The Oppenheimer Report 7/31/17

For the last several weeks on my radio show Lyrical Workers, I’ve played a number of requests, and I was amazed by the number of songs I'd never heard. The premise of the show is that I am trying to learn more about songs that are well written, and I enthusiastically encourage other people’s selections to expand my knowledge. I don’t always love their choices, but I always learn something. I put a request out on Facebook a few weeks ago, asking for songs that remind the listener of a special moment in time, or an era in their lives. A lot of people replied. One man requested a song that reminded him of his break up with his first love. A fellow singer songwriter came up with a several great artists that were new to me, and one of my songwriting colleagues requested “Juke Box Heroes” by Foreigner, joking  that the song was the story of his life. There are literally hundreds of songs that conjure up happy or sad memories for me. Whenever I hear “Satisfaction” by The Rolling Stones it triggers the happy memory of driving across the Peace Bridge with my mom in her ’69 Buick convertible, top down and rockin’. When I hear the song “Daniel” by Elton John, I remember a girl friend who died when we were teens. She used to come and visit me while I was working summers at a local hot dog stand, and that song was often playing on the radio. Like the songs I write, every tune is a memory; a whistle stop on the crooked journey of my life.

“Encumbered by my own stiff fines/ Noted in calendars of wasted time/ I check the mirrors for the dangers signs/ As destiny, walks its crooked line..”

Perspective. I could use a little of that today. Some days it just seems as if I can’t get out of my own way, and a little perspective would go a long way to evening out my wildly undulating mood swings. Shauna is still very sick, and after three visits to the eye doctors and three weeks of medication, the eye condition has improved but is not cured. Yesterday was a particularly challenging day. Shauna had a fever, and it was one of a handful of beautiful days this summer. We had plans to spend it together outdoors. For anyone who suffers from an autoimmune disorder, as Shauna has for over 25 years, you will understand that this can be dispiriting. We decline so many social engagements, because she’ll have a blindside Crohn’s attack, or be racked with pain and unable to get ready. Then, there are life’s sucker punches. Last Thursday night, while I was doing my show at the station, I got a message from Shauna; her mom was once again at the hospital in Toronto. She was kept overnight and released, but we were understandably concerned. At the time, we had no idea how serious her injury was. E.T had gone next door, just before her caregiver was to leave, to see the neighbor’s very young Golden Retriever. Excited to see her, the large dog jumped up on her and knocked her off her feet. A 92 year-old woman, recently recovered from a broken neck, Ethel was immediately rushed to the hospital in an ambulance to see if anything was broken. She was sore, and at the time could not stand without assistance, but thankfully, tests revealed that nothing was broken. It will be weeks before we know for sure if she is all right.

That’s life, right? Whether it’s kids, or elders, or just some ill-timed dumb luck house-related catastrophe, we all deal with illness, disability, and stress. Lately, my capacity to deal with simple day-to-day problems has been compromised, and I am ashamed of my inability to cope with what. My anxiousness is amplified when I watch the seemingly endless erosion of America’s international reputation, thanks to our Twit-tweeter-In-Chief, and the increasingly irresponsible media, bent on spinning his shenanigans to the left and right of the truth. Though I am thankful for my good fortune, and cognizant of my obligation to pay it forward, I sometimes become discouraged by my impotence to make things better. I have recently revisited and re-worked a song I wrote almost 30 years ago, entitled “Everyman’s Blues”. The chorus reminds me that this is not a new feeling for me.

“The rock gets harder to push uphill, 
And I’ve just about had my fill,

I’ve got the Everyman’s Blues.”

     - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/24/17

I don’t think I remember a summer like this since 1992, the year I first met Shauna. That summer the weather in the northeast was atrocious, probably due in part to the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo. My friend Bob created a mnemonic phrase to remember that summer:  “ ‘92, the summer that blew”. Whatever the cause, that entire summer was characterized by cool fall weather, and very little sun. I’m not sure what’s going on this summer, but it certainly has been characterized by significant rainfall. I gauge the rainfall by the number of times thus far this summer that I’ve had to rescue my little Porta-Bote from sinking at the dock. My bailing bucket is a full-sized pail, and it seems that at least once a week, I am emptying five to seven pails full of water out of the boat. Indeed, today is another one of those days, and as I look down to the dock, the top of the transom of that little boat is gradually sinking to the waterline. Rain that comes this hard and fast washes out our driveway, drowns my garden, and it causes problems I never expected.

When we built this house, we thought we were over-compensating with our drainage plan. In fact, ours was one of the first construction projects on this lake which required a full site plan, and we had to jump through hoops of fire to satisfy the town that our drainage was sufficient. We have two retention ponds on our property and even put in an extra tile bed off one side of the house (which was not required) to catch rain off the roof. Still, we have had flooding on our property and eventually installed a sump pump at the lowest point in our basement to divert water down to the lake. We have not had any flooding since we installed that pump, so I think (hope) we have adjusted to the increasingly frequent deluges.  

While we complain about the significant rainfall here in Ontario, a lack of water is the problem elsewhere, and wildfires rage out in the West. British Columbia seems to have been particularly hard hit, and the arid weather and high winds are making it hard to control the over 200 fires now burning. Last night, I heard on the news that Banff, Alberta, our home away from home, has now been affected by fires. After that horrible wildfire in Slave Lake and later Ft. McMurray Alberta, it seems clear that the same conditions that are making it wetter here are making it drier in the West. I remember driving out West years ago and encountering a wildfire on the Trans Canada Highway. It was frightening to see it up close. Once, out in Banff, we saw a controlled burn near the town center go out of control, lighting up the side of a nearby mountain. Banff, which sits in the Bow Valley, filled up with acrid smoke for a day or two, making it hard to breath. Again, it was scary to be that close to the flames. Many years ago, as we were heading out to a hike in Kootenay Park, near the Alberta - B.C. border, we could see the smoke from a raging wildfire rising over the mountains to our west. It’s a fact of life out west.  

Clearly, the planet is warming up, and we are reminded of this fact every time we see the image of a polar bear stranded on a block of floating ice, or a giant block of ice the size of a city breaking off one of the poles, or a devastating storm that wipes out an entire community. We see evidence of warming trends at both poles, and Al Gore in all his hubris implores us to change our ozone-depleting ways. I am no denier of climate change, but I question the economic feasibility of some of Gore’s directives. I am reminded of a book my nephew, a meteorologist for the National Weather Service, had me read. Entitled “Cool It”, and written by economist Bjorn Lomborg, the main theme seems to be that we cannot significantly change the trends of Mother Nature. The horse has left the barn and he didn’t look before he leapt. While it would be wise to switch to renewable sources of energy, especially solar, now that the prices are coming down, the hundreds of billions we spend to control cyclical weather trends will I think be better spent adapting to that which we cannot control.

But that will never happen. Shoreline development will continue unabated, populations will continue to explode, more and more vacant land will be paved, developing nations will continue to disregard the directives of the Paris Agreement, and the world will continue to warm up, whether we choose to drive a Prius or a Hummer. Maybe we buy ourselves a few more decades of survival by throwing hundreds of billions at the problem, but I’m beginning to understand that I can’t change Mother Nature. I am reminded of this every day that I live in the country. I can’t stop the rain, but I can try to adapt to it. I can pump down our water table so that my property doesn’t flood. I am a little concerned about the next freak snowstorm. 

     - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/17/17

Back To Basics

Shauna has been blindsided by a new affliction to add to her constellation of health problems. Possibly a complication from her Crohn’s Disease, she has come down with a painful condition of the eye known as acute iritis. An inflammation of the iris, acute iritis can lead to stabbing pain in the eyes, and it causes extreme sensitivity to light. After seeing the optometrist last week, she is now on a strict regimen of eye medications, including one anti-inflammatory drop which is to be administered once every waking hour. She seems to be on the mend, but of course we’re concerned. Shauna’s sight has been severely compromised by this latest assault. After almost a week of administering three different eye medications, her eyesight has not improved all that much. I never before understood that Crohn’s Disease is an autoimmune illness and, while it often presents as a gastrointestinal problem, it can afflict other parts of the body with similar tissue makeup. This includes the eyes. Just another little sucker punch.

I’ve made some good friends over the years. I’ve lost touch with some of them, and I sometimes wonder where they are. With the emergence of Facebook, I have re-connected with some people I never thought I’d hear from again. I wrote a song recently about an old friend who had lost his way, and ended up in jail for a while. We’ve remained friends and thankfully he has straightened out his life. In the chorus of the song there’s a line that reads: “Old friends are the hardest to deny/ They know the buried secrets we try to hide.” Not all of my friends were well adjusted. Nobody’s perfect, least of all me, but I feel a particularly strong bond with my old neighborhood friends from Buffalo. They knew me back when, and friends  who have known me for that long are like family. They know my history, they’ve watched me go through my many changes; they've shared my joys and my sorrows. Shauna knows me that well, but not all that many of my friends do.

Last weekend, sleep deprived and a little down about Shauna’s latest medical problems, I was watching TV when I heard the message alert go off on my cell phone. It was my best friend Bob, texting me. Earlier in the day I’d been on the phone with him, joking about buying a pontoon boat and  surrendering to the next stage of my geriatric decline. While it was a tongue in cheek conversation, the subtext is that time is passing too quickly, and I for one am anxious about the future. The text was a photo of an old outboard motor, which very much resembled one I owned when I was a kid. Ironically, in the larger outboard in the background of the photo was very similar to my reliable old Yamaha, about which I spoke in last week's report.There were three or four texts back and forth, wherein we discussed the differences and similarities of the photographed motor to the one I’d owned. Bob has been my friend since the days when I was that kid putting around in an aluminium dinghy powered by that motor. It’s hard to explain why, but his connection to that past was comforting to me.

I’ve lived my mostly charmed life with little regard for the passage of time, and yet, pass it has. While it’s not over yet, hopefully far from it, my life is decidedly in the second semester, and much more complicated than it used to be. As the hour hand spins wildly out of control, and I feel powerless to slow it all down, it is sometimes comforting to get a message from an old friend. Sometimes a little perspective can go a long way to relieving the anxiousness. It doesn’t take all that much, just a simple communication with someone who shares a mutual history; the comforting delusion that there is some order in the chaotic journey from there to here. While indulging in a moment of shameful self-pity last weekend, I got a text message from my friend Bob; a photograph of an early 60’s Johnson 5 ½ HP outboard motor. The message read: “Back to basics”, and it made me smile. 

             

       - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/10/17

1995

For years, I’ve heard there were several eagles living nearby, but I had never seen one in the wild. A few years ago, Marlene, my friend who works at the dump, pointed out a nest in the trees behind the big garbage heap, but I never actually saw an eagle. I’ve also seen the odd black bear at the dump, so oddly it’s a good place to go if one wants to see wildlife. Bring a clothes pin for your nose. The other day, during a short break from the seemingly incessant rain, I was out in my boat with our neighbor, and we traveled through the three lakes to the south end of Big Doe Lake. There, my neighbor pointed out a huge nest where we clearly saw three eagles. One flew right over us, perhaps because we were perceived as a threat (I once had a seagull dive bomb my dinghy several times because I came too close to her chicks) and they really are majestic creatures to behold in flight. Having never seen one up close in the wild, I was in awe. This has been the rainiest summer that I can remember in my 23 years up here, but every time I cuss about the severe weather, I remind myself that Mother Nature has her many pros as well.

I have now owned the same fishing boat for about 27 years. While I don’t fish, I prefer boats that are open and seaworthy. Where we used to own a cottage on Lake Erie, the water got pretty choppy, so I’ve always owned boats that can handle rough water. My boat is a 20’ Hydrasport DC (double cockpit), originally powered by a Yamaha 225HP. I bought the rig new in Buffalo with boat, motor, and trailer, for about what a new replacement outboard costs today. That Yamaha outboard motor was the best outboard I have ever owned, and it was trouble free for well over 20 years. About five years ago, I decided to upgrade because, while it was still running well, the Yamaha was beginning to show signs of wear. It was also difficult to start in colder weather. I traded the motor in at our local marina for a new fuel-injected Evinrude ETEC 200HP, assuming I was upgrading to a more reliable, fuel efficient motor. What a mistake!

