The Fluffbucket Diaries

This is what happens lately when my work day gets extra-stressful: I forget to eat. And then MyFitnessPal gets cranky on me because I didn’t log enough food for the day.

Probably not the best thing to just have a cheese stick for breakfast.

ICAD 2/61; no prompt. Paint markers, acrylic paint.

Inspired by a lousy first day of work after several days of bereavement leave.

I wanted to work with darkness and light in the midst of it. I might play with this kind of color scheme later in this ICAD stretch. Going from darkness to light is on my mind a lot lately.

Started my day weeping over Steve Stone’s dog dying and a sad cartoon about pets who “cross the Rainbow Bridge.” (I don’t feel like trying to discern whether that is theologically correct.) Then I discovered soon enough that returning to work today was a horrible idea. I forgot to eat and drink for much of the day.

And this apparent Cubs sweep of the Padres is just making this crummy day even crummier.

Pro tip: Take as much time off as possible after the death of a close loved one. Returning to work too soon is a terrible idea.

ICAD 1/61; no prompt. (Most will be no prompt.) Paint markers, Sharpies, acrylic paint, gel pen, laser printer, and repurposed cardboard.

Produced a makeshift title card this afternoon. I was testing some old markers on a card to see if they were still usable, and opted to do something with that card.

I’ve made Mom my patron saint, as it were, for this maiden voyage into the ICAD world. So, here she is (with me behind her, age 5), joining me in this venture.

(Also, I’ve created a second Instagram account for my art experiments: @gratuitous.art. Unlike my personal account, @gratuitous.art is public.)

Spending time today to search for and scan old photos for Mom’s visitation in a couple of weeks. I am finding great joy in this, as well as some incredibly terrible hair and wardrobe choices.

Taking the plunge at last in the annual 61-day Index-Card-A-Day Challenge. You just create a piece of art on a simple index card each day. Sounds simple, but it strikes me as daunting if I think about it enough. So I’m trying to not think (much) and just do.

Aiming to post what I do each day here (and at least some of the time on the ICAD group page on Facebook, if I’m brave enough).

I sense that I’m going to need this kind of outlet for the next few months to help keep myself sane. Grateful for it.

The small dot on my wedding dress, next to my brother’s disembodied limb, is a ladybug. Mom was completely giddy, as ladybugs are supposed to be good luck. Few things excited Mom more than good omens, and to have one at our wedding reception had delighted her no end.

(Not the greatest photo in the world, I know, but I still love it.)

And with this, I need a break. Two ballgames in the past four days, combined with a lot of emotional churn and a lot of photos and stories to sift through, left me spent. Maybe I leaned too hard into … into something over the past week.

Starting to remember why bereavement leave requires a good chunk of time.

The Sox game brought me some joy today. But I’m kind of crashing right now, emotionally and physically. Time to lay low — maybe here, definitely on social media — for a bit. Very grateful tomorrow is a holiday.

Another day, another ballgame. I finally got to wear my A.J. Pierzynski jersey to a Sox game. But Mom’s namesake player went 0-for-4 today. And I saw a Titan’s son (Tyler Nevin, son of Phil) go 0-for-3 with the Orioles.

The good guys won, as Hawk Harrelson would say. And the fact that the Padres lost – just as they did Thursday – makes me worry that maybe my attending ballgames jinxes my hometown team.

It was still a beautiful day for baseball. And there was joy today.

Finally coming to terms with the fact that I get my most meaningful prayer time done in the car, either when parked or driving. No wonder the acedia has been so bad since I started working from home full-time more than a year ago.

Just got home. Drove around a lot today.

Chris to Brewers parking lot attendant: “So, you charge Cubs fans more for parking?”

Attendant: “Yes, sir!”

The guy had a mask on, but I could swear he was smiling.

One of the first things my sister told me Tuesday after she broke the news of our mom’s passing: Go ahead and go to your ballgame on Thursday. It wasn’t exactly what I was thinking about at the time.

But she reiterated the point during another phone call that night. “Daddy would want you to go,” she said. “Mams would want you to go.” Even my boss – who signed off on my day off for the game weeks ago – said the next morning, unprompted, I needed to go.

Finally, one of my wisest friends wrote me in an email this morning: “Don’t be shy about enjoying life (like ice cream and baseball) as you also press into waves of grief.”

So, we’re in Milwaukee today to watch my Padres. Mom wasn’t much of a baseball fan, but I’m still thinking of her anyway.

I’ve had a sad and rough 24+ hours, and I can’t sleep. But we’ve still got tickets to see the Padres in Milwaukee later today, and we’re going to use them. I need just a little bit of joy right now. Like this. https://t.co/jhJpZWQ7o7

— Joyce Garcia (@joycegarcia) May 27, 2021

Mercedes Vinluan Garcia died peacefully Tuesday afternoon in Bonita, California, slightly more than three months after celebrating her 90th birthday. Her oldest daughter and youngest sister were at her bedside.

