The Oppenheimer Report 4/8/19

On Hunters Bay Radio, every weekday morning at 10 AM, there is a short segment called Tech 5, produced by my friend and fellow volunteer, Ben Harrison. In it, Ben talks about the effects of science, nature, and technology on mankind. Ben is a little like Andy Rooney without the grumpy demeanor, and his commentaries are always interesting. This morning, while he was discussing the possible resurgence of the Monarch butterfly in North America, he quoted something Nathanial Hawthorne once wrote: “Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight on you.” Boy, did that quote hit home.

Last Saturday, I had a whirlwind visit from my best friend Bob Miller, who drove up from Buffalo to see me, then drove home the next day. Though we talk on the phone regularly, we had not seen each other in a long time. Bob and I spent much of our wild youth together, and  many of my fondest (and embellished) memories occurred in his company. After I married Shauna and moved up to Toronto, Bob and I didn't see each all that much, but we made a point to meet at least a few times a year. For a while, before we both quit drinking, that included an annual raucous weekend in Niagara Falls, Ontario. Don’t ask me why, but we were particularly drawn to the wax museums featuring macabre chambers of horrors and monsters. There is something about stumbling around drunk in wax museums that appealed to both of us. Go figure. I think perhaps it reminded us of our summers partying in Crystal Beach. Anyhow, circumstances have precluded our last few visits, and Bob was kind enough to make the four-hour drive to break that cycle.

As I have often said in these reports, time seems to be shooting by much faster in the second half of my life. Of late, I have been experiencing a perplexing and unshakeable anxiousness. Many of my peers have relayed similar experiences, and for some, not all of us, life’s ever-compounding complications have taken their toll on our contentment. It’s been a challenging couple of years for Shauna and me, and especially for Shauna. We have not had much of a social life since she experienced a neurological attack in the summer of 2017, an illness which nearly robbed her of her eyesight. Complications from the medications prescribed to keep her from going blind have left her almost constantly exhausted and discouraged. To compound problems, the past several months have been particularly isolating, because our beloved dog Jasper is slowly failing. Jasper has been so much a part of our lives over the past 14 years, we simply lost track of time. She watched our house being built and she has been our almost constant companion. A childless couple, we have likely projected a disproportionate amount of our love on this little ragamuffin.  Last Friday we made the hard decision to have her put to sleep in a week or two. Believe me, I get the irony of someone like me, who falls into the top one percentile of most fortunate people in the world, complaining about his charmed life. I am not completely without perspective about my good fortune. The fact is, no one escapes the fickle finger of fate, and it seems that, mired in my regret over the troubles which plague everyone, I sometimes lose sight of the joy that is all around me.

Certainly Shauna has centered this sometimes rudderless ship for the past 25 years, and there is nothing so rewarding as the love of a person who knows me better than anyone else does. Bob is a close second; he and I have been friends for almost fifty years. We grew up in the same neighborhood, and we've had a lot of fun together over the years. Last Saturday night I had a strong, albeit brief reminder of the blessings of friends and family. I needed that kick in the ass. After  dinner at the new and improved Landmark Pub in Burk’s Falls, we came home and, in front of a roaring fire, I and one of my best and  oldest friends did what we have been doing for the past five decades: we hung out and listened to music; for six hours. I have unwittingly allowed life’s countless curveballs and sucker punches to chip away at my contentment, but the joy is always there, somewhere beneath the surface. A short visit from a close friend reminded me of this and afforded me some much-needed perspective. In front of the flickering amber light of the fireplace flames, in an otherwise dark living room, as we listened to the entire Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus album (you must listen to the entire album turned up loud), and my anxiousness abated. It was as if a butterfly had landed on my toe. 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED