One Woman's Quest II

Navigating life through grandparenthood, chronic illness, dream work, and other inspirations
One Woman's Quest II
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    • Brief Notes

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

      th-6Dear 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.

       

       

      th-4Dear 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.

       

      th-5Dear 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?

       

       

       

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

    • 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.chanel80smetallicleathertrimwithgoldlamebrocadepaisllymotiftotepursec80s1-jpg

      “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!”1-jil-sander-lunch-bag

      “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

    • 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?th

      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.

      th-1I 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.th-2

      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.

      thAm 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

    • Brotherly Reunion

      Posted at 12:41 am by V.J. Knutson, on April 16, 2016

      My mother birthed six children through the course of two marriages; her first husband, father of the original four, married a woman who also had four children, so we are a family of full, half, step and out-of-step children.  Fifteen years separate the oldest and youngest, and as the second youngest, I have never really known how the others perceive me – I am, after all, the product of a stable union – my mother’s second marriage.  th-1

      I grew up in southwest Ontario with one full sister and two halves.  The rest of the family was reared in the east, so while I knew some of the halves, I was definitely out-of-step with most of the steps.  I am not the only sibling confused by all of this.  My next older brother, Reg, was still a preschooler when torn away from our mother, which caused him great angst, and the youngest of the steps was revealed to actually be a half sibling to my halves (they shared a father) when we were in our teens, throwing further hysteria into the mix.

      th-2Suffice to say, we are not a close bunch – too much dysfunction creates knee-jerk self-preservation which is not conducive to closeness.  Some got married, some got sick, some moved away.  While I focused on building my own (new and improved) family, my brother Reg moved away, never to be heard of again (at least by me) for twenty-five years.

      Then one day, as if no time had passed between us, he called, and gave me his cell phone number.  I started to text.  Months went by, and then opportunity presented itself – we were going to meet up!  th

      “You’re still tall”, was the first thing I could think to say after hugging him in greeting.

      “Yep!”  He always was a man of few words.  He had a wife in tow.  A wife of twenty-five years.  I embraced her as a new-found sister; introduced my own husband.  We talked for hours, shared a meal, and they were back on their way.

      Photos taken were shared via text afterwards, and I messaged my delight at having seen them.

      We loved seeing you too, my new sister-in-law typed, Reg was very happy, but a little sad too…

      Me too… I responded.  Me too.

      Posted in family, humour, nonfiction, relationship | 0 Comments | Tagged blended family, brother/sister, dysfunctional family, funny, humour, memoir, reunions, reuniting, separation, siblings

    • Cutie Duck

      Posted at 8:38 pm by V.J. Knutson, on March 2, 2016

      “Did you know that I am a big sister?” three-and-a-half-year-old Sloane is quick to offer to anyone she comes into contact with.

      If asked her sister’s name, she quickly replies:  “I call her Cutie Duck”.

      Small for her age, Sloane has wispy, white blonde hair, big brown eyes, and talks with a high-pitched, squeaky voice.  Most of the words she uses are bigger than her.  When asked if she liked the new snowsuit that Grumpa bought her, she replied:  “Yes, it’s very colourful!”

      “Cutie Duck is so beautiful!” she told us one day at dinner.  “I just love her!”

      She went on to tell us that it is her job to teach the baby things, like how to walk and talk and play.

      “But not for a long time,” I suggested.  “The baby will need to a lot of looking after first.”

      “I know, I have to protect her.  I can carry her, you know.  I have big strong arms.”

      Yesterday, while talking to Sloane and her mother, I overheard my daughter say:  “Where did this mess come from?”

      Without skipping a beat, Sloane responded:  “Cutie Duck did it!”

      “She did, did she?”

      I couldn’t contain my laughter.  Cutie Duck isn’t even expected to arrive until the middle of May – three months away!

       

      Posted in children, family, grandparenting, humour, nonfiction | 0 Comments | Tagged babies, big sister, birth, cute, funny, grandmothering, kid's talk, out of the mouths of babes

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      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

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    • About the author

      V.J. Knutson

      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.

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