As they say, don’t fix it if it ain’t broke. I was sold on the vast improvements in 2 stroke technology over the past two decades, but like everything else to do with new, more sophisticated technology, there is a downside. I’ve had some troubling and persistent electrical problems with this new ETEC. After about two summers of light use, the paint on the lower unit began to bubble and come off. The marina suggested this may be an electrolysis problem, and their solution, after inspecting the anode on the lower unit, was to sand and repaint the bottom of the motor. They told me this was not a defect in the motor, and that perhaps the submerged water pump for our house, which is 50-75 feet from the dock, was the culprit. That made no sense. Then, about the same time as the electrolysis issue, I had an ignition switch failure. Intermittently, the motor would not turn off when the key was switched off. Even when the kill switch was removed, the motor would run, eventually turning off, 1 to10 minutes later. The marina has not been able to find or fix this annoying problem in the three years since it began happening, although they claimed to have spent countless hours trying. They said they’ve replaced the key switch, they’re swapped out computers in the motor; they even had a technician from BRP, the parent company of Evinrude, examine it, and he didn’t fix it. While I assumed the marina documented all these issues in their computer files, now that the 5-year extended warranty is up, I’m now concerned they did not. I now find out they are no longer an authorized Evinrude dealer, so I am even more concerned. Two months out of warranty, the motor is not fixed. When I picked up the boat this summer, the paint had again bubbled on the lower unit, and they had once again sanded and painted it; a band aid fix at best. They assured me the ignition switch problem was solved. It was not, and this weekend, it took 17 minutes for the motor to shut off. To rub salt into the wound, upon picking up the boat, I received an invoice for a defective tilt relay that worked when I brought the boat in last fall (still under extended warranty). Here are three apparently unrelated electrical issues in 100 hours of use; not a great track record for a new motor. Was this a problem with the rigging, is the motor a lemon? Hard to say, especially when the problems are intermittent. My marina, which is the only game in town, has had plenty of time to fix this and has not been able to do so. Now I am faced with trailing this boat to another, authorized dealer who may or may not be helpful. I have documented my issues with BRP as best I can reconstruct them, and will reluctantly investigate a lawsuit as a very last recourse. Regardless of the outcome, this new motor, which cost about as much as the new boat, motor, and trailer cost in 1990, has been nothing but aggravation. I guess they don’t make ‘em like they used to. That said, I still have my health, my ever-deteriorating capacity to reason, a wife and dog who love me, and the odd eagle that flies over my property from time to time. Grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can. Life is good, the new Evinrude, not so much.

      

     - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/3/17

I had a shitty week, and I mean that literally ...

About a week ago, the guy who routinely inspects our septic system equipment knocked on our door to inform me that the pump to our upper septic bed was running slowly, and may be failing. As well, we had somehow neglected to pump out the holding tanks on time, so they were both full. Before replacing the pump, I called our plumber to have him inspect it. After some discussion, we figured we should get the holding tanks pumped out first to see if this solved the problem. What followed was my education in the odiferous results of what can go wrong with a septic system.

The guy who came to pump out the tanks showed up about three hours after he was scheduled to be there. I wanted to observe the process to be more familiar with our septic system, and in case there were future problems. Weather radar indicated a serious storm blowing in, and I was hoping he’d be done by the time the storm rolled in. No such luck; shortly after he arrived and began to pump, the heavens let loose and there was a deluge. In keeping with the norm for this “summer”, the rain came down so hard and fast that water was pouring into the pump chamber as fast as the guy could pump it out. I was holding and umbrella and wearing a raincoat and I still got soaked. When he finally got the tanks pumped out, the pump was on but still not pumping properly, and the septic alarm would not turn off. On to Plan B.

The plumber was not able to make it back to our house for a day, and in the meantime, the pump tank overflowed, due to the heavy rains and the fact that the pump was not pumping. Thankfully, the overflow was minor. When the plumber did show up, he pulled out the old pump to find that there was nothing wrong with it. This meant there was a blockage or break in the 200’ pipe to the upper septic bed. This was not what I wanted to hear. I assumed this meant excavation, but Plan C involved running a small semi- rigid hose up the line from the pump tank, forcing water into the line. After almost three hours of reaming, we found four or five locations where the line was blocked. As disgusting as the procedure was, I got used to the smell, and found myself overjoyed with each flood of unblocked poop and toilet paper that came flowing back into the pump tank. We ran the hose up the line 100’ or so and cleared three or four blockages, then found another blockage near the top. I was thankful this didn’t happen in the middle of winter.

I remember years ago attending a party at someone’s summer cottage, and the sign above the toilet read, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down.” This is my first primary residence with a septic system. The new septic systems work fine if they are properly maintained, and if enough water is flushed through them. Fibrous baby wipes and feminine napkins are disastrous for septic systems. This wasn’t our problem, but we do have energy saving toilets that use less water. These toilets are fine for use with a municipal sewer system, but they are problematic for septic systems. In the past several years I’ve had to do some routine maintenance and flush out our pump tank. I now know more than I ever wanted to about our septic system. You do not want to have to pump sewage uphill, and the longer the run, the more likely it is there will be complications. This past week was an interesting and informative lesson in septic maintenance. Note to self, pump out holding tanks every five years. Now, when we replace our burned out septic alarm we will be back in business, at least for the near future. Living the dream in the Great White North.    

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED