized by systemic exhaustion after any exertion.  Whereas a healthy person can recharge with sleep, patients like me do not.  Our battery is always depleted – think opposite of the Energizer bunny.  It makes sense, therefore, that extra Zz’s are needed.

  Bottomline:  despite all my early training, I am no longer in the worm catching business; I am, instead, aspiring to win the Horizontal Championship. (Sorry, Dad.)

   

   

  Posted in Chronic Illnes, family, Health, humour, living with disability, ME/CFS, nonfiction | 2 Comments | Tagged habits, lifestyle, ME/CFS, sleep

• Lunch Bag Letdown

  Posted at 4:24 pm by V.J. Knutson, on December 8, 2016

  Some stories just beg telling and this is one of them.

  I knew there would be trouble the minute I laid eyes on the gold lame’ lunch bag my husband plopped on the counter in front of me.  My old one, an industrial blue hardware store model, had drowned the day before in a bath of chicken noodle soup.  I’d ask my husband to grab me a new one while he was out.

  “I can’t use this bag!” I blurted, forgetting to be grateful that he’d gone to the trouble.  “It’s got trouble written all over it.  I’ll be laughed out of the lunchroom.”

  I was right, too.  As soon as set my lunch on the long plywood table and pulled up a plastic chair, the comments erupted:

  “Wow, look at Miss Fancypants over there!”

  “You think you were going to a fancy diner, or something?”

  “What’s with all the sparkles?  You’re blinding us.”

  It was humiliating.

  It was also a Friday, thank goodness.  I tossed that baby in the back seat with the conviction that it would be replaced before Monday morning came around.  I wasn’t repeating that scenario again.  Tough enough that I was only an occasional worker; I didn’t need to draw further judgement to myself.

  As I did on many Fridays, I put work behind me and headed east to visit my daughter and son-in-law in Toronto.  They lived in an area of town called “The Beaches” – aptly named as it was located on the waterfront – noted for its restaurants and boutiques.  I loved to spend time with the kids exploring their neighbourhood.

  Typical of most Toronto neighbourhoods, parking was limited, so I usually opted for an overnight lot nearby.  It was well-lit for security purposes, but did require a top up of the meter at 7 am, a task my son-in-law was happy to fulfill as he’d be walking the dog anyway.

  I knew there was something wrong when I heard him returning to the apartment shortly after having left.

  “Uhm…your car has been broken into.”  I could tell he was uncomfortable relaying the news.  “The thief broke your rear window.”

  “The lunchbox!”  I had left it on the backseat.

  I left a message with the police and soon had a call back.

  “I have a case of lunch bag letdown for you,” I told the officer, going on to explain my predicament.

  “It happens often,” he consoled.  “We never recommend leaving a purse or anything of value in sight, whether the car is locked or not.”

  “Well, there was used Tupperware inside.  Hope the culprit wasn’t too disappointed.”

  My son-in-law held up the object in question.  “Found it nearby!”

  “What did I tell you about that lunchbox!”  I said, breaking the news to my husband.

  I was right.  Darn thing ended up costing us close to $300.

  Monday, I took my lunch in a brown paper bag.

   

  Posted in humour, marriage, nonfiction | 0 Comments | Tagged break-in, funny, humour, life, lunchbox, mishaps

• Mystery of the Bar of Soap – Updated

  Posted at 1:46 am by V.J. Knutson, on December 6, 2016

  

  Taking my bath this morning, I discovered a very peculiar thing – a full bar of white, oval shaped soap sitting on the holder at the side of the bath.  I know that may not sound odd, however;  I do not use bar soap – ever!  Especially the kind with the cheap floral scent such as this one.  My skin just cannot tolerate it.  In fact, what normally sits in that spot is my razor, but I had moved it the day before knowing that my granddaughter was staying overnight and I didn’t want her getting into it.  Furthermore, I would never buy that kind of soap, and should anyone gift it to me, it gets tossed immediately – I am allergic to perfume.

  So the soap had to come from outside our house, but by whom and when?

  Saturday, we were home all day, babysitting the little one.  The only other visitor to the house was my son, but when I asked him, he responded:  “Why would I do something like that?”

  It wasn’t my husband; he has his own bathroom and prefers body gel to bar soap.

  So that leaves our home care worker.  She came over for an hour yesterday afternoon (Sunday) while we were out at the movies with our granddaughter.  She was helping us with a few household tasks that we didn’t get finished the day before.  

  Either that or someone broke in and had a bath while we were out.

  What other explanation could there be?

  Any sleuths out there care to guess?  I am at a loss to explain this mystery.

  Update:  A Lesson in Jumping to Conclusions

  While stripping and remaking our bed, the home maker discovered a bag with the soap in it – leftover from last year’s stocking stuffers.  She thought I might like it, so innocently set it on the tub.

  Notice how my mind jumped to the impossibility of having bar soap in our house, and I didn’t even mention the other “clues” I was amassing building a case that surely indicated our sacred space was violated.

  Oh how the mind can take us to dark places – hope I’ve learned my lesson.

  Posted in humour, nonfiction | 5 Comments | Tagged mystery, whodunit

• Life Lesson Rant

  Posted at 6:10 pm by V.J. Knutson, on November 7, 2016

  I get that this illness thing may be part of higher learning;
  a divinely inspired gift to awaken my soul, but really?
  My resume is already humongous – I am over-animated
  with life experiences.  Okay, okay, so we are co-creators,

  make life choices, must be engaged in the process, but what
  kind of school is this, and when did I sign up, and are there

  any perimeters?  Pardon all the ranting – I am homebound
  looking for the exit ramp….
  
  If this is a life course, at what point do I earn my degree?
  (Full disclosure: it would be one heavy-assed qualifier)

  Or, is this a group assignment, testing our team dynamics,
  sustainable vibrancy? To what extent must I put in effort

  to earn leave?  I’ve been putting myself out there – okay,
  maybe with some exaggeration, and tongue-in-cheek, will

  admit that there have been promotions – the overall colour
  of my life a much more palatable hue than in the past – am

  not alone on this journey, just want clarity for the grind,
  would like to know where to draw the line for personal

  hope before I get smacked down again –
  hate to be disappointed….
  

  Posted in aging, Chronic Illnes, dreams, humour, ME/CFS | 0 Comments | Tagged hope, life lessons, musings, poetry, rant

• In the Game of Life, I’m a Fumbler

  Posted at 1:53 am by V.J. Knutson, on September 24, 2016

  I think there is something wrong with my internal compass.  Seriously.

  It’s like every time I set out to do something, I end up in a totally different direction.  Is it just me?

  When I was twenty-one, for example, I bought a one-way ticket to England where I planned to live, work, and study Shakespearean theatre.  I fancied myself the next Maggie Smith – not just because I adored her, but also because I’d been told I was like her in the few instances where I dabbled in community productions at home.

  I had contacted family overseas, arranged accommodations, and set a path for myself, and then three weeks before I left a man entered my life.  Unsolicited, on both our parts.  He was actually interested in my older sister, who was a friend of his girlfriend, who was on her way out.  My sister happened to be living with me at the time, and so our paths crossed inevitably, and I remember thinking how easily she attracted the good ones, until one night, out of the blue, he kissed me.

  I think I stammered something about leaving soon, and not being available, and he said he’d wait.

  Damn!

  So after three weeks in the UK, lonely and filled with uncertainty, I flew back and ended up married and living in a fishbowl (small town Ontario) and acting as recreational director, and head cook for our family of five.

  Totally missed the mark there.

  Then after years of roadblocks, at the age of forty-four, I went back to school, finally deciding to pursue another dream of mine:  becoming a teacher.  Made it through Teacher’s college, with distinction (and not just because I was the oldest one there), and landed my first job, which lead to another job, and so on for ten years, when I finally reached my ideal position, and then….I got sick.  Not kind of sick, but drop dead exhausted, unable to get out of bed ill.

  Am now the queen of lying in bed all day, have a limited audience (bless you my dear readers), and am doing the opposite of making difference in the lives of others.

  Go figure.  See?  Internal compass problems.

  Should have got that fixed before I tried following my passions.

  Posted in Chronic Illnes, dreams, humour, ME/CFS | 1 Comment | Tagged funny, inner compass, life, passion, wrong turns

• Pecking Order – by Bill Fitzsimons

  Posted at 5:10 pm by V.J. Knutson, on September 22, 2016

  

  Found this post and had to reblog: it’s right up an old English teacher’s alley!

  Algebra Of Owls

  Verb – an eager, tail-wagging little word,
  running wide-eyed between its bigger brothers;
  words such as conjunctions, prepositions.
  One of grammar’s doers, never content to lie
  supine, always knowing that action
  speaks louder than other words.

  Pronouns are full of their own importance;
  adjectives are pure decoration and nouns
  are merely appellations. The sturdy verb,
  though, moves mountains, spins the galaxies
  in their endless courses and propels the heart
  through the cannon-mouth of emotion.

  The verb is the jewel in grammar’s crown –
  far superior to the common noun.

  Bill Fitzsimons, Dublin-born and a relative new-comer in poetry terms, wrote his first poems in his late fifties. He is a founder member of a Leeds-based Irish writers group, Lucht Focail (Word People) and reads at venues in Leeds and elsewhere. He has been published in Poetry Monthly and Aireings and in three anthologies – The Fifth Province, Triple Spiral and Views from the…

  View original post 23 more words

  Posted in education, humour, writing | 0 Comments | Tagged English language, grammar, poetry

• Tired of Waiting

  Posted at 2:51 pm by V.J. Knutson, on September 22, 2016

  I’ve been making a conscientious effort to break free from the unhealthy patterns that hold me back in life:  an overly inflated sense of responsibility/martyr complex, lack of personal boundaries, and little self worth. While change is never easy, especially when it involves looking at one’s self objectively, the awareness has been coming step by step – with the help of amazing therapist, naturally.

   

  Recently, I realized that even though I am ill, and have limited energy to apply to daily living, I reserve what I do have for my children, waiting for them to tell me their needs before determining what I have left over.  Now, my children are all adults with children of their own, so what they require from me is usually child care, and what grandmother does not want to do that?  Except looking after a toddler or a baby is quite honestly a real drain on my reserves, and means I have little left for self-care or spending time with my husband.  

  It is really difficult to confess that this is an issue.  I love my granddaughters and want to spend time with them.  What I am afraid to relate to my children (and myself) is that a visit from them is about all I can manage and that an overnight commitment can set me back for days.  It sounds perfectly logical on paper, so why am I not able to express and act on it?

  Waiting has been a defining theme in my life, whether it is serving others ahead of myself, putting my life on hold until something else happens, or “weighting” (a play on the word).  I am sure all definitions of this theme relate back to my opening statement.  Putting myself first feels wrong, selfish, and even unwomanly.  It also means risking the loss of others – perhaps not rationally, but to my inner child, it does.

  “Tell yourself it is self-preservation and not selfishness,” a friend tells me.  She is amazing at setting boundaries, also lives with a chronic illness, and has no children.

  She doesn’t understand, I tell myself, although I like the idea of self-preservation.

  Here’s the thing:  it is not my children’s responsibility to make sure I take care of myself.  They will naturally ask for help as long as it is available to them.  In fact, they are relying on my personal boundaries to determine when enough is enough.   No boundaries = no win for anyone.  I feel guilty saying no to them, but then they feel guilty when I overextend myself and slip backwards.

  If I am going to change this cycle I have to be willing to take the risk and say ‘no’.  Even typing this makes me feel sick to my stomach.  What if my daughters decide that they want nothing more to do with me if I can’t babysit? (See how irrational fear is!)

  The thought of it makes me want to eat something, fast: shove those emotions back down before they become real.  Egads, more “weighting”!

  Sigh!  If change wasn’t so worth it we’d all be stuck in our own filth piles.  Oh, the work I have left to do….

   

  Posted in aging, children, family, grandparenting, Health, humour | 0 Comments | Tagged boundaries, breaking patterns, change, Health, ME/CFS, psychology, self-help

• Punctuation, Anyone?

  Posted at 8:06 pm by V.J. Knutson, on September 17, 2016

  I am contemplating the importance of punctuation when writing poetry.
  
  Please be advised that I am not an expert – either of the period or the poetic form –
  just a woman, who having stumbled upon the possibility of penning a word or two,
  has found herself questioning (which definitely needs a question mark, doesn’t it?)

  Blogging has opened so many possibilities: some, who like me, seem to fall back on conventional uses and others, who choose to ignore punctuation at all; and I am second guessing myself.

  Does the end of a line of poetry infer pause, or is a comma useful?  Do semi-colons even have a place in verse, or are they reserved for the monotony of prose.  Dashes, quotations marks, italics – all surely deserve a place.(?)

  Am I mired in the muck of high school grammar, missing out on true freedom of expression, or; is punctation the punch that adds meaning to my dribble?

  What do you think?

  Posted in creative writing, humour, Literature, opinion, writing | 4 Comments | Tagged humor, poetry, punctuation, style, writing

• Never Sleep With a Laptop

  Posted at 4:12 pm by V.J. Knutson, on September 9, 2016

  

  Went to sleep with my laptop by my side.  Big mistake!

  Casually pushed it into the spot normally occupied by my husband, but as he is away, it was so easy to do.  Didn’t give it another thought.

  Never imagined that an object, so inanimate, would nudge me all night, invade my dreams and plea for contact.

  Gave in at five a.m., and published that poem that had been lingering from the day before.  Pushed it away again at six thirty, tried to sleep, but it kept prodding, begging for more.

  I turned my back, and it started to whisper:  “Check your post results.”  I pulled the covers over my ears and hunkered down deeper in the covers.

  “I just need sleep!” I might have yelled.

  And just as sleep came, its sweetness enveloping me, I was awakened by insistent loud banging on the door.  I rallied myself out of the fog, threw on a robe and peeked out beyond the blinds.  Nothing.  Checked the front door. Also, nothing.  Came back to bed, saw the computer lying there, looking so inert and exiled it from my bed.

  After I wrote down my dreams, of course.

   

  (Image from:  moshlab.com)

  Posted in creative writing, humour, writing | 0 Comments | Tagged computers, dreams, humour, laptop, sleep, writing

• Topics

  abuse aging Book review children Chronic Illnes creative writing disability dreams education family fiction friends grandparenting Health humour inspiration Literature living with disability marriage ME/CFS memoir nonfiction opinion psychology relationship RV-Able special needs travel Uncategorized writing
• Search for:

• Follow Blog via Email

  Don't have a Worpress account? No problem. Follow me by email.

  Join 137 other followers

• Follow One Woman's Quest II on WordPress.com

• Blog Stats

  • 1,571 hits

• More from V.J.: One Woman's Quest

  Family Trappings

  Mother, twice married, conveys reluctance, exaggerates fear – charted history obstacles a given. Father’s outing perpetuates disconnection anxiety replacing communication group wishes null Sister desires crack – living spectacle – addiction barrier to forgotten privilege Husband’s end plan race transmissions – dispossessed of direction – a dreamer Fodder for gossip – elaborate gong show – […]

  Retirement

  Sought-out careers stagnant communication with colleagues soaked with commitments – underlying imposed courtesy we are doubly dependent – mutual caregivers supporting water treading, our authority drowning in preset obligations Past dwellings, connections sopped with history, hold on – leftover dregs, stale-dated – their validity disappearing, We are overcoming, debriefing, navigating release, minimilizing plan to alter […]

  Downpour

  Pummelling the roof hardened droplets drown out my thoughts deafening, ridiculing Nature’s curious declaration of power threatens, instructs humility; a discordant roar stifling creativity. (Image: images.yourdictionary.com)

  Hope’s Folly

  Mystery holds allure – dark, unkempt unknowns entrap a young woman’s heart She is bright-eyed, trusting hurried engagements, equates fatherhood with responsibility moves in, settles, adopting parental roles, motherly caring washes the dishes – is committed he roams, prowling old haunts unquenched by domesticity, hunts for new beginnings, projects contentment into her passivity disregards her […]

  Sudden Storm

  Storm clouds convene over startled lake waters a strengthening wind conspires bursting forth with roars of rain and thunder, shattering tranquil, lazy summer dreaming. (Image: http://www.flickr.com)

• Recent Posts

  • Pain
  • Letting Go
  • Staging Challenges
  • Morton’s “The Lake House” Masterful
  • Brief Notes
  • That Kid
  • Tired of the Same Old Endings
  • The Vortex
  • Cobwebs
  • “The Nest” of Entitlement

• Posts others have enjoyed…

  • "I'll Give You the Sun" Shining
  • It's Happening!
  • Let Me Introduce.....
  • Tired of Waiting
  • Wide Turns Ahead
  • "Best Boy" Heartwarming
  • RV-Able: The Adventure Begins
  • "A Little Life" Big Read
  • Mom Said Marry Well
  • Inspired by Goldfish

• Archives

  Archives Select Month June 2017  (7) May 2017  (11) April 2017  (7) March 2017  (6) February 2017  (4) January 2017  (8) December 2016  (18) November 2016  (17) October 2016  (18) September 2016  (20) August 2016  (13) July 2016  (12) June 2016  (9) May 2016  (12) April 2016  (9) March 2016  (16) February 2016  (10)

• Social

  • View Vjknutson’s profile on Twitter
  • View VJ Knutson’s profile on Pinterest
  • View V.J. Knutson’s profile on LinkedIn

• About the author

  

  V.J. Knutson

  Mother, grandmother, daughter, wife, sister, friend. Former teacher of children with special needs, English, and French. Currently experiencing life through the filter of ME/CFS. Aspiring writer, avid reader, lover of life - not afraid to explore all emotions in order to fuel the creative process. Words have been and always will be a lifeline.

  View Full Profile →

• • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  •