It is awkward and deeply frustrating to have to grieve from afar. It is even more awkward to grieve when, in many respects, we lost our mother years ago. She was diagnosed with dementia around the time Frannie was born, so my daughter never knew her grandmother at her liveliest, most lucid self. But Mom’s illness never got in the way of her fierce devotion and love for all of us, and she delighted in her only grandchild – especially given that we named her after the husband she lost nearly 30 years ago.

It doesn’t help that COVID-19 concerns will likely limit arrangements to grieve together in California, even as many pandemic restrictions are being eased. It may be weeks before my sister and brother and I can lay her to rest.

I don’t really have it in me to weave the kind of lengthy, heartfelt tribute my mother deserves, so I won’t even try right now. The memories – her sardonic, surprisingly goofy sense of humor; her generosity of spirit; her almost comical worry about the tiniest things that might befall us – will arise here and there and at the weirdest times, as grief does. Just know that our hearts are broken, and we will miss her deeply.

The New Era “Local Market” hats are among the worst examples of MLB desperation for cash cow ventures.

Late post in the wee hours of Tuesday. Just marking a bit of a happy moment here. Not much more to add. Onward.

Researched information on Amazon yesterday about litter boxes and stuff to calm agitated cats. Ever since, we’ve been getting ads for self-cleaning litter boxes and feline pheromone sprays when we stream ballgames on MLB.TV via the Amazon Fire stick on our television.

As Chris said in response to this, welcome to 21st century marketing.

We went for a walk on a hot and humid Saturday around a local reservoir. Only a bit over a mile. Only needed to stop twice for mild back discomfort and annoyance with the heat. I couldn’t have made this walk easily six months ago.

This week’s favorite subreddit: /r/CatsAreAssholes/.

And in a related development, this week’s favorite McSweeney’s list: Eight Famous Poems Rewritten by Your Asshole Cat.

The husband brought this home per the veterinarian’s suggestion to deal with some cat behavior issues.

If I knew this would work on you,” the husband said to me, “I would have bought them for the entire house.”

Baseball creeps into so many corners of our lives.

I watch baseball on my Kindle Fire, provided Winslow lets me.

Saw the bariatric doctor today. Dr. O. was very pleased with my progress, and so was I, once I weighed in at 244 pounds at his office. This makes for a 39-pound loss since mid-January, or nearly half my initial 80-pound goal.

I ruminated about expanding my goal beyond 80 pounds, as I’ve mentioned here. But Dr. O. stopped me, reminding me to celebrate what I’ve done up till now. If I want to lose more once I hit the 80-pound mark, fine, but he didn’t feel a need to discuss that right now.

Otherwise, we talked about the joys of MyFitnessPal, exercise, the importance of sunlight, and COVID-19 vaccinations; then he re-upped my prescriptions, reiterated that this weight-loss thing is a long-haul deal, and sent me on my way until our next appointment in August.

He also wants me to make an appointment with my primary care doctor, largely to show off the weight loss.

Returned to confession and Mass yesterday for the first time in roughly 6 months.

The priest gently chided me for letting my anger at all the divisiveness in the Church keep me from the sacraments: “This [division] has been going on for thousands of years,” he said. Or something like that. But he didn’t flinch as I went on, even when I admitted that I had pounded down a chicken leg on Friday just out of spite, I was so angry.

He asked if I had at least been praying, and I admitted only with my kid at bedtime – beyond that, not even so much as a morning offering. “Why, even second-graders do that!” he said. I could tell he said it with a smile (even behind the curtain), but it still stung.

Fr. L., the guy I usually turn to for confession, was a little tougher on me than usual at first, but I didn’t mind. He spent a little more time advising me this time around, and I appreciated that. With Pentecost coming up, he advised me to ask the Holy Spirit to lead me in a fresh start, gave me my penance, and sent me on my way.

My takeaway was that I can’t let annoying people and Church politics get in the way of prayer and my relationship with God. Fr. L. is particularly insistent on people maintaining a regular prayer life as much as possible, and he’s absolutely right to be insistent. And I’m grateful for that.

I"m still annoyed at the divisions and failures of the Church; reading this piece just now by a priest who was kicked out of seminary for being Black doesn’t help my anger. But, as Fr. Bruce Wilkinson writes of his experience:

After I worked through some of my anger and sadness in reflection and prayer, though, I realized something important: I was not going to allow other people’s hatred to control my life.

Why? Fr. Bruce makes it clear at the end: “I couldn’t help being in love with God, and God wouldn’t let me go.”

God doesn’t let go, no matter how livid you are with the Church, His people, and sometimes even Him. And I’m grateful for that, too.