The Fluffbucket Diaries

I hate Facebook with every fiber of my being.

But I also hate the Bears, ice storms, and coronavirus. I’m stuck with their existence and have to come to terms with them, too.

I have thought numerous times about pulling the plug and deleting my Facebook account. The anti-Facebook crowd that drives this blogging platform I use would say it’s the only way to go. But there are people who are dear to me on Facebook (and its sister platform, Instagram), and I don’t see them removing themselves anytime soon.

Over the past couple of years, I have distanced myself from Facebook, posting sporadically at best and lurking occasionally. It did me a lot of good to break my addiction to the site; it fed a compulsion to compare my paltry lives to that of others, reminded me that there’s too many stupid people out there, stoked my desire for the attention of “likes,” and stole too much precious time.

In recent months, I’ve tiptoed back into the fray, only posting maybe once or twice a week, if that. When I feel myself growing anxious about something I posted (i.e., being bothered by no “likes” or being annoyed by an obnoxious comment), either I delete whatever comment annoyed me or delete the post entirely.

These days, I’ve found an excellent reason to use Facebook. There are numerous groups devoted to rallying snail mail enthusiasts to send cards and notes to people who need good cheer: sick kids, anxious or otherwise troubled kids, lonely or ill seniors, others who could use a kind or encouraging word. As I’ve been charging into a snail mail habit that I hope to develop throughout the year, this is a perfect use of an otherwise insidious social media platform.

The only pitfall here, besides the fact that I’m pulled back into the Zuckerberg vortex of online traffic, is that I’m now buying greeting cards and postcards in bulk. But it’s worth it if it means sending a stranger a little bit of kindness. And I’m enjoying it.

Even Facebook can be redeemed. Somewhat.

At the end of the prayer of Spiritual Communion, the priest in today’s video Mass from Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago added, “And may the Bears beat the Packers.”

I’m not sure that’s what St. Alphonsus Ligouri had in mind when he composed that particular prayer.

This came in the mail today. Thanks @jmaxb for the recommendation!

Staying up to think about the concept of “digital gardening.” Throwing some links into the soil of this post so I can have them on hand to read and consider over the next few days.

• A Brief History and Ethos of the Digital Garden
• How the Blog Broke the Web
• You and Your Mind Garden
• Domestic Cozy
• How to Set Up Your Own Digital Garden
• My Blog Is a Digital Garden
• Digital Gardens Let You Cultivate Your Own Little Bit of the Internet
• Building a Digital Garden

So far, 2021 has been uneventful at best. Praying it stays that way for a while.

Spending part of New Year’s weekend getting back in a snail mail groove as I reactivate my Postcrossing account and send random cards and letters to friends and strangers.

Also sporadically dipping my toes back into the Micro.blog timeline. Happy New Year.

All is quiet on New Year’s Day.

(Photo taken through the screen of our bedroom window)

Twenty-three holiday packages later (all sent by Priority Mail), only three can be classified as painfully late in the USPS system. That’s not a bad deal given the season, the pandemic, and the horror show that worsened under politicized Postal Service leadership.

Meanwhile, I am rediscovering the joys of snail mail and hoping that my love of analog written communication will last well into 2021.

Lately, I’ve taken to printing out articles from subscribed (that is, paywalled from the general public) sources and dropping them in the mail with a short letter or sticky note. It takes a bit more engagement than just linking to things in an email, plus I like the more directed one-on-one connection as opposed to the blasted-into-the-ether mode of social media and blogging. I forgot how much I enjoy sending out mail—and getting mail myself.

I’ve also reactivated my Postcrossing account and returned to my League of Extraordinary Penpals membership (and updated my database entry there for other members) after a lengthy hiatus.

Perhaps a balance of both blogging/social media and snail mail is the way to go for me in the coming year.

This is how I troll.

I hate when I can’t remember whether I took the painkillers I intended to take.

“Dear Santa,

“We would have left cookies and milk, but we have a cat who doesn’t know how to keep his paws to himself. I hope you accept this sticky note instead.

“Frannie”

(We put out cookies and eggnog after she went to bed anyway.)

We’ve been terribly off this Advent season, which makes sense in a calendar year that has made no sense whatsoever.

We lit our Advent candles each night and got our Christmas shopping done. Beyond that, we barely did much in the way of holiday decor. We ended up getting a small, sparkly white fake tree to go with our modest parol in the living room window; we brought down one box of Christmas decor with enough ornaments to dress up this 3-foot fake tree, and somehow it finally felt like Christmas.

No Christmas Eve Mass for the first time in forever, either. It doesn’t feel right, but the archdiocesan dispensation during the pandemic has me okay with us praying through the Mass readings and midnight Mass on a screen if it means feeling safe from contagion.

It’s not a perfect Christmas Eve by any means. But we’ll make do, and thank God for it all. With a glass of coquito tonight and half a churro for dessert. Merry Christmas.

Okay, so I only got four small packages shipped, made a batch of mint fudge, and sorted through one box of Christmas stuff to find enough ornaments for our tiny tree this year. Also, Frannie and I went to confession.

The rest of the time, I designed a Word letterhead template for myself and edited part of a blog post for a friend. (I need to finish that tonight.) Oh, and I’m still battling a terrible case of intestinal upset and back pain.

So much for the weekend to-do list. If I can stand it, I’ll get that blog post edit finished, wrap up a small edit due tomorrow for work, and hope I can handle work tomorrow. Right now, it doesn’t feel like I can.

I post occasionally on Reddit on my 12-year-old’s behalf. This is her entry in a contest on the Dragonvale subreddit. All digital.

A touch of digestive upset and lower back pain is keeping me from my Christmas to-do list. Could only handle a bit of salad, a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, and a glass of kefir at dinner.

My daughter is 12. She becomes a teenager in 3 months.

I don’t take for granted the fact that she still reaches for my hand when we walk together.

To-do list for this weekend before Christmas:

• Go to CCD confession at our parish.
• WRAP GIFTS!
• Rearrange living room and bring out Christmas decorations to finally put up.
• Make batches of mint, vanilla fudge, and candied nuts.
• Pack up and ship at least six boxes of fudge and other homemade confections.
• Send out a handful of cards/letters.

It’s going to be a long weekend after a long work week.

But first, some quality sleep.

Our parish has confession time for the CCD kids Saturday morning. Time to help F brush up on the sacrament. Hoping that starting with this video – a light, kid-friendly skit that is more endearing than I’d expect an “SNL” bit about confession to be – makes that process less daunting.

The Force is strong with the Sun-Times sports copy editors.

I dreamed that I somehow pissed off Ivanka Trump, and I ended up on the lam with my husband because she and Jared Kushner were trying to kill me.

I also woke up at least twice with explosive digestive issues.

It’s been a long, dreadful week.

My cousin Raymond died today of Covid-19. If you are so inclined, please pray for the repose of his soul and consolation for those he left behind, especially his 83-year-old mother, my aunt. And prayers that this insidious virus will be defeated. Thank you.

Spending a disturbing amount of time lately having to shoo the not-so-small kitten from the dog food. I had a friend whose cat died after eating too much dog food, so I’m a little paranoid about this sort of thing.

Dogs and cats, living together.

Joined Frannie yesterday for her CCD homework: Watch the 2012 film “For Greater Glory," a drama about the Cristeros uprising to fight Mexico’s violent crackdown on the Catholic Church in the 1920s.

I was iffy about the idea of a 12-year-old watching a bloody 2.5-hour tale of martyrdom. But this one was a deeply affecting, powerful story of faith that was worth every minute of viewing. ¡Viva Cristo Rey!