All death is tragic. When life ends so too dies the accumulated knowledge, experience, wisdom, friendship, and love it contained. No longer exist the milestones of life for that individual. There is no longer a first word, first snow, first kiss . . . first love. In death’s wake there lies a void that cannot be filled leaving the world lesser for it. Where death is tragic a child’s is ten fold so. For in a child’s death we lose the love, the dreams, and the desires their birth promised. We lose the future they represent. We lose hope. Every day nine children in the US are diagnosed with brain tumors with a mere 60% combined survival rate and some conditions as low as 20%. 76% of those diagnosed are under the age of 15. 318 was designed to make a difference in the lives of the affected children and their families. It’s goal: Raise on average $318 daily over 318 days – total $101,124 – for the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation. Since 1991 the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation has been working hard to find the cause and cure. They support medicinal research, increase public awareness, and provide educational and emotional support for affected children and their families. 318 is a grass roots campaign. It is not a professional fund raiser, there is no corporate budget or personal wealth supporting the efforts. There is just one man - an average ordinary guy. He is your neighbor, the guy standing in line behind you at the bank, a fellow citizen of Earth. He is nobody and he is everybody. He is just like you and me. Using classic word-of-mouth promotion, social networking, creativity and tenacity as his tools he faces a daunting task. Much like LEGO bricks many small things can build upon each other to create great wonders. The simple act of passing on 318’s message can produce huge results. Of course donations won’t hurt. Some suggestions keeping with the theme are: $3.18 $31.80 $318 3.18% of your hourly/daily pay Other methods of helping are: Join 318 on Facebook Forward 318’s information to friends, family, and co-workers you know would be interested Add 318’s URL to your email signature, example: “Help save a child: http://web.me.com/orducrider/Site/318/318.html” Donate your status update on Facebook, MySpace, etc. to 318 for a period of time Mention 318 in blogs, forums, and chat rooms Nothing you do to help is too small.

Day 118 - It is Zen, it is Tao, it is calm.

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 21:15:16 -0800

I received a letter from my mom recently depicting a fall she had. This wasn’t any ordinary fall mind you but a full blown 2 flight of stairs tumble resulting in 10 staples in her head, 2 fractured and one broken vertebrae in her spine, more vertebrae in her neck, broken left collar bone, broken right shoulder, broken right arm, and a plethora of scrapes and bruises.

It was quite the opening to a letter indeed. It’s hard to imagine any more dramatic of an opening to a letter than that. But that’s not the point of her letter that struck me the most. The next sentence is what did.

“I was at the very top with just one foot left to lift and be done with my journey and I
Didn’t make it.”

That, to me, summed up life. Every difficult task, every achievement, every triumph, is just one misstep away from being a disaster. This fall is a universal reminder that ever single on of us no matter how great or small is equally subject to the vagaries of life.

In fact . . . it reminds me of a story my grandpa used to tell us about a particular day, in a part of the world, during his time in the Marines during WWII ( http://web.me.com/orducrider/Site/Writings/Entries/2006/6/1_Grandpas_Story.html ) that he would always end with “It doesn’t matter what you do, what you want, what you plan . . . when god wants you he will take you . . . even if you are hiding in a foxhole.”

Both remind me of a time when I had some Jamaicans working for me and we were talking late one night in the summer while taking a break. Their was a thunderous North East storm rolling in and we could see some people frantically darting about trying to make sure everything was safe. Moody took a long drag off his cigarette and held it for a long time watching and then slowly exhaled he smoke in a lengthy clearing of his lungs. When he was done he pointed his chin in their general direction and said “Humans are silly. We are meaningless. Mother nature, she is going to do what she wants to do. All this running around isn’t going to change that.”

It’s neither a sense of fatality I’m talking about here nor a sense of futility. It’s a life style, and belief, a rationale where one realizes and understands the limits of oneself and appreciates that there is a whole universe out there doing its thing and there is no controlling it. It’s an acceptance of the limited control we all have over our lives, others, the world, and the universe that keeps us from stressing about that which we have no influence over.

It is Zen, it is Tao, it is calm.

Week 16 Summary

Sun, 7 Mar 2010 20:03:57 -0800

Total Donations: 20
Average Donation: $29.23
Total Raised: $584.68
Short to Weekly Goal: -$35031.32
Short to Weekly Projection: -$684.57
Donor %: 2.66
Estimated End Total: $37,618.39

I received a friendly email the other day asking when I was going to post again. My response was a heartfelt “soon”. I explained how the days had gotten full with learning my new job, driving kids around, doing stuff, and things, and . . . stuff. I received the response back “It’s been a while.”

I hate to admit it but at first I was angry. Here’s this person who has contributed nothing to the success of 318 criticizing me for slacking off for a few days. Then, after a few seconds I was perplexed. What would prompt someone to ask in only a short few days? It’s not like I’ve historically blogged daily for the entire life of 318. Realistically, it’s been typically a couple times a week. Nothing has changed. So what’s the big deal?

Well, then I started thinking about when did I blog last? What was it about? That lead me to go check and to my horror I found it had been 24 days and THAT is unacceptable.

So, Mr. Send Me An Email to Get My Butt Going I do thank you. Even if I was a little more than a bit tweaked at first.

Of course, many of you may have noticed and just didn’t say anything but were wondering “Why don’t he write?” In my defense I have been training for my new job and there are other things in my life than 318. Most importantly, and most amazingly frustrating, has been my struggle with getting a license/permit from the state of Oregon for my next “BIG” announcement for 318. Without exaggeration I have spent over 40 hours researching the laws and regulations, filling out the paperwork, asking and answering questions . . . no form should ever be this difficult. No process should ever – especially when it’s in the interest of charity/good deed doing – be this complex and troublesome.

I have certain panache for finding ways to do things I’m told I can’t. It’s a part of my charm ;) Vancouver, WA is just across the river. And I have contacts and resources there. Washington laws and regulations for what it is I want to do are much simpler. The form is much simpler.

So, now armed with new and better data I can move forward once again with a minor change of plans and the slight inconvenience of having to travel 25 more minutes to accomplish my task. But, barring any unforeseen issues. I can and will be able to make my big announcement on March 18th – 3/18 or 318 if you will

Look for hints to what it is starting the 8th and over the 10 days leading up to 3/18. I can’t tell you how excited I am!

Day 93 - Lorem Ipsum

Tue, 9 Feb 2010 20:53:14 -0800

Lorem Ipsum is dummy text used in the printing and typesetting industry since the 1500s, It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC.
More importantly, or more to the point, it is what I mistakenly posted as the Week 12 summary instead of the actual summary itself. What should have been posted contained details of the current total donations raised ($584.68) and about the growth of the Facebook group, website traffic, and Twitter followers.
Not a whole lot of exciting information for the basic reader. Likely, nothing of interest to anyone but myself so I’ll spare you the details.
The key points can be summarized as follows:
After collecting data using Google Analytics for almost 10 full weeks it is evidently clear that it is giving good, clean, and clear information to make much better value judgements than my previous research. That being said the projected total donations raised is $37,000 or nearly 1/3 the targeted $101.000 of 318. While disappointing it is good to have projections from good data.
The changes made using this information over the last few weeks have increased 318’s internet visibility to 95.8%. Translating to a nearly perfect online presence/promotion.
I need to reach 3.900 people in order to hit the critical mass of the campaign to reach projections - current reach is 657.
Site traffic is building to a fairly consistent average of 5 per day. Any day with a blog posted sees higher traffic. Days with good quality blogs see much higher traffic. So obviously I need to write often and well to keep things moving.

Day 91 - Week 12 Summary

Sun, 7 Feb 2010 20:52:14 -0800

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Day 86 - My Dad Evel Knievel

Tue, 2 Feb 2010 19:50:21 -0800

My desk is in constant flux. At any point it is in a transitory point between cleaned bare of anything extraneous and downright riddled with miscellany in outrageous non-geometric towers of varied things. I feel at times that it mirrors in a visible and physical representation the state of my mental condition.

Regardless if that is true or a misnomer the simple fact is that there are times when I cannot function because of the clutter on my desk. It may not be in the way. It may not be any hindrance to what I’m attempting to do. What it does is provides a distraction mentally that keeps my attention from being focused on what it is I’m trying to achieve.

So it is tonight. I had this blog ½ written mentally by dinner. Bits and pieces falling together throughout the day, the mental outline flowing seamlessly from the introduction, through the main premise, to a much satisfying end.

What I have now is nothing of the sort.

Was my dad really Evel Knievel? Maybe not exactly but we first must address how we refer to the man that provided his share of the DNA that made me who and what I am. Father, well that is too formal, too respectful for the man. Daddy, is what I called him for the part of my life that he was an actual participant but seems too affectionate. Pops? Who uses that any more? Papa, that is the name my mom wanted me to use but he didn’t want that. Papa is the name my grandfather happily and proudly accepted me to call him.

Dad seems the most fitting. A term everyone can relate to that is more inline with a general descriptor than an emotionally charged word. So let’s you and me talk about my dad . . .

As a kid I associated my dad with Evel Knievel. I can’t for the life of me tell you why now but I did. He drove like an oval track racer – because he was – and I remember being quite thrilled with the speed, the sound, and the motions. The stories he would tell about his racing days. The one that sticks out in my mind the most being about his days racing a Studebaker and how they (his team) would use rope to tie it in second gear and the owner would give my dad a 5th of Jack and he’d drink a lot of “liquid courage” and then get in the car and race. But that was really the extent of his daredevilry. Perhaps it’s because he bought me the Stunt Cycle, Race Car, and Van sets.

Or maybe it was the Stingray Evel Knievel bike that I had.

I don’t really think he bought me that bike. He took me to Aubochon Hardware to see it. I remember the walk to the store, the “sneaking” through to the stairs in the back to go down to what I called the “toy area” and looking over all the bikes – maybe half a dozen to a dozen – and knowing right away that that one . . . that white one with the flag like design and banana seat . . . that one was the one I wanted . . . I remember that clearly. But I don’t recall him buying the bike and yet I ended up with one. It’s likely my grandfather bought it for me as he bought me every bike I had ever owned.

So you see my father and Evel Knievel are one man! No? Well they’re exactly the same . . . well . . . no. So how did I ever come up with something that associated my dad with Evel Knievel? I, excuse me, we will never know.

My basic understanding and memory indicate though that it was simply the association of the toys with the man that purchased them for me. I have some vague impressions of him sitting on the steps in front of my grandparent’s house “playing” with the Evel Knievel toys and me by telling me how to set up ramps and what to jump over and things like that.

The bike though . . . that was the thing! I loved riding wheelies on it, skidding to stops, setting up wooden ramps to jump, playing chicken with trees - and to be honest . . . cars too - anything dangerous and adventurous. I never wore any kind of safety gear. No gloves, boots, helmets, padding of any sort. No, that wouldn’t be cool. That wouldn’t be the mighty stunt rider on his stunt bike. That wouldn’t be Evel Knievelly! Of course there were many mishaps and injuries involved.

One particular misadventure involved Mark, Alan or Joe, my trusty bike, and the Ludlow sand pit. It was your typical hot and muggy Vermont summer day. Three boys with bikes, bored, and more energy than brains led our thoughts to taking our bikes places and jumping them, crashing them, and stunting with them.

What better place to jump than a sand pit? You’ve got this nicely tapered upward slope with a long run to gain speed followed by a decent ten foot immediate drop – more the farther out you jump.

What could go wrong?

Well for starters the sudden drop. More to the point the sudden stop at the end of that fall. Secondly, there’s the issue of sand being transitive in nature so that as soon as your wheels hit it you sink instead of rolling. Thirdly, that whole gravity thing . . .

So there we were. Enjoying a day of adventure and excitement when we roll into the sand pit. We dropped our bikes to the ground and ran over to excitedly peer over the edge and discuss how far we were going to jump out and how we were going to do this and that and how cool it was going to be.

I don’t know how we came up with the decision to go off the edge simultaneously. Or perhaps we were just so intent on being the coolest, the bravest, the Evel Knievelest that we raced back to our bikes to be the first off the edge. What I do remember is the three of us pedaling pell-mell towards that edge as fast as we could screaming and laughing in excitement.

I remember the jolt of adrenalin as I came up on that crest and saw the drop from the angle of my bike and my brain got the first inkling of how far I was going to fly out over that sudden drop and how far I was going fall at the speed I was going. Then I was airborne flying out over the treacherous sands yelling whoops of excitement mixed with a tinge of fear.

I remember hitting the sand and that sudden realization that I was not going anywhere just as my spine compacted against the banana seat and my world exploded into black. Later, an eternity or a split second I don’t know which, the sun was burning my eyes as I was struggling to breath. Writhing around in the sand with my arms flailing about and my legs kicking. Trying to sit up, trying to roll over, trying to suck precious oxygen into my lungs.

Nothing. It wasn’t happening. I remember the faces of my two friends and their voices but not what they were saying and how I was trying to ask for help but couldn’t. It was the attempt at uttering words that removed the paralysis from my lungs. An unuttered word escaped my lips as a tattered gasp but that release of oxygen made room for an inhale.

Out.

In.

Out . . .

Each and every breath an incredible struggle for what seemed forever.

Then finally I could breath normally. My back hurt incredibly. My chest hurt. My boy parts hurt. My arms, my legs . . . yah, OK . . . Everything hurt. But really my back and chest were the worst. So bad in fact that trying to ride my bike was too painful and I had to walk it home.

So what happened you ask? To the best of my understanding my tires sank into the sand and the bike didn’t roll. All downward force was absorbed – or not as the case may be – by my legs that slipped off the pedals and my butt slammed into the seat. Because of the extreme downward angle of the sand pit I left the seat and the twins met the frame of the bike at about the same time my chest slammed into the handle bars and I went down like a cold fish on a waterfall slide.

My dad saw me first as I approached my grandparent’s house. He watched me slowly stumble my way up the street alternating a sip of his beer with a drag off his cigarette. Aware of my obvious pain he asked me “Boy what did you do?” and I told him. There was no anger, no grounding, and no lecture on his part. There was just a bit of wisdom that he shared with me. “Pain will make a man out of you.” He told me. Then he told me to put my bike in the shed and go inside while he finished his beer and smoke.

That sure sounds like the wise advice of a daring stunt man doesn’t it? Perhaps there was more to my association of my dad to Evel Knievel than some plastic toys after all.