Lane Morris Buckman's Blog, page 4

I Need Spacebook

I wanted to take a break from Facebook because I’ve focused so much on it that I started to feel like I had tunnel vision. My brain felt crowded. I wanted to back up, look around, and open up my focus. I wanted to play around with Instagram as a platform, and see if I could “curate” a little more art, or visual interest in my online presence.

I use IFTTT, so anything I post to Instagram goes to my Twitter, and anything posted on my Twitter goes to my Facebook. What this means, when I back awa...

All Soaped Up

My Granny’s living room was straight out of a 60s JC Penney catalog. The sofa was a stiff, unforgiving goldenrod. The ottomans were goldenrod and avocado sushi-roll shaped furniture. The recliner was burgundy pleather. The stereo was six feet long, nestled in a mahogany buffet, the top covered in Sears portraits of the family.

Her walled-up, brick fireplace and mantle had been painted white, and she decorated with avocado colored glass swans. The lamps were gold, with cream colored shades. Bu...

That Time I Almost Didn’t Graduate

Two days before high school graduation, I was in the school cafeteria looking over my cap and gown with the rest of the Senior class. My friend, Jason, was talking about what he planned to do after walking. I remember kind of muttering something, and trying to swallow back the lump coming up in my throat.

I knew I could pass off the tears as being sad about leaving high school behind, but the irony was that I had started to cry because I was afraid I wasn’t going to get to leave at all.

For...

Sink, or Swim

If you’ve ever done CPR, you know how horrifying it is. You have to gather your wits and remember the steps. You have to tilt the head back, clear the windpipe, pinch the nose, and breath into the mouth and pray to whatever God might be listening that you got those in the right order. When the head will fit in the cup of your hand, and the nose is smaller than the pad of your thumb, you start praying you aren’t breaking anything.

But, getting the steps right isn’t a guarantee that mouth-to-mo...

You’ll Be Okay

I recognize that if you are inclined to believe Caitlyn Jenner wants to rape your daughter in the bathroom, and Josh Duggar is a great catch, you probably aren’t reading my blog. I recognize that if [you have stumbled across this page and] you are inclined to believe that you can only trust cisgender heterosexuals, nothing I write will change your mind. I know I am preaching to the choir. But what a choir it is!

And since you all love to sing, I’d like us to learn a song together. If we are a...

In Dixieland, I Take This Stand

I am a white person. You may have noticed that from the pictures. I am a white person from the Deep South, born in 1970, and raised mostly in military towns by people who were pretty decent human beings.

What that means is that I was in a military-brat bubble, so I missed a lot of what was happening in civilian neighborhoods around the country in the 70s. I lived in mixed populations, and grew up around people who were from all over the world, and my parents never talked to me in terms of Us...

Potty Mouth

Like many other Americans, I live in a house with a person of the opposite sex. I also grew up in a house with people of the opposite sex, and visited houses where people of the opposite sex lived. To this day, if I go to visit a friend, there is a good chance that someone of the opposite sex also lives in the house with my friend.

I don’t want to shock, or upset you, but in every one of those situations, I have used a unisex toilet.

Please don’t judge me. I have a unisextoilet in my own hous...

Dear Imaginary Daughter: Schmucks

(In which I address the daughter I never had, with the advice I always wanted to give.)

Dear Imaginary Daughter,

I want to talk to you about schmucks. See, you’ve grown up surrounded by good men, who respect women as equals. Your father is good man. Your uncle is a good man. Your brother is growing up to be a good man. Your extended family is full of good men. So, you might be surprised one day when you sit down next to a man at the company baseball game, and as you bite into your hot dog, h...

Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

I wish I had written this, but since I did not, I can at least pick up some brownie points by sharing it with you all.

rhondastephens

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars.

Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. Th...

The Weight of Thanks

The first time my son stopped me, and I mean seriously stopped me by putting his little hand on my arm to be sure he had my full attention to say thank you, I turned to goo. We’ve worked to teach the boy manners, to say please and thank you, so I wasn’t surprised by the words. I was surprised because it was clear that there was sentiment behind the words. It wasn’t just a rote call and return. It was in his voice, it was in his face, it was brimming in his eyes. He was expressing real gratitu...