Category Archives: The language of families

And a Safety Pin

Posted on June 12, 2018 by Mrs. Spit

I crossed the stage this morning, the University conferring upon me the degree of MBA, with all the rights and privileges thereunto.  I shook the right hands, in the right order and did not fall over. Cheered for classmates. Hugged … Continue reading →

Posted in Friendship, Grad Student, The language of families | 5 Comments

Also, My Mother

Posted on April 29, 2018 by Mrs. Spit

I am fighting with Netflix. I realize it must look like I am blogging, but what I’m really doing is fighting with Netflix. Also, my mother. I’ve been fighting with my dead mother since Monday at about 8 am. That … Continue reading →

Posted in MS Gets on Your Nerves, The language of families | 1 Comment

Like her and . . . Not

Posted on December 3, 2017 by Mrs. Spit

I stood in the line at the grocery store, ordering my groceries so they got bagged in a simpler order. I walked through the parking lot, looking at the at the hefty receipt. I was muttering “I’m so glad I … Continue reading →

Posted in Adult Dating, The language of families | Leave a comment

Hers, In Mine

Posted on July 5, 2017 by Mrs. Spit

I am on a new medication and it gives me a dry mouth. My solution is to keep a ziploc baggie of scotch mints in my purse. They sit next to the package of kleenex. Which makes me my mother. … Continue reading →

Posted in The language of families | 2 Comments

Dance in the Rain

Posted on February 2, 2017 by Mrs. Spit

My mother was many things. It’s no lie to say that she hated me. She hated how I threatened her, how she could not control me, she lived in fear that I would eclipse her. But she loved me too. … Continue reading →

Posted in The language of families | 2 Comments

Tea Towels and Wooden Spoons

Posted on December 1, 2016 by Mrs. Spit

I see her around. Well, not really because she is dead, her ashes put in to the ground by my own hands. Except that I see her. In a well dressed woman of a certain age. A tone of voice. … Continue reading →

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69

Posted on June 27, 2016 by Mrs. Spit

I drove out to the garden and paid my admission, walking to what they call the Iris Dell, and what I irreverently refer to as ‘the place we tipped your mortal remains into’. Iris Dell sounds nicer.   There’s a … Continue reading →

Posted in The language of families | 2 Comments

Time Doesn’t Stand Still

Posted on June 13, 2016 by Mrs. Spit

I went in the back door. In truth, while I know there is a front door, I don’t think I’ve ever been through the front door. I go to the back door. I don’t ring the door bell and I … Continue reading →

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Taller than I

Posted on May 7, 2016 by Mrs. Spit

I took my niece to the 100th anniversary of universal suffrage at the Alberta legislature, and as I stood behind her, with my hands on her shoulders, I joked that I needed to weigh her down. By this time next … Continue reading →

Posted in Gabriel, Gardening, The language of families, the nieces and nephews, Tiny Points of Light | 3 Comments

Would She

Posted on May 2, 2016 by Mrs. Spit

The day my mother died, well, the night before really, I was talking to her nurse. The nurse commented that she was so glad I had arrived in time and asked if I had a nice flight. Now, on the face … Continue reading →

Posted in The language of families | 1 Comment