Resolutions

It's important to caveat any New Year's resolution with all the resolutions I've failed to keep over the years. There have been a lot, from resolving to be the youngest paleontologist at the age of six to resolving to be the youngest astronaut at the age of seven (I still say I came really close to both those goals). More recently, I set the goal of climbing Pike's Peak a few years ago. Since then, I haven't even hiked up Clingman's Dome here in Tennessee, but I'm still holding on to the dream (I hiked up a really steep hill just the other day). I also resolved to hike 100 miles of the Appalachian Trail in 2010. I ended up going just over 20 miles, but in my defense have you ever hiked with a Blendtec and a 50 mile extension cord on your back?? Last year, I swore I would write a book about my grandparents. Instead, I interviewed a lot of relatives and started a blog so that I could write more about myself (writing a book is REALLY hard).

There've been others; some I'm still too embarrassed to admit. Needless to say, there's no guarantee I'll keep my resolution this year. Maybe by saying it in a public forum, I'll be less likely to break it? Nah. I have no shame at this point in my life. Regardless, I resolve to write more blog posts in 2014. Writing has been therapeutic for me. It helps me to talk about my medical issues in an open forum. I like demonstrating to people that having a feeding tube does not automatically mean a death sentence or hiding from the public eye. Also, I have a hard time putting my feelings into words in front of friends and family. I'm much more capable of expressing myself through my writing.

So, shall I put up specific numbers here? Really throw down the gauntlet? Ok, I vow to publish one blog post a week.

There, I said it.

And these won't be one word blog posts either. There will be no July 17, 2014, post that reads, "This is a blog post." Nope, these will be substantive posts. Posts that may make you, the reader, laugh, or cry, or go "Hmmm," or say, "this dude is an idiot!" or think "this blog represents everything wrong with the world and may be a sign of the impending apocalypse."

Is it possible I won't reach my goal? Yes. Am I likely to break this resolution by Feb. 1? There is a decent chance. But at least you can shame me if I fail. Kindly point out that the late Eric O'Gorman, who is my idol in every way, put out 123 posts on his blog in 2010, and I'm only trying to write 52. Or, you could not so kindly say, "Liebenow, you're a LOSER!! HA HA HA HA HAAAA!!!"

Let the writing begin!!!!



i think i'll take a nap now.

My Christmas Story

For those not aware, my brother, Buz, lost his battle with lymphoma in November of 1992. He was 23, and I was only 17 yet he's been in my thoughts every day since his death. I have a lot of fond memories of the time I shared with my big brother, and I'd like to share one of my happiest Christmases with Buz. If you are reading this post and don't celebrate Christmas, please indulge me.

Me, Ginger, and Buz. I don't know who the kid is, so THANKS A LOT FOR PHOTO BOMBING THE PIC, YOU BRAT!

I was asked recently what the best Christmas present I ever received was. Without even having to think about it, I replied, "a Super Stunt Dirt Bike." What is a Super Stunt Dirt Bike, you ask? Check this out: http://youtu.be/ukHCe-rKSIU (this confirms that there is, literally, no video you can't find on Youtube). "It goes through water!! It does loop-de-loops!!" As a young boy in the early 80s (I think 1981? '82?), there was nothing I wanted more. Compared with toys today, this may look like nothing special. But over 30 years ago, the Super Stunt Dirt Bike was a technological marvel (ok, maybe it wasn't, but I thought it was spectacular). You just wound it up, and that sucker could do anything, go anywhere, through any terrain, and do tricks!! I could imagine building elaborate courses for my dirt bike. I already had a loop-de-loop with Buz's matchbox car track!!! We lived on a small farm in western Washington and my active imagination foresaw endless space for my bike to zip around.

Picture doesn't really do it justice. In my mind it was way cooler

I did everything I could to get my hands on this prize. If you've watched A Christmas Story, this was my "Red Rider BB Gun." I dropped overt hints to my parents. I asked Santa; I wrote letters; I sat on laps. I had an elaborate campaign. If I could have requisitioned a billboard on our street, I would have plastered it with, "BUY BRIAN LIEBENOW A SUPER STUNT DIRT BIKE!! LIFE HAS LOST ALL MEANING WITHOUT ONE!!!" 

Fast forward to Christmas Eve. I've done everything humanly possible to get someone--anyone, parents, mythical red-suited Saints with elf-slaves, strange guy always trying to give me candy from his windowless white van, I didn't care--to buy me my coveted toy. I was so filled with anticipation for Christmas morning, I could hardly contain myself. Would I be happily racing my dirt bike across the wrapper-stewn living room floor Christmas morning or would I be despondently sitting on the couch in a hideous Christmas sweater from great-aunt So-and-So mumbling, "I love it. What a warm sweater. Best Christmas ever, mom. *SSSSIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH*" ???

Buz was anxious to see if he'd gotten his own present. For the life of me, I can't remember what he wanted. That's how selfishly focused I was on the Super Stunt Dirt Bike. I think Buz wanted an actual dirt bike, if I remember correctly. He and I secretly decided to get up in the middle of the night to see the bounty we'd gotten from Santa. Yes, I still believed in Santa Claus, and Buz was too kind to tell me the truth about the big, fat man. 

(If you're a young child reading this post and you don't know where your presents actually come from, I've just ruined Christmas for you.  You're welcome.)

Anyway, Buz planned to set his alarm in our small, ranch-style farm house (I call it "small" but I think I had my own bedroom so it couldn't have been that tiny). He would then sneak into my room, quietly wake me up, and we would both tip-toe to the living room where I might get a peek at Kris Kringle himself!! (Ginger, were you in on this campaign, or was it just Buz and I? I can't remember.) That fateful night, I was filled with excitement for our mission. My parents' rules were strict: No Leaving the Room Until Christmas Morning!!! I don't know how, but I eventually drifted off to sleep. 

The next thing I knew, my brother was standing over me, silently shaking me awake. The house was freezing cold. We primarily heated it with a wood stove, and the fire had died down during the night. It must've been shortly after midnight. Being out in the country, there were no city or street lights outside to help illuminate the interior. There was no moon. It was pitch-dark in that house. I experimentally wriggled my fingers in front of my face and couldn't see a thing. As quietly as possible, I slipped out of bed, and we slowly crept down the hall to the living room. Did the Christmas tree have lights on it to help us see? I don't know, but by my recollection I was completely blind. Apparently, I'd missed Santa, or he hadn't yet appeared. I couldn't see enough to tell if he'd come, but he obviously wasn't in the room with us. Buz and I fumbled across the icy floor, agonizing over every sound we made, lest we wake our parents. I carefully felt the area around the tree. The stockings were full!!! Santa came!!! How does he find the time?? As Buz knelt beside me and fumblingly felt for any new gifts that hadn't surrounded the tree when we went to bed, my own paws searched for loot like a blind man searching frantically for a pile of gold.

...Wait...

...Was that...

...My fingers felt a hard plastic surface...

...Surely this wasn't here last night!!! 

...Is that a round crank on the side of this toy??? 

...A ridged handle for gripping as I set my bike loose on glorious adventures?? 

...And what is this??? 

...I feel two wheels...

...And that could only be a helmeted rider ready for the kind of missions that only Team America can handle!!!

With irrepressible glee, I loudly whispered to my brother, "I think it's a Super Stunt Dirt Bike!!!" 

Our mission complete, we creeped back to our warm beds and happily drifted back to sleep. Sure, there were other gifts to open, but I felt like Christmas was already over. Whether from Santa, my parents, some wealthy relative, or a creepy stranger, my gift had arrived. That's all that mattered. My eyes closed that night as my mind laid plans for my spectacular bike course. Any other gift was secondary. 

So, what's the point of this post? When I was a kid, I wanted this special toy. The night before Christmas, I got up, sneaked out of bed and confirmed that I did, indeed, get the toy. Is that it? Sounds like a lame knockoff of A Christmas Story. At least that movie had a leg lamp. Where's the leg lamp in this story?!?

"FRA-GEE-LAY...It must be Italian!"

If I might take a more serious turn, my point is my spotty memory of these events. I can't recall if Buz found his own coveted present that night. I don't remember what he wore when he gently woke me up. I can't remember what he said. I know he was there, but that's it. What grade was he in, sixth or seventh? I don't even know if this was a happy Christmas memory for him. If he was alive, I wouldn't think twice about it. My sister's still around and I'm sure not lamenting the fact that I can't remember if she was there that night. Just kidding, Ginger. I love you very much. 

I can't help but feel a little ashamed of my own self-absorption that Christmas. What was Buz's "Super Stunt Dirt Bike?" What materialistic toy did he dream about?

That's my happy Christmas memory, but I'll never be able to fill in all the details because my brother is gone. 

My wish for you: Whatever you celebrate this holiday season, I hope you get your own "Super Stunt Dirt Bike." May you share precious moments with the ones you love and please note the details. In the future, they may be all you have. And most importantly, may you have a happy, HEALTHY, 2014.

Merry Christmas, Buz

Road Trip

Road trips are awesome. There are two reasons I like road trips. First of all, I like maps. My family moved across the country from western Washington to eastern North Carolina when I was 9 years old. Every time we crossed a state line on the interstate, we had to stop at the welcome center so I could get a state map. I had a drawer full of maps in my room--state maps, country maps, city maps, even moon maps. I'm not sure what my fascination is; I just like to pore over the landscape details, try to memorize interesting features, and imagine different cultures. 

This is my porno centerfold

The second reason is because I love to read. Specifically, I love to read epic fantasy novels. What does this have to do with road trips? I used to do most of my reading on road trips. I would just sit in the back seat of our minivan and lose myself in a book on any car ride. Long trips across country; 2 hour rides to the beach; even our short 30 minute trip to see my grandparents (they were literally--not figuratively--over the river and through the woods (I just used a dash within a parenthesis; is that possible? (now I have parenthesis within parenthesis (it's like Inception. (I'm in too deep! (Is this even real??)))))).

My ultimate fantasy, besides going on a Lord of the Rings tour of New Zealand, is taking a road trip to San Diego ComicCon. And I wouldn't even go there to see hot movie stars or the latest Avengers trailer. Nope, I'd go just to meet my favorite authors like a total geek. On the long car ride, I could happily collect maps along the way (have to be prepared!), and examine every aspect of the route. During times I don't drive, I could re-read my favorite novels. 

I'd also go for the sexy costumes

Speaking of re-reading novels, for our trip down to Florida, I chose to read The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams. This is an excellent book--first published 25 years ago--that my older brother got me to read when I was in high school. I remember reading it on many a road trip. George R.R. Martin lists Tad Williams as one of his favorite authors and you can see echoes of The Dragonbone Chair in Game of Thrones. It always makes me think of my last two years of high school when I went to a public boarding school about two hours drive from my hometown. Have I geeked out enough yet?

Doesn't it look exciting??

Right now, you're thinking two things: (1) "Now I know why he's socially awkward in public" and (2) "Whoa Whoa there, Brian!! You seemed like a halfway cool guy. How on earth did you manage to snag a hottie like Betsy if you're such a nerd??" 

The truth is, I lied to my lovely wife. When we got married, she had no idea I used to hide behind our living room couch as a kid to read Eddings, or Feist, or Brooks, or Weis & Hickman; and I could intelligently debate the differences between Middle Earth, Pern, and Osten Ard (first of all, Pern is a science fiction world with dragons; the other two are fantasy worlds with...never mind); and I used to play Dungeons and Dragons as a dwarf named Ironwolf. If she had known these things, I'm sure she would've gotten the heck out of there. But she was clueless and now she's trapped. MMWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!! 

Yes. I owned a copy of this.

On the other hand, Betsy didn't really tell me how often I'd be talking to Katie (Hey Brian, watcha doin?) every day, so I figure we're about even.

So anyway, Betsy proposed that we drive from our house in Knoxville to visit her sister's house in Clearwater, Florida, for Thanksgiving--about 12 hours by car. Furthermore, she wanted to bring our dog, Aspen, with us. This was shocking to me. For one thing, Aspen weighs over 100 pounds. Bringing him and a hyper six year-old would be quite an undertaking. 

