tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25503868792192507452024-03-05T18:11:42.486-07:00Mrs. Spit . . . Still Spouting OffMrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comBlogger692125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-72512165246410625252009-12-30T19:27:00.002-07:002009-12-30T19:28:55.113-07:00Just a Friendly ReminderI'm not here any more, I've moved.www.mrsspit.caMake sure you change your bookmarks and your blog readers.Come Saturday, I won't update at all here anymore.Stop on by, the coffee's on.Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-47113006359798157832009-12-28T10:26:00.002-07:002009-12-28T10:29:15.635-07:00Turn Me OnRemember, I'm not here any more. I've moved towww.mrsspit.caCome and join me there, making sure you update your bookmarks and re-direct your readers. Also, if you are so inclined, it would be great if you could be my friend!********* This is the man that I am married to.Now, don’t get me wrong. I love him, I adore him, and I will stand by my statement: Marrying Mr. Spit was, by far, the smartestMrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-79657076082750837232009-12-26T23:42:00.005-07:002009-12-27T00:36:29.483-07:00New DigsMrs. Spit is moving. . .She has her very own domain name.www.mrsspit.caI'll cross post until January 2, 2010, and then this blog will be completely re-directed to the new domain.I've already shut off the comments here.It's been a pleasure knowing you here, and I hope that you'll join me in my new home. Everything is moved in, and I'm unpacked enough to know where the coffee pot is.Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-33419360412437445942009-12-26T07:00:00.001-07:002009-12-26T07:00:01.895-07:00If you go. . .To mrsspit.caYou will see that it is "parked"Which is fancy-pants internet talk for:"Mrs. Spit owns this website, but she only got it yesterday, for Christmas, and she hasn't at all set it up yet." But, ahh. I am a website owner.Happy Geek-mas.(Why yes, if you have information about web hosting that you would like to share, I'd love to hear from you!)Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-17909500147329766222009-12-24T07:00:00.001-07:002009-12-24T07:00:02.112-07:00The WreathPerhaps I should tell you that I was young, very young. Barely 23? At any rate, I was young and image mattered a great deal, far too much. The very notion that we had so little money for Christmas, and that there would not be days of celebration was not at all in keeping with what I wanted, wished or imagined. A limit of $30 each was not how I imagined our first Christmas together.Christmas Eve Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-27084963472306146512009-12-23T10:13:00.004-07:002009-12-23T10:32:53.297-07:00Words of My MotherMy mother always taught me to be polite and not make waves. She also taught me to never, ever be rude or crass. These 2 things are warring in my head. I'm fuming. I tried to ignore it, but frankly, I'm mad as hell. I'm not willing to stay silent. Someone needs to speak up.Someone should be celebrating her second daughter's birthday, and instead she's remembering that her daughter couldn't stay. Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-91869996002375085382009-12-23T07:00:00.000-07:002009-12-22T23:15:49.751-07:00Book MeAhem. . .This has post has been kicking around, for, well awhile. But, I was doing some Christmas baking, and my mum came for coffee, and now it's late and my teeth really hurt and I don't have a post for today. So, consider this a burst of summer memories, in a wintry moment, would you?*******************Slate has Obama's summer reading list up. Now, it seems to me, but asking to see someone's Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-17016722711062089462009-12-22T07:00:00.000-07:002009-12-22T07:00:03.119-07:00SolsticeI have never celebrated the Solstice in any sort of formal way. I am a Christian, and that means that my meaning for this time of year is different, and the solstice, while forming the impetus for choosing this time of year to celebrate, is very much subsumed in Christmas.The first year, the year we buried Gabe, I was content to do so in the dark. Last year, I lived in the middle, and this year, Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-82817164803632335512009-12-21T07:00:00.001-07:002009-12-21T07:00:02.633-07:00Acknowledge We PrayGabriel's funeral was 2 years ago today. It is hard to believe that I have come this far, that this much time has passed, that he has been gone for so very long. I remember this day not with sorrow, but rather joy at the promise of the resurrection. I remember tears that last for a moment, and eternity forever. If I struggle with anything, it was a death so close to a birth. It is hard to Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-52481594987058223292009-12-20T17:43:00.002-07:002009-12-20T17:44:05.877-07:00The Winnah. . .Ladies and Gentlemen:By an almost country mile, the winner is:Gidget!Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-12516814472818860142009-12-19T09:16:00.000-07:002009-12-19T09:18:54.081-07:00Saturday QuotesContrary to popular notion, truck drivers know nothing about good restaurants. If you want a reliable tip, drive into a town, go to the nearest appliance store and seek out the dishwasher repair man. He spends a lot of time in restaurant kitchens and usually has strong opinions about them.Bryan MillerMrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-88800717507380118692009-12-18T07:00:00.001-07:002009-12-18T07:00:02.338-07:00RunningI haven't talked about why I started to run again, not really. I jokingly (and on nights like tonight, not so jokingly) say that my goal for running is not to die.No, I'm not trying to live longer, I'm trying to not die while running. So far, I have succeeded. But, really, every time is a new adventure. I'm, dare I say it, getting a bit into this. Oh, I don't like it much, and the first 2 Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-34681558121626963692009-12-17T13:16:00.003-07:002009-12-17T13:28:11.783-07:00Name GameWarning. . .There's a Poll.Could you click to open the post, so that you can participate in the poll?Yes, that means you. Even if you just lurk.The iPhone needs a name.The name options (in the poll on the side) are:GidgetSteveEstelleDigit512Bingley-BeepHave I mentioned that you really should vote in the poll on your left?Thanks.Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-28185566003323419142009-12-17T07:00:00.000-07:002009-12-17T07:00:04.346-07:00Join the RevolutionI had the start of a long, rambly post about isolation.Except, umm, I kept picking up my new iPhone, to marvel at it.I think this is love.If you'll excuse me, I'll be back tomorrow.I have to go find more apps.Surely, there must be some good blogging ones.(yes, I am completely pathetic. I can live with that.)Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-49085564329594987812009-12-16T00:10:00.001-07:002009-12-16T00:16:18.322-07:00Nothing to See HereThese aren't the droids you're looking for. . . .Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-10584826847619033772009-12-14T20:32:00.002-07:002009-12-14T20:50:37.519-07:00Homeward BoundI am sitting with my computer in my lap, typing away in the departures lounge, staring at slot machines. I have told Mr. Spit to go and take the last of our American money and see what he can win us back (I'm not going to participate, and Mr. T, you are buying coffee on Wednesday, I gambled away my coffee money!). I'm going to ramble on a bit about the tripI managed to get through security Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-32327942919708491802009-12-14T00:37:00.002-07:002009-12-14T00:46:37.266-07:00All Grown Up NowAhem.I have decided. I am not going to be a jelly bean saleswoman (selling only the black ones, because any other kinds are revolting)I am not going to design firework shows. (Although, this was the most tempting career I could think of for a long time.)I will not become a blast engineer. (Hello, the fact I didn't know you could divide by zero was always going to be a limiting factor)I am not Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-34400685392663031162009-12-13T00:56:00.002-07:002009-12-13T01:07:09.340-07:00MaybeMaybe I'm cheap, maybe I'm missing the fun gene, maybe I got dropped on the head as a baby (actually, I'm pretty sure that happened)I decided to try my hand at the slots today. I showed up with my 24 dollars (and remind me to pay Martha back her $2 tomorrow, would you?). And I put $2 in the machine.I don't "get" this whole gambling thing.It went something like this. . .Mrs. S: How do I use this Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-83637639251294895882009-12-12T01:03:00.002-07:002009-12-12T01:07:35.370-07:00Recessionary TacticsI knew that the economy was still bad in the states. Really bad in some places.But I had no idea how bad it was in Vegas. None. I'm so sorry, if only I had known.These poor, poor young women. And the cocktail waitresses.They aren't being paid enough.There is Dior, Gucci, Armani, Fendi, Prada, D and G, BCBG, Zara, Kenneth Cole, Kate Spade, all of these stores, it must be so painful to walk by.To Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-71521522393341055822009-12-11T07:00:00.001-07:002009-12-11T07:00:02.005-07:00GamesMy father always told me that everyone had a game, and that you shouldn't play another man's game until you knew his rules.Which is, on the whole of it, not bad advice for a woman in Vegas. I have been surprised how much game playing their really is. Oh, there's the Casino, where you expect the games. There's the men (and women!) handing out cards for prostitutes, there's the rodeo ticket sellersMrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-35084273114127170112009-12-10T07:00:00.002-07:002009-12-10T07:00:08.187-07:00GabrielGabrielLife and death are born togetherOne brother sucking the other's thumbNeither brother able to relinquish his embraceFor all of this has happened too early, too soonAnd you, who have looked at the sky all your life,Have never understood how distant are the starsNor how brilliant their lightAnd you, who have stood so long upon this cinder,The earth, have never known how sweet and lushHer new Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-29055287244627148642009-12-09T15:00:00.000-07:002009-12-09T15:00:01.017-07:00HooveringSo, the Mister and I are on our way Vegas today. . .One of the things we are going to do is go to the Hoover Dam with Martha and her family. (Tickets are bought. Also, you may have heard, they are building a bridge there. Mr. Spit is vibrating, he's so happy).Anyway, you know me (well, you don't, not in the real world, but let's move on, shall we?) I like to research stuff. So, I go on to the Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-50848345676481777082009-12-09T07:00:00.002-07:002009-12-09T07:00:06.387-07:00Cross Polination It’s true what some people say, that when you lay your eyes on your child for the first time you love them with your entire being. The first glimpse of my son was in the form of double pink lines on a home pregnancy test. Later I heard his amazing heartbeat and viewed his cute, little fetal self via ultrasound. When I held him for the first time a huge wave of calm and Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-79202773445059836842009-12-08T07:00:00.004-07:002009-12-08T07:00:01.516-07:00And a Sword Will Pierce Your Own SoulWhen you actually read the text, you carry along, 35 verses into the second chapter of Luke, and you've gotten through the "no room at the Inn" and you're past the Shepherds' arrival, and you get to the presentation at the Temple 8 days after the birth of Christ, and you get to the "Glory to God" that we still say every Sunday morning, in one version or another, and then, well, then time slows Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550386879219250745.post-82897761924182420232009-12-07T07:00:00.000-07:002009-12-07T07:00:02.525-07:00StuartI went to the Vinyl Cafe Christmas Concert last night. I went, enjoyed myself annnnnnnd. . . . that's not where this story starts.A few weeks ago I wrote Stuart McLean an email. Well, I went to his website and I filled out a comment email. Which is a strange sort of thing for me, I'm not so much about the fan thing. I have all his books, and several CD's, including the Christmas one, Dave and I Mrs. Spithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03386820063407910064noreply@blogger.com