He may look adorable, but in enclosed spaces he gets a bit "gassy"

For another thing, unlike me, Betsy hates road trips. After 11 years of marriage, I recently figured out that she hates road trips because she gets extremely carsick when she reads (I'm a bit slow on the uptake). Even the thought of reading makes Betsy nauseous in the car, so she can't look at maps while she rides and she can't read the latest Scott Lynch or Patrick Rothfuss fantasy novel--not that she reads that kind of stuff anyway. Unless she's driving, all she can do in the car is sit and explain to me in great detail how my driving is vastly inferior to her own. 

So, road trips are no fun for Betsy. In fact, I'd venture to say that road trips WITH Betsy are no fun. Yet she wanted to go on a 12 hour trip in a small enclosed space with a 100 lb. dog and an easily bored six year-old. Bravely, I agreed to take the journey, knowing that I risked my very sanity. For meals, I pre-made four blends, put them in blender bottles, and packed them in a small cooler. I had one of those meals each day we were gone. It really came in handy to not need to break out the Blendtec while we were on the road. 

Like my awesome travel cooler?

Before we left, I borrowed three audiobooks for Grace to listen to in the car. One of these was Harry Potter. I had visions of my daughter raptly listening to the adventures of Harry in Hogwarts. "Grace will be so enthralled with the story," I thought, "that she'll forget she's in a car altogether. Instead she'll be transported to a magical world of witches, wizards, and Quidditch!" The reality of the trip looked more like this:

Technology will be the death of us.

Yes, that's Grace on my iPad watching a Monster High video.

Actually, the trip down wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong, the holiday weather and traffic around Atlanta was a nightmare, but after we got through that it was smooth sailing. Our dog is pretty mellow and mostly slept the whole time. As you can see, my daughter was glued to the iPad screen. The one time we tried listening to Harry Potter, she fell asleep during the first chapter, so at least that's an option if we ever can't get her to go to bed. 

His head weighs more than Grace

Stopped at Waffle House for a snack (I refuse to bring a Blendtec in WH)

Blendtec recently was kind enough to send me their Wildside pitcher, which holds twice as much food as their regular pitcher, so I brought this in anticipation of the large Thanksgiving meal at Betsy's sister's house. Her sister, Anne, had a beautifully remodeled kitchen. Unfortunately, her dining room table didn't fit either of my syringe holders. It's weird how one of the first things I look at when I walk into a strange house now is the thickness of the dining room table to see if I could comfortably eat there. Too thick, and my syringe holder made from a clip-on lamp I got at Lowe's won't fit. At Anne's house, I had to hook up to their kitchen counter. We had a traditional turkey dinner for Thanksgiving. I ended up with turkey (of course), sweet potatoes, pea salad, and Katie's homemade collard greens in my blend.

I chose towels to match my blend

Even Aspen had a Thanksgiving meal

As it turned out, Betsy did pretty well on the road trip. In fact, she did better than I did--especially on the drive home. My main issue was drooling. Since I can't swallow my saliva, I carry a hand towel with me to catch any excess spit. Some days, I only need a couple towels--one during the day and one at night. Other times, though, I might go through five towels over the course of one afternoon. I haven't been able to figure out what sets it off. Sometimes it's something as innocuous as smelling a lemon or an orange. Even the smell of a Starburst has brought out my saliva. On other days, though, the same smells have no effect. The day we drove home was one of those heavy drooling days. Betsy couldn't drive the whole time, of course. As I was driving, I could feel saliva start to pool up in my mouth and collect down the back of my throat. Since I only have one hand to drive with, I had to ask her to take the wheel every few miles so I could bring up whatever nasty spit I was collecting back there. I had a whole stack of towels, but I was basically just reusing towels that were already damp and gross by the end of the trip. Sorry to paint a disgusting picture, but it was not a pleasant drive home for me. After that drive, I think I'm over my nostalgia for road trips...at least until the next ComicCon.

Starbucks Selfie

We caused quite a stir at the Valdosta, Georgia, Starbucks where I broke out one of my blender bottle meals, set up my syringe holder and towels and had a meal with my coffee on the way home. I got quite a few stares, then our dog, Aspen, got even more while he waited for me right outside.

They wouldn't let Aspen in, but they gave him a free "Doggie Latte"

Happy Thanksgiving from Florida! (Grace got eaten by a shark)