The Oppenheimer Report - 6/24/08

I am just back from Buffalo where I have been for the past week, foraging through safe deposit boxes, rummaging through files, and talking to lawyers, accountants, and bankers. Dad was pretty good about putting his affairs in order, five years ago. I suppose he felt that the end was near when in fact it was not. Always the organized record keeper, the problem over the past five years was that he kept EVERYTHING. I have been sorting through reams and reams of paper, trying to sort out what is and is not important to keep. As one of the co-executors of his estate (my sister is the other one), we are the detectives who must collect all his assets for evaluation. I find myself going through all of Dad’s possessions. In one folder, hidden in a bottom drawer, I found letters from my sisters and me to Dad, written when we were little children. I found foreign coins he’s collected from his many trips abroad with Mom. I found old photographs of distant family members, along with copies of their birth certificates … why in the world would he have those? Shortly before he passed away, I brought some of those old photos to him for identification, and surprisingly, he was able to put names to most of the faces.

During his last months, I spent quite a lot of time down in Buffalo. Perhaps it was guilt at not having been around much for the past few years, or perhaps I genuinely felt that my presence was helpful. Dad slept for most of the day, but sometimes he would rally late at night. It seemed that in the wee hours of the morning, all the mundane hassles of life on a death bed would drift away, and his memories would re-surface. Certainly, there were the anecdotes I’ve heard a hundred times before - I’m beginning to do that myself, so I can hardly fault him for doing it at 98. But what impressed me about those midnight talks was that invariably, there was a story I hadn’t heard, an anecdote that was new. I learned a little bit more about his early days in Buffalo and about his family in those last few months than I’d ever taken the time to learn in the past forty or fifty years. I came to realize how much there was about my father that I did not and do not know. I used to grumble that my father didn’t understand who I am, but in truth that complaint works both ways. I think a lot of us are strangers to the ones we love. I’ve been philosophical of late. This house is almost finished, and the combination of its construction and the concurrent decline of my parents has been pretty hard. We put all our energy into these projects, and sometimes we lose sight of the big picture, whatever that may be.

Just out of college, I bought a very used Triumph Spitfire and, with the help of someone who actually knew what he was doing, I rebuilt the engine. Unexpectedly, it was one of the better learning experiences of my life. On top of the lesson that it is much better to let a professional handle certain tasks, I learned something about coping with the unsettling prospect of unfinished projects. The rebuild took much longer than expected. Parts were not readily available, others required machining. One night I went out to the garage, and there were all the components of the engine, laying neatly on the floor. Pistons, valves, lifters, push rods … everything. I looked at all of these pieces and felt like at that point in time, this unassembled labyrinth of parts was a pretty good metaphor for my life. I’m in that unsettled state again. I comfort myself by believing that it will all come back together again, and it likely will. But it’s a little like losing my wallet, or my compass when I’m hiking…that feeling in my stomach that comes from the fear of being vulnerable. We all know the future is unpredictable, but sometimes we forget or simply ignore what we know. I’ve learned that no matter how organized I am – and admittedly, I am not well organized – and how much I try to steer the great rudder of my life, there are storms that I never saw coming. Keeping that notion actively in the back of my head has been helpful when the wind begins to blow.

Meanwhile, the world continues to spin on its axis. Iran is in the midst of a political crisis, the H1N1 Swine Flu virus is still a global threat and, just in time for the hot weather, Toronto is in the midst of a garbage strike. Doesn't that stink?

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

The Oppenheimer Report 6/7/09

The last two weeks have been very strange because, although I knew Dad was very old, I had become used to the notion that he would be around forever; I think a lot of people did. He seemed unstoppable, and the idea that he is gone is just now beginning to sink in. The other night, as I was watching the Detroit Red Wings beat the Pittsburgh Penguins in game two of the Stanley Cup finals, I caught myself starting to phone him in Buffalo. What did he think of that penalty call, for whom was he rooting? He would have been watching the game for sure, probably wearing his silly red knit Cornell Sherpa hat, which he wore almost constantly near the end, because he was almost always cold. He customarily wore the hat for Sabres games, presuming that would bring them luck. Invariably, it had the opposite effect. A while back, before Dad became permanently bedridden, my niece took a funny photo of him wearing that hat. He was sitting in his favourite chair in the den, reading a copy of Mad Magazine he found lying around, grimacing like an old curmudgeon because he did not approve of the off-color humor. The photograph is priceless, and a copy was sent to every member of the immediate family. Indeed there are many snapshots of him worth “a thousand words.” So many faces.

I had a complicated relationship with my dad, and I suppose that is fairly common in father-son relationships. Because he was so much older than I, we fought a lot when I was a teen. As I think Mark Twain humorously pointed out, fathers can improve considerably as time passes. I worked for and with Dad for over twenty years, and really came to know him best during that time. Of course he had his faults, but what I remember most about him was his uncanny ability to size almost anybody up in one conversation. He was remarkably intuitive and smart, and I came to admire him a great deal. Whenever anyone says that I remind them of my dad, I am proud of and at the same time humbled by that comparison. Shauna says that I talk to the dog with the same baby talk he used, and that many of my mannerisms are similar. I guess it is inevitable that one absorbs some of the character traits of one’s parents, and perhaps we are genetically hard-wired to do so. I remember a story he used to love to tell, and it always used to bother me. When I was perhaps three or four years old, Dad took me to a place near our first house in Kenmore where they offered rides on a miniature train. He obviously thought this would be big thrill for me, and I suppose he was vicariously delighted that his son was going to have such fun. When the ride was over, he asked me how I liked it, assuming that I would have been overcome with joyous enthusiasm. My reply was simply, “I could walk faster.” He loved to tell that story; perhaps he was a little proud of the fact that, at such a young age, I was already a wise ass. I can only guess, because I was not around in 1914, that maybe my father was a bit of a wise ass himself in his youth. Sadly, none of his contemporaries are still around, and stories of his indiscretions are hard to come by. I did get a few from his sister Edith, before she passed many years ago, but I have no hard evidence.

As time passes, I will likely screen out the past six months or so when Dad was so infirmed. I will remember more and more what a good and virtuous man he was. Home movies and photographs will likely color those memories, and even perhaps embellish them. I miss my dad, but take comfort in the long and productive life he lived. I only hope that, as time goes by, I will become somewhat worthy of the comparisons some have made.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Eulogy for My Father - 5/22/09

To all my readers...

My dad passed away last Monday, quite peacefully, in his home. He had a good life. To follow is the eulogy I gave for him last Friday afternoon at Temple Beth Zion:

I’ve had a long time to think about what I wanted to say when I got up on this podium. Dad began to prepare me for his imminent demise thirty-five years ago, when I was still a boarding school student at Taft. I remember he took me out to lunch one Father’s Day weekend and reminded me of the 45 year difference in our ages, and that I would likely be called upon to “man-up” and take care of Mom when, as he predicted, he would leave us prematurely. Indeed, throughout the years, my father had his share of formidable health challenges, but he was one tough son of a gun, and he endured for 98 years. Still, we all leave some day.

In the past few months, before Dad passed away on Monday, my sister Jill and I spent a lot of time in Buffalo with him and with Mom. I sensed Dad might be losing perspective on all he had done in his long and productive life, and I made it my challenge to remind him wherever and whenever I could of all that he had done, seen and accomplished over the past nine decades. We watched old family movies together, we went through a lot of our old photo albums, spanning back to his early childhood, and of course, we talked. I found one photo of Dad as a young boy, sitting in one of Buffalo’s first electric cars which, I believe, belonged to his mother. There was one picture of Dad that I particularly like, taken back in 1962. Both Mom and Dad loved horses and horseback riding, and while they rode primarily English saddle, they used to take a trip out to Palm Springs, California every Spring. There they spent a good deal of their time riding quarter horses in the desert. The photo in question has Dad up on his horse, standing on a mountain ridge overlooking what was back then the sleepy little town of Palm Springs. Below him, the empty desert stretched out for miles, and there he sat, tall in his saddle, wearing a cowboy hat – a real one - tanned and handsome; in the prime of his life, confident, in control. As I stared at that photo I realized that this image was an almost perfect representation of the man I knew. I take great comfort in knowing that this man was my dad. I’ll come back to that picture in a little while.

Most of you are here because you knew my dad. Some of you knew him well. Judging from the written correspondences and phone calls I have fielded over the past week, many of you had great affection and respect for the man; some of you even used the word love. I loved him as well, but I lived with the man for a good portion of my life, and the love I have for him is tempered by fifty-three years of my life with him. How lucky I was to have had that experience. And I think I grew to know him pretty well. Dad was a complex, fascinating, intelligent, generous, and really funny man. I am pretty sure most of you have at least one Jim Oppenheimer story that highlights his wonderfully irreverent wit, or his famous generosity, of spirit and deeds. I’m not going to share funny anecdotes about Dad here because, for one thing, he was a much better story teller. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Let it suffice to say, and I think we will all agree on this, we appreciated the fine man he was.

Mom doesn’t want long speeches, so what I want to say is this. Over my short lifetime, I have spent far too much time pre-occupied with the elusive concept of success, though I have never really understood that concept. What I am finally beginning to understand, largely through my association with this humble and self-deprecating mentor, is that success will elude me, if I seek it. Dad never bothered with a score card, and he never called attention to his achievements, though they were too numerous to mention. Surrounded by a world filled with self-promoters, he simply set about to accomplish every goal he ever put his mind to, with unfailing drive and with flawless organization. He was an amazing and selfless father, husband, brother and son, he was a well-read intellectual, a gifted writer, a confirmed expert in his profession, and he came to be respected by any and all who had the privilege to get to know him. He simply walked through his long life, consistently enriching his friends and family with his generosity, his unstoppable wit and charm, and his intelligent common sense. That, I have finally come to understand, is the definition of a successful man.

So I come back to that photograph of Dad on the ridge. In a world of shifting sands, my father was stability. The man on that horse was real, not some illusion, not some imposter. He was consistent, stable, good, honorable, and dependable, and he made me and every one in my family feel safe. I have relied on his strength most of my life, and I am quite sure it has made me a better person than I would have otherwise been. Dad I salute your long and beautiful life, and I hope that, as I lately imagine, you are back on one of your favorite horses, cantering through the verdant farmlands of heaven.

The Oppenheimer Report 5/10/09

Last weekend I went back for my 35th high school reunion at The Taft School, the boarding school I’d attended in Connecticut for the last three years of my high school career. Driving down to Watertown, Ct. from Toronto last Friday afternoon, I began to have ambivalent feelings, and I wondered if I shouldn’t simply turn around and go home. Without going into great detail, I recently retired from the business I was working in for over twenty-five years, my nest egg has been downgraded from “Robin” to “Quail”, we recently completed construction of a home which took well over two years, nearly driving Shauna and me over the edge, and presently I find myself charged with care giving responsibilities which have grown exponentially over the past 18 months. At 53 years of age, as I take stock of my life so far, I don’t feel particularly proud of my accomplishments to date. There I was, around Binghamton, N.Y., driving down to a reunion, at a school I have not visited in over twenty-five years, to see classmates I have not seen for at least that long. What was I DOING? This was madness! They’re all successful and I’m a loser. At a time when I am particularly vulnerable and confused, why am I throwing myself into a situation which could be a sucker punch to my self esteem, or even worse, to my sanity?! Apprehension gradually developed into anxiety, and by the time the five hundred mile drive was over, I was a quivering mess. At least I didn’t turn around.

After I’d checked in to the hotel, I headed over to the campus for a quick look around, before the school would be crowded with alumni. Much has changed, but as well, much has not. I wandered through the halls, poked my head into the old auditorium, where I remember the whole school assembled before dinner every weeknight, visited the dining room, then walked around out back to see some of the newer additions to the campus. I took a picture of the sun setting over one of the old dorms, and as the shutter clicked, I was momentarily transported back to 1973, when I had taken the same picture. A déjà vu moment. Time passes, but some things remain the same. By now, I was beginning to feel a little better about this imminent reunion. Somehow I belonged here. Though still apprehensive about seeing my classmates, I realized that Taft had played an important part of in my adolescent development, and I very much needed and wanted to revisit this institution and the people who were a part of it. I chugged a beer for courage and joined some of my classmates for the informal dinner our reunion chair had arranged in Woodbury. By the end of that dinner (during which I failed to recognize at least one close friend) I was reminded that this was going to be better than o.k. I had the opportunity to meet and talk to some interesting people, in some cases for the first time. I felt comfortable with almost everyone and really enjoyed myself. The next night was the big dinner, and that turned out to be a lot of fun as well.

Of late, I have been so focused on the present and the future, that I have had little inclination to revisit the past. I needed to remember what it was I got out of Taft, because I’d put that part of my life on the shelf. So much about my life in the past twenty-five years has been a random series of events to which I have reacted, however successfully. Upon reflection, I have not been particularly successful at steering my life towards happiness and growth, and my fear was that seeing all these classmates would shine a spotlight on my failure. The fact is, nobody seemed to care, and I was reminded that nobody escapes the relentless march of time. Given enough time, life eventually kicks us all in the ass. If it’s not health, it’s emotional or financial problems. A long time ago, I stopped seeking karmic retribution, or epiphanies, or any meaning that could explain why I am where I am right now. What I have tried to do in my life is focus on the friends and family who can help me through the journey. Taft was a good school when I attended. Academically, it’s probably an even better school now. But I did not come back to visit the school; I came back to see the people who shared time with me at that school. We were inmates together. Some of us had a better experience than others, but we all shared the experience, for better or for worse. After this reunion, I was reminded how many good friends I’d made at Taft, and that realization came at a critical time for me. I can say without doubt that my association with those people has improved my life, and though I may not see them much anymore, it is a great comfort to be reminded that they know me and I know them.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/4/09

As I begin today’s report on Saturday, the wind is blowing furiously off the grey and churning lake, and I sit in our new kitchen watching this bad weather while enjoying a hot cup of coffee. I am facing the stairwell, with its newly installed glass, and through the glass I can see the mountain mosaic above our fireplace. We christened the fireplace last week. My father-in-law did the honors, because he always used to build the fires. The house is so designed that one can see the blaze in that fireplace from almost any point in the house that faces it, on both floors. I remember how long we waited for the stone mason to complete that fireplace. There were many months wherein the structure was tarped in and we could not really gauge the progress. We’d spent a long time planning and reworking the design, but much of that project was a leap of faith that the stone mason could create what we’d envisioned. There were times when I thought the mason was going to have a nervous breakdown, such was the challenge with which we had charged him. His name is Mark, and we jokingly referred to him as “Markoangelo”. Mark not only succeeded in realizing our vision, but he created a work of art which we grow more fond of every day. Indeed there was great controversy surrounding our design, and when it was finally unveiled, some people working on the house didn’t like it. I suppose they were expecting a realistic depiction of the mountains, but that was not what Shauna and I had in mind. I suppose one could make the argument that Van Gogh’s “Wheatfield with Crows” is not a realistic depiction of that scene, but I still consider it to be a beautiful work of art.

I remember when we first visited the owners of a Neville log home near Dorset, Ontario, and I was immediately taken with the beautiful view afforded by its large picture windows. Today, looking out on that lake, with the forbidding weather and the trees swaying in the wind, I was suddenly aware of the fact that we too now have a spectacular view. I have been so involved in the myriad of expenses and details involved in the construction of this house, that I have been almost completely oblivious to the reasons why we embarked on this journey in the first place. This house is organic, it belongs on this site, and it blends in beautifully with its surroundings. Both from the interior and the exterior it simply belongs in this environment. As I spend more time just hanging out here, I am astounded by the sense of peace it exudes.

Our next door neighbour just bought a new outboard motor for his boat, and this evening, just before dusk, he launched it for a test run. When I saw him out on the lake, I waved to him and he motored in to give me a ride. As we took a power run around the lake at 55 mph, I watched the house from a distance. This is the first time I’ve seen it from the lake since last Fall, and much has changed in that time. This house was built in turbulent times, through an economic crisis, at a time when my parents have rapidly descended towards the ends of their lives. There it stands, a fixture on the ever-changing landscape. Much has transpired in the last two years, but the house, with all its stories, remains a solid, fixed thing in this ever-changing environment. For me this is a consoling thought.
-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/14/09

We had a Seder supper with Shauna’s parents to celebrate Passover last week. Still haven’t seen Elijah. Every year I make the same joke, referring to Mom’s delicious Charoses (pronounced ho-ra-sis) as “psoriasis”. She’s probably pretty tired of that joke by now, but it’s all I’ve got. The day after the Seder, Shauna headed back up north to deal with the never-ending house project, and I drove down to Buffalo to be with Mom and Dad, where I am at present.

The new house up north is amazing, and it will be even more so when we can say farewell to the last of the workers. Much finish work remains to be done, so that may be a while. Jasper is in her glory because, having lived in a very cramped 1200 sq. ft. bungalow for the past fifteen months, and an even more cramped trailer for six or seven months before that, she doesn’t know what to do with all the extra room. Now, instead of barking at pedestrians and cars, she has huge picture windows, out of which she can bark at deer, groundhogs, raccoons, squirrels, foxes, and birds. Last week, she figured out how to go up the half log stairs. We were sure she’d be afraid of the stairs, but now she fearlessly ventures up to the second floor to assist the workers. I’m never quite sure where I’ll find her, but can usually tell where she’s been by what is stuck in her beard.

We no longer have high speed internet access because our new home is in a dead zone for high speed. Keep that in mind if you decide to send us any photos in the near future. We will likely move to some higher speed satellite service if and when we can afford that luxury. For now we are reduced to dial up service and it is SLOW. When I got down to Toronto, I downloaded all our messages, and I have noticed a new form of junk email. I am getting a lot of promotional offers from obscure towns in places like Missouri, Arizona, and Iowa. I don’t think I’ll be spending my (non-existent) vacation dollars on a trip to Cow Plop, Iowa, but someone thinks I might. The funny thing is, a lot of these ads are targeting time share prospects, and time share ownership is a concept I am even less likely to embrace. Many of these promotions are handled by the same organization, and I was amused by a little note I saw at the bottom of the email ads. It says that if I want to be removed from their mailing list I should go to (and I don’t have the ad in front of me for the exact website) http://www.kibblespecials.com/. Of course! It makes perfect sense that, in these troubled times, when real estate investment is in large part the cause of the economic Armageddon we now find ourselves in, I am going to invest in one of the least secure forms of real estate ownership, from a company that promotes DOG FOOD! Just click on http://www.snakeoilinvestments.com/. Jeesh.

Perhaps next week, I will regale you with stories of Shauna’s fourteen hours on the phone dealing with Bell. We have our internet service, our satellite T.V., AND two phone lines bundled in some allegedly cost saving package with Bell. Between the outsourcing of their customer service to places like India and Pakistan, and the complete lack of accountability in almost every department Shauna spoke with, it is no wonder that one of Bell’s most active departments is their “Customer Retention” department. Let it suffice to say that we are less than satisfied customers.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/7/09

There is a comedy show up here in Canada known as “The Trailer Park Boys”, I think it airs on the Showtime network, and like so much of the Canadian humor, I am a HUGE fan of this show. I first caught an episode about two years ago, and I have been hooked ever since. Admittedly, it is an acquired taste, like two of my other favorite Canadian shows, “Kids in the Hall” and The Red Green Show”, but the more I watch it the more I like it. Basically it is done in a mock-umentary format, with a camera crew following the exploits of a band of low level criminals, drunks, and generally low life individuals who live in a run down trailer park. The individuals talk to the camera and as the “reality” of their exploits unfolds for all to see, the humor is there for anyone with half a funny bone to appreciate. This is irreverent, twisted humor at its best, and I heartily recommend it to any of you out there who might be as sick as I am. I just sent one DVD of a three DVD set to my nephew in Virginia, hoping to reinforce the notion that Uncle Jamie hasn’t completely lost his inner child. I got a call from him the other day expressing his approval. He wants the other two DVDs.

About ten days ago, I drove Shauna’s parents up to Jasper Bark Lodge to view the new home, and that was a milestone event. Their visit was special in many ways. March 21st marked their late son Jordan’s birthday, so it was fitting that they first visited Jasper Bark Lodge on that date. Jordan would have approved of the house we built. The Taylors have not been to the property for over three years, and not since the old cottage was demolished. Although there is still work being done to finish this house (audible sigh), it is now habitable, and we are living in it. There are still a few issues to resolve, and we have a list of deficiencies which must be rectified before the building inspector gives it a “pass” for his final inspection. Still, the deficiencies are relatively minor, the house has been officially deemed habitable, and it was with great satisfaction that we opened the place up to Shauna’s parents. Though they had originally intended to stay only one night, they liked it so much that we convinced them to stay for the week. I think in that short time, with the chaos of various workers coming and going every day, and all the crazy things that have gone wrong, they got some feel for what we have been through for the past two years.

What a change it is to finally be living in the lodge! We’ve waited a long time for this moment. Having moved out of the Burk’s Falls crap house we lived in for the past fifteen months, with its myriad of electrical and plumbing problems and its flooding basement, I can say that by contrast, Jasper Bark Lodge is a magical place to live. Shauna gets most of the credit for designing the house to fully exploit the lake view, and the open floor plan on the first floor is comfortable and I think an excellent use of space. Although it will be probably be a long time before we can say the house is truly finished, and while we have, as I am sure many others before us have, run out of money creating our custom dream home, we now have hope that this never-ending project will someday be completed. We have been too close to the construction of this house to appreciate the home we wanted to create. Living in the house, we are beginning to enjoy all of the unique design features we had built in, and we are reminded that we did it. We are finally living in the home that four years ago we only dreamed of building.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/16/09

3/14/09 - Last Thursday night, we celebrated a momentous event, enjoying our first official dinner in the new house. Granted, dinner was a pizza, but we did use our warming oven, and that means we have, by my definition, christened our new kitchen. We now have a working kitchen, with hot water, two sinks, a refrigerator and freezer, a stove, and a cook top. Though we have not yet moved in, we will by necessity move out of our rental bungalow in Burk’s Falls by the end of this month. Our landlord, who had promised to give us 60 days notice to vacate, has sold his cottage and will be moving into our home away from home in April. I wish him good luck, because the house into which he will be moving needs a lot of work. Not only does the basement flood every time there is any kind of thaw or appreciable rainfall, but the house has serious plumbing and electrical problems as well.

Even as we near the completion of the log home, there are problems to address. Glass cut to fit into the stair railings does not fit properly, nor do some of the glass pieces measured for the rear porch. We still need to chink the house, with material which was supposed to be supplied by our log supplier, Neville Log Homes. That company has filed for bankruptcy, and we never received the chinking material for which we had already paid. Nevertheless, most of the big problems are, I hope, behind us, and Shauna and I anxiously await the day when the house is cleaned up and ours to live in. This has been a long haul – we broke ground around May of 2007 – and there have been many challenges to face along the way. We were present for every stage of construction, and the entire process has been documented, in written journals, in photographs, and on audio and videotape recordings. For now, I prefer not to think about the tribulations of the past three years; it gives me a stomach ache. The house, for all of it’s flaws, is a remarkable and unique structure, and one which I am hopeful will provide us with years of pleasure. I’ll know we have officially moved in when our two cedar bears, “Shem” and “Naur” are guarding the main entrance to the house.

3/16/09 – I’m back in Buffalo now. Drove down yesterday afternoon and, after visiting with Mom and Dad for a while, and setting up a DVD player in Dad’s bedroom so he has access to movies, I rode my bike downtown for the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade on Delaware Ave. When I lived in Buffalo, I used to attend that parade every year, and it seemed as if every year the weather was atrocious. This year was different, and because it was a beautiful day, there was a huge turnout. I, the consummate people watcher, came armed with my digital camera to record all the Irish wannabes. On St. Patrick’s Day it seems as if people of all nationalities transform into mutant Leprechauns. Like Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day inspires us to channel with our inner fool. I might have been the only person at the parade wearing not so much as a speck of green. The funny thing is, when I lived in Ireland for six months back in the late Seventies, the Dubliners didn’t make a big deal out of St. Patrick’s Day. I don't even think there was a parade. Indeed St. Patrick’s Day is an American phenomenon. After the parade was over, I rode home and downloaded the 150+ photos I took onto my computer. Later on, I gave Dad a slide show of the day’s activities. Though he is largely confined to a bed these days, I am determined to give him at least a glimpse of the outside world. After all, he still has an active mind.

Next week will be a crazy push to move out of the Burk’s Falls bungalow, so I may not be able to get the report out. I will return when the dust clears. Erin Go Bragh(less)!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/11/09

As I write this report, I am anxiously awaiting the repercussions of the latest thaw up here in Burk’s Falls. Presently, the wind is gusting to 70 Km/hr., the trees are swaying furiously, and I just came back from our new, ALMOST finished, house to make sure the protective tarps have held. When there is an extreme thaw, such as the one we are now experiencing, the basement in our temporary rental bungalow floods. If we lose power, which usually happens when we get winds like this, then the flooding becomes a bigger problem. I will not bore you with the latest tribulations involving the severely delayed completion of this house, but let it suffice to say we are at our wits end. The only thing keeping Shauna and I from lunging at each other like a couple of territorial wolves, apart from the fact that we have to consider Jasper’s mental health, is the mutual understanding that many of these problems are simply out of our control. We are hopeful that all of this will soon get better.

The weather has once again been very strange. In the past week, we have had a myriad of extremes, ranging from extremely mild to bitter cold. With all the freezing and thawing, roads up here are often reduced to glare ice, and the conditions change hourly. Last night it rained, but today the mercury has once again plunged, and the snow has begun to blow in a driving, horizontal pattern. Certainly March came in with a roar, and I’m guessing those groundhogs are once again lying vermin. Every year, it’s the same story … I listen to that drug-addled albino groundhog, “Wiarton Willie” (our debauched, Canadian version of “Punxatawny Phil”) and every year, the little bastard is off by about three weeks. Frankly, if I lived in Wiarton, I too would probably drink heavily and try to be optimistic about winter's end. I could likely get a better read from my brilliant nephew the meteorologist, but what fun would that be?

I have never owned a DVD player before, although my computer is equipped with one. I kept thinking that, when the technology was a little more affordable, I’d buy a recordable DVD player. Now that DVDs are soon to be and obsolete technology, I found a recordable player for $59.00 at the fell-off-the-back-of-the-truck-our-prices-are-insane-keep-your-receipt-because-this-puppy-is-re-conditioned-so-we-will-replace-it-for-ten-days-if-as-we-know-it-will-it-craps-out local discount electronics store. Of course, the first one did break, but the second one seems to be a keeper. Now I can convert all my priceless videos to DVD. There is, of course, Nixon’s funeral, complete with Bob Dole crying (one of Shauna’s greatest hits) and the very first episode of “Big Brother”, destined to be a collector's item. Now, if and when the rest of my life settles down (hardy har har) , I will have plenty of material to convert, just in time for DVD players to become obsolete.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/2/09

Today was another banner day for the world financial markets, as reports about AIG and CitiGroup are the latest bad news to batter the markets. The Dow closed below 7000 today, but I saw a clip on the news tonight about one industry that is making a comeback during these troubled times. Craving a few hours of escape, people are flocking to the movies, and film attendance is up a whopping 17 percent. Thank goodness that Brad and Angelina will remain unfazed by the latest economic meltdown. Speaking of movies…

I was down in Buffalo last week, and while I was there, I set up a VCR in Dad’s bedroom so he could watch some videos. He watched all 3 ½ hours of “Gettysburg”, one of his favorites, because he is a Civil War buff. He generally likes movies which deal with historical events, and over the years, he has amassed a rather formidable video library. We also watched some old Oppenheimer home movies. Years ago, I’d had many of our old home movies transferred to video cassette, because they’re easier to watch on video tape. Also, I was able to put almost all of our movies on one two hour videotape, so that I didn’t need to change ten 20 minute reels of 8MM film on a movie projector. Our movie projector is about the same vintage as our home movies – circa 1955 – and it’s about as loud as a vacuum cleaner. Another reason for the video conversion is that I knew those old celluloid films would eventually deteriorate, and I didn’t want all of those old family memories to be lost. There was video of me shortly after my birth, of my now deceased sister Joanne, and of horseback riding vacations in Palm Springs, back when Palm Springs was a sleepy hideaway for Hollywood movie stars. There were movies of a family visit to Ausable Chasm in the Adirondacks, where I’m told I climbed over a guard rail and almost fell off a steep cliff. There were panoramic views from atop Whiteface Mountain, and film of our visit to Santa’s Wonderland. What little Jewish boy should be deprived of this treat? I believe my sister was bitten on the butt by a goat at Santa’s Wonderland. Ho, Ho, Ho! There were movies of my Mom and Dad riding horseback at a farm near our summer home in Canada. They looked so healthy and energetic back then. Looking at those videos, I was transfixed, watching my distant past unfold in living color.

I’ve done some videotaping over the years, but I’ve never been very good at it. Camera technology has certainly improved over the years, and the smaller cameras, with their side-mount video screens, have certainly made their operation a lot easier. Those first video cameras were so big and cumbersome I found them difficult to use. Regardless, Shauna is a much steadier, more patient, and generally more effective camera person than I am. On top of this, I always felt uncomfortable filming subjects who almost unanimously did not wish to be videotaped. But here’s the thing. While most people don’t want to be filmed, and video recording is a somewhat invasive process, most of us enjoy watching those videos as time passes. “Oh my, there’s Aunt Josephine, boy did I get a kick out of her.” … “See how young Tommy looks in that video.” I remember back about fifteen years ago, when some of my father’s family gathered for some family affair, people were not very co-operative about being filmed, and in fact we didn’t take much video, because it was obviously making some people uncomfortable. Nevertheless, fifteen years later, I copied a bit of that video and gave it to a cousin, who thanked me and told me that there was very little record of such a large gathering of his family. In many of the above-mentioned old home movies my Dad made, there was inevitably a shy subject, grinning with embarrassment, waving away the obnoxious camera man. I’m glad he kept the camera rolling. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a video speaks volumes.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

The Oppenheimer Report 2/23/09

I wonder if it is a coincidence that the ads I’m now getting in my email box correspond to my aging baby boomer status. Amidst the plethora of ads promising me a four hour erection (how did they know?) – and I understand that everyone gets those, the ads, I mean - I am now receiving a daily dose of offers for free colon cleansing, anti-aging pills, and a myriad of other snake oil solutions to my inevitable downward health spiral. I’m guessing those ads don’t go out to the “tweens” and “X-ers” ... just us decaying “Boomers”. Holy Ponce De Leon, Batman, is it that obvious? As medicine improves, and as we become more educated about the benefits of good nutrition, and about our health in general, we WILL many of us live longer lives. Therein sits the ethical dilemma. If, through science and technology, we manage to increase the lifespan of the average human being, but we do nothing about the quality of that human being’s life, is that progress? I’m now watching my father wrestle with the end stages of his life, physically and emotionally, and it is much more difficult than I’d ever imagined it would be, for him or for me. I don’t want him to die. Selfishly, I will always want him to remain my pillar of strength, there when I need him. But at 98, what does he want? I don’t think we ask this question of ourselves, and more important, we don’t really listen to those most affected by the issue.

Now I’m likely to cross that arbitrarily drawn line of political correctness. Pro Choice, and I am Pro Choice, should be a dialogue about the beginning AND the end of our lives. I strongly value life, all life, but I also value the rights of the individual. What a person of faith chooses to do is his or her business, but do not force those beliefs on me. Dr. Kervorkian was vilified for his actions, and in fact euthanasia is still a dirty word in our society. This is clearly a complicated subject, and I am not entirely sure how I feel about it. I’m not one of those who agrees with the logic that “we euthanize out pets to spare them pain, why do we not do the same for our aged?” Of course, one of the major obstacles, presented by those who oppose the concept, is the potential for abuse. “Let’s put Grampa down, because he’s lived long enough, and we want his money.” I suggest that human beings have free will, or at least some of us do, and should be given the choice of how they wish to carry out the end stages of their lives. Define some very clear and reasonable definition of the conditions under which euthanasia can legally be considered, and then leave it to the individual, whose compromised life is in question, to chose for him or herself. If you are diagnosed with some horrible terminal illness, and you choose not to suffer, then this would give you some control. It is really just an extrapolation of the DNR order, and going a little further than what Hospice offers. When I can no longer feed myself, clean myself, breath for myself; when I am in irreversible pain, let me choose to go gently. It seems so fundamentally simple, but it isn’t.

Final notes … Was it pilot error that brought down Fl 3407 outside of Buffalo last week? There is now a big debate about the use of auto pilot controls and the rules that should fall into place when icing occurs. The Dow has plunged 47% from record highs in October of 2007. Ouch. Australia is experiencing horrific wildfires, claiming over 200 casualties so far. President Obama received a hero’s welcome in Ottawa last Thursday. I wonder how long it will be before we all turn on him like a pack of angry hyenas. And under the heading of “Is ANYBODY responsible for his or her own actions???!” … I refer to two CNN clips. First, the drunk guy who was just awarded $2.3 Million after he was run over by a subway train. Potential Darwin Award winner Dustin Dibble was so drunk he doesn’t even remember falling onto the tracks of a NYC subway near Union Sq. Station, and a jury, in their infinite wisdom, decided it was the driver of the subway train who was at fault for running him over. Second, did you read about that infamous chimp attack in Connecticut? Some 200 lb. chimp named Travis went berserk, tore off some lady’s face, and had to be shot. Then, we find out that Travis’s owner fed him the drug Xanax shortly before the attack. Oops, I think they shot the wrong chimp! Speaking of anti-depressants, I wonder what ever happened to Michael Jackson’s flower chimp “Bubbles”? I’m guessing, it’s a permanent resident at the Betty Ford Clinic.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/16/09

I’m down in Buffalo again, and while I’m here, I try to spend as much quality time with each of my parents as I can. Last Thursday night, Dad and I were upstairs in his bedroom, watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie I’d never seen before (and I thought I’d seen them all), and after it was over, I went downstairs to check on Mom. She and the nurse were rapt in attention, watching live local coverage of the crash of Continental Fl. 3407, which had occurred in Clarence Center, N.Y. perhaps an hour earlier. All I could see on the television screen was the blinding glow of burning jet fuel. A chill went up my spine, because I suddenly had a déjà vu moment bringing me back to the morning of September 11th, 2001, when Shauna and I watched the events of the day unfold on CNN. While I didn’t suspect any foul play in this accident, I got the same eerie feeling I always get when I don’t yet have any solid information. It was so strange to be only about ten miles away from where the disaster occurred. I knew that there were going to be casualties, but not until the next morning did I find out how bad it really was. All I kept seeing was that inferno of burning jet fuel.

Shauna called first thing Friday morning from up North to ask if the crash was anywhere near where my parents lived. I assured her it took place well east of Downtown Buffalo. She’d been watching the overage on CNN. I turned on the tube and it was then that I learned 50 people had perished in this crash. Miraculously, two out of the three residents in the home into which the aircraft had crashed survived. The plane made a direct hit on the house, and it is a miracle that anyone got out of that mess alive.

That night, Dad and I sat in his bedroom and watched the struggling Buffalo Sabres play the league-leading San Jose Sharks. It was a roller coaster of a game; the Sabres were up a few goals early on, but then they were playing catch-up in the second half of the game, fighting to stay in the game near the end. In the last thirty seconds of regulation time they rallied to tie it up, and went on to win the game in a very dramatic overtime shootout. I was thankful to see such an exciting game with Dad. Over the years, I attended so many Sabres games with him in the now-half-demolished Buffalo Auditorium (see photo above). I thought it was fitting that the struggling Sabres gave their fans such a big win on the night after such a horrible disaster had rocked the community. Perhaps I’m reading too much into this David and Goliath win, but to me it was symbolic of characteristics I have always attributed to my home town. Despite a disparaging write up in a recent Forbes Magazine article, despite all the shenanigans of local politicians, despite the notoriously bad weather, which is actually something I like about WNY, Buffalo is still, in my mind, the City of Good Neighbors, full of friendly, good people, who come together when the chips are down.

Dad asked me to pick up some Valentine candy for Mom which he presented to her Saturday morning, along with an appropriately amusing card. They dined together that night in his bedroom and, while it was hardly a romantic candlelight dinner (beef stew “a la Jamie”), it was comforting to know that the two of them were sharing this universal holiday of lovers. After the tragic events of last week, I remind myself of the serendipitous nature of life. Some of us celebrate almost sixty Valentine’s with our partners, and some of us have our lives cut short. Much as we delude ourselves that we are in control of our destinies, none of us really are. Nobody knows how many exciting Sabres games he or she gets to watch. As my deceased brother-in-law used to say, “Don’t postpone joy”. These days, I take joy wherever I can find it. - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/9/09

My status as a citizen of Canada is that of a landed immigrant, or “landed ignorant” as I sometimes jokingly refer to myself. It used to be that I carried my landing document with me when I traveled back and forth to the U.S., but about six years ago, Canada began to issue permanent resident I.D. cards in lieu of the landing document. I would describe the process involved in acquiring said card as somewhat tedious, prone as I am to understatement. I don’t remember everything I had to do, but it was a big pain in the neck, and it took a long time for Canadian Immigration to issue me the card.

Jump ahead five years, and about three months ago, I noticed that my almost five year old PR Card had an expiry date, and guess what … it expired in January of 2009. It was actually January 11th, 2009 but I could not make out the eleven because it is obscured by a watermark. In fact the entire expiry date was practically unreadable. Silly me, I thought the card was good for as long as I was a permanent resident, surrendered if and when I moved back to the States. I guess that’s why I’m a landed ignorant, because I didn’t bother to read the fine print. By the way, when dealing with Canadian Immigration, it’s ALL fine print. Anyhow, I was a little surprised that there was no renewal notice, as there is with just about any other authorization card issued by the Canadian Government. If my health card needs to be renewed, I receive a notice. Same goes for my driver’s license, or for the registration for my car. Why wouldn’t they send a renewal notice for immigration? To make matters worse, the renewal process is almost as tedious, annoying, and bureaucratic as the original PR application. Nevertheless, I sent in my renewal application, several months before it was scheduled to expire. Bring me a shrubbery! (not-so-obscure reference to a scene from Monty Python’s “In Search of the Holy Grail”).

When I returned from Buffalo a few weeks ago, and crossed the Canadian border, I handed the immigration officer my now expired Permanent Resident card and was almost denied entry into Canada. I didn’t realize it had expired on the eleventh. The immigration officer asked me if I had my landing document, and I told him that no, I was required to surrender that document in order to get the temporary card. This is going to be a problem. I just got a notice from the issuers of renewal cards that in my application for renewal I had failed to dot an “i” on line 487, thereby delaying the application process even further. I called Canadian Immigration and asked what I am supposed to do in the interim until my card is renewed, and their advice directly contradicted what I was told at the border. I am now in immigration limbo. Although I am married to a Canadian citizen, have a Canadian health card, an Ontario Driver’s license, a Social Insurance Number, etc., my immigration status is unclear. Technically, I suppose that I am now an illegal immigrant, though I have made every effort to follow the ambiguous and complicated rules required to remain a resident of this country. By the way, good luck trying to reach a warm body to assist you in this process. Everything is phone menus and websites which are not particularly helpful.

Finally, last weekend, while I was up north, I volunteered my services as a grill cook for the 15th Annual Kearney Dogsled Races. Though the weather was unseasonably mild, there was a good turnout, and I was able to enjoy some of the races after my grill duties were fulfilled. There is no describing the cacophony of over one hundred sled dogs howling and barking at the same time. If you’ve never been to a sled dog race, and you like dogs, you might want to put this on your list of things to do. I hope to attend again next year … that is, if I have not yet been banished from the country.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2-2-09

Back up North for this week then back down to Buffalo. My sister is driving back there from Connecticut today and will be there for the week. I’ll drive down, hopefully at the end of the week, for the next shift of Operation Loyal Sons and Daughters.

We spoke to Dad yesterday while he was watching the Superbowl in his bedroom. He sounded like the old dad, and he even threw in a few wisecracks, but he is clearly much weaker than he was when he went into the hospital about a month ago. The man has prostate cancer, a myriad of heart problems, arthritis, and lots of problems stemming from the fact that he is bedridden for 22 hours per day. Still he survives and seems to be in pretty good spirits. I think he is an excellent example of someone who is aging gracefully.

Things are progressing at the new home, but the economy and several other formidable setbacks have caused us some big problems, not the least of which was our former plumber. By far, he has turned out to be the biggest disappointment on this job. What started off as his occasional tardiness evolved into a litany of excuses and half-finished work. During the time he was at our construction site, he gradually became less and less reliable. In hindsight, we should have let him go a long time ago, but almost like a battered wife, we kept coming back for more. The time lost and the havoc he wreaked on our other trades, many who were reliant on his timely completion of his work, will be costly. We now have what I hope are reliable plumbers to complete his unfinished work, some of which had to be redone. The worst part about all of this is that we all, including our builder, trusted this fool.

I was watching some of the talking heads on a financial segment of CNN the other night and they were of course discussing the bleak economic picture. While this global recession seems to deepen every day, and is perhaps worse than anyone would have imagined, recessions and even depressions are cyclical. Everyone wants to know how bad and how long. As the experts weighed in with their predictions and insights, one guy touched upon the variable which is hard to gauge: consumer confidence. There is a lot of outrage out there. A lot of people lost their jobs and/or their security because of this mortgage-backed securities debacle. Throw in a couple of Bernie Madoffs and we have a real crisis of confidence. No doubt, any of us who let ourselves become heavily leveraged, and spent more than we had can take much of the blame for the mess we’re in now. As we have all learned, “value” is a relative term, and what we are worth on paper can change overnight. Banking on value is risky. In the back of my mind, I can’t say I ever really trusted my government. I know that this cynical sentiment is almost a truism, and that a lot of us feel the same way about this. But a trust has been broken with our bankers, with our stock brokers, our real estate salespeople, and even our plumbers(!). When a trust is broken, how long does it take to rebuild? I used to shake my head at my frugal father, turning off lights when he left a room. After all, how much electricity is saved leaving a light off for an hour? But my dad lived through the Great Depression. Seventy years later, those memories are still clear in his mind. I think we’re all going to be learning some hard lessons over the years to come. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/26/09

For the past ten days or so, it has been rather hectic at the Oppenheimer household in Buffalo. We juggled nursing schedules and made adjustments to allow for the somewhat more complicated care-giving challenges that now confront us. Everything seems to be settling down now, and my sister and brother-in-law left to go home last Friday. SNAFU is I think the word I’m looking for … “situation normal, all fouled up”. Dad is too weak to stand on his own, but he needs to be upright in a chair for at least part of the day. We’ve rented a Hoyer lift, which is a device for lifting a patient out of bed and moving him or her into a chair. It’s quite a handy little machine. Basically, it involves a sling with lifting straps which is wrapped around the patient’s torso, then attached to a portable hydraulic lift. One simply jacks the patient out of bed and, while suspended in mid air, wheels him over to the desired location and gently lowers him down. There’s a bit of a learning curve involved in using it properly, but most of our nurses seem familiar with the drill. It certainly makes things a lot easier. It is strange watching my dad hoisted in the air like a piece of cargo.

Much of what has transpired over the past two weeks has been physically and emotionally draining for everyone involved. After my sister left, the nurses suggested that I should take some R&R leave as well. A week ago last Saturday, my pal Bob and I had planned to meet in Toronto for the annual International Boat Show. That is an annual outing which we both enjoy. This year, I had to cancel because of the family crisis, but as a joke, Bob suggested that we go to a little boat show presently being held in Western New York … at a shopping mall in Niagara Falls, N.Y. Last Saturday, Bob and I drove up to the Summit Park Mall for the big event, and while a bunch of fishing boats and outboard motors displayed in a shopping mall is hardly an international boat show, it was free and somewhat entertaining. Mostly, it was good to take a small road trip with one of my oldest and certainly best friends. As we sometimes do when we’re in the area, we visited the site of the Love Canal disaster. Many of the houses in that area have been bulldozed and new houses have popped up here and there, but the enormous fenced-off mound where the original problem occurred (and was hopefully contained) still looms ominously in the distance. After this sacred pilgrimage was completed, we drove up the Robert Moses Pkwy., following the spectacular Niagara Gorge all the way up to Old Fort Niagara on the south shore of Lake Ontario. It was a frigid but beautiful blue sky day, and as I gazed at the distant skyline of Toronto across the churning lake, for a moment I was free of guilt, ambivalence, doubt, confusion, frustration, and the forty other feelings competing to erode my sanity.

I’ve have known many friends and acquaintances in my life so far. Some have disappointed me, and I am sure I have disappointed some of them. For the most part though, I have been fortunate to say that I can call some really great people my friends. Someone once told me that you only need one or two really good friends in your life, and I think that is probably true. Bob is just such a friend. I know he will always be there if and when I need him -- I rely on that -- and he knows that I am there for him. At any given time, that loyalty might not involve anything more than going to a crappy boat show together, or the silent, mutual appreciation of a scenic drive. It might be a phone call in a blue moment. It is our communication, it is our long, colorful history together; the petty larcenies we committed together in our youth, the rock concerts we attended together, the failed love interests, the not-so-legendary stories we embellish, the off-color humor we share that nourishes our self-esteem. Bob has my number, spots my BS a mile away and calls me on it. I have had many friends, but one really good friend helped me weather the craziness of the past two weeks. And besides, how many people do YOU know who could do their bonding at Love Canal?
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/21/09

1/19/09 - Today is Martin Luther King Day, and I probably would not have known that except for the fact that I am writing this week’s report from Buffalo. There is a nasty intestinal flu floating around Buffalo, and last week my mom caught it. Shortly thereafter, my Dad contracted it as well and ended up in the hospital. A week ago last Sunday, he was admitted into the Buffalo General Hospital after becoming dangerously dehydrated, and one of his many vigilant nurses convinced him her was in grave danger if he didn’t go. Up North, Shauna and I agreed that at least one of us needed to remain there to address some critical code issues with the new house. After we ensured that Shauna would have indefinite support and assistance up there, I drove down to Buffalo on Monday. I could come back for her if needs be, but there was nothing much she could do for me down in Buffalo for the time being. Divide and conquer.

The past week has been a roller coaster. Doctors and nurses, opinions presented and difficult decisions made, and all the while we’re trying to focus on the main objective: doing what is right for Dad. We almost lost him on Wednesday, and I was told to bring Mom and my sister down to the hospital, perhaps to say goodbye. Then that evening, when I called over to the hospital to check on his condition, his nurse was laughing at one of his sarcastic zingers. We become hopeful, then there is a setback, then there is hope again, and so it goes. The uncertainty is hard. After reviewing a host of unattractive options, my sister and I have made a plan to allow him to come home, if he is able. As I am writing this, I’m not sure that will be possible, but he has been Lazarus, and surprised us many times before.

1/20/09 – Dad and I watched the Obama inauguration from his hospital room. We’ve made arrangements for him to be discharged tomorrow and to be brought home by ambulance. Before that happens, I need to disassemble and move his hospital bed from one room into another in the house, and to figure out a way to bring his motorized recliner/lift chair upstairs to his new bedroom. However long he now has, he’ll reside in his old (big) bedroom, with cable T.V., good nursing care, and whatever he needs to be comfortable. I didn’t really need to sell him on the idea of coming home from the hospital, but I did anyhow; I told him that he will now have perhaps the largest, best furnished single bed hospital room in Buffalo.
1/21/09- Dad was brought home by ambulance around noon, and with the help of four strong paramedics, he’s now resting comfortably upstairs. I went up and checked on him a few minutes ago and he’s sound asleep, sporting his bright red Cornell sherpa hat (he gets cold easily). Where we go from here is anybody’s guess. I know he is near the end, but how near I haven’t a clue.

If one good thing has come out of this difficult time, it is that I have been able to spend time with my sister and mother – more time than I remember spending with them in a long, long while. Father Time has really blindsided me and I was somewhat embarrassed by how out of touch I have been with them. Phone calls are no substitute for face time. In the past week there has been a lot of reminiscing, a lot of laughter, some tears, and the underlying confidence that, as a family we are, like most families, dysfunctional in some ways, but fundamentally solid in our foundation. Dad, I’m glad you’re home, sleep well tonight. Sorry the Sabres couldn’t pull off a win for you tonight, but I hope there will be other games for you to watch. 11:23 PM
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

The Oppenheimer Report 1/12/09

Down in Toronto last weekend, I took an exercise break and rode my bike down to Nathan Phillips Sq. to ice skate. Skating is a great form of exercise, and does not come fraught with the perils I have encountered while rollerblading. For one thing, ice skating is done on a rink, with other skaters. When I rollerblade, it is usually amidst a swarm of un-co-operative pedestrians, or worse yet, drivers. Anyhow, as I rode my bicycle down to the rink, I made an interesting observation. I was surprised by the number of bikers who had lit cigarettes dangling from their mouths. Doesn’t it seem a bit odd to you that someone should smoke while riding a bike? Kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?

Last week, I had a stress test up in the Huntsville Hospital. The past several months have been a little bit of a roller coaster and I and my doctor wanted to make sure the old ticker was still in tact. Apparently, the exercise has paid off. When the assistant to the cardiologist hooked me up to all the wires, he must have pegged me for a codger (probably my grey whiskers), because he advised me to stay on the treadmill “as long as I could,” in order for the cardiologist to get as much data as possible. I don’t think he or the cardiologist figured I’d stay on as long as I did, especially after they ramped up the speed, and in fact they had all the data they needed before I’d even broken a sweat. According to the results, I’m fit as a fiddle … physically at least.

Come the New Year, it seems many people make the same resolution – to get more exercise. I’ve belonged to several health clubs over the years, but I can’t stand them. I only belong so that I can swim indoors in the winter, and rarely if ever have I used any of the hamster machines. That’s what I call treadmills and stair machines. It seems as if, shortly after each new year begins, that’s when all the newbies flood into the health clubs to exercise furiously, for about a week or two, before going back to their beer-guzzling, pizza-hoovering, sedentary ways. I always made a point of avoiding the health clubs during that two week period. In fact, I don’t usually enjoy exercising around other people, unless I’m outside. I like to hike, I swim, I ride a bike, and sometimes I skate. I don’t really enjoy talking much while I’m exercising, and I really don’t want to listen to someone else talking. It seems the older I get, the less inclined I am to go to any trouble in order to exercise. I used to love skiing, then it became too much trouble, and too expensive. Skiing on a real mountain meant traveling a long distance, and once I was there, there was no assurance conditions would be good. Between the long lift lines, the high cost of a lift ticket, I finally gave up skiing. I remember sitting high up on a chair lift at Stowe Vermont one frigid morning; the wind was blowing, the wind chill was about thirty below, and I thought to myself, what the heck am I doing up here? I used to be a pretty good skier, but if I hit the slopes today, I’d probably pull a Sonny Bono and slam into a tree. For a while I used an indoor bike trainer which allowed me to use my own bike. All I needed to do was pop off the front wheel, mount the bike on this trainer, and I could ride my own bike indoors. I would watch an episode of Star Trek and I could almost forget I was exercising. That’s how I have managed to make exercise a regular thing. If it isn’t fun and easy I won’t do it. I finally wore out that trainer; I should get a new one. It’s a lot cheaper than joining a club.

Like most of my lifestyle changes, the decisions were not so much resolutions, as they were gradual evolutions. If I eat this food I will feel better. Stretch every so often and I don’t feel so stiff (a growing problem of late). More water, less beer. The latest evolution, and one which has been a long time coming, is the conscious effort to read more and to watch less television. Exercise for the brain … goodness knows, I could use a little of that!
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/5/09

First of all, I wish all of my readers a Happy New Year, and may 2009 AT LEAST be better than the last three months of 2008! We watched the ball drop in Times Square, as reported by Anderson Cooper and that irreverent, loud-mouthed Kathy whatshername from the “D List”. When the clock struck midnight, many of the frozen ball drop watchers of course broke into a chorus of “Auld Lang Syne”, which prompted me to ask the question “What’s up with THAT?”. Learning machine that I am, I had to know the history of Auld Lang Syne. According to Wikipedia, my “I’m-too-lazy-to-really-look-into-this” information source, Auld Lang Syne was originally a Scottish poem, written by Robert Burns in 1788, and put to the tune of an old folk song. The poem borrowed from earlier poems, and the phrase Auld Lang Syne pre-dates the Burns poem by about 200 years. It means, literally, “old, long, since”, or loosely translated, something like “long, long, ago,” or “days gone by.” Apparently, singing this song on New Year’s Day began as a Scottish tradition and spread around the world from there. Fascinating, eh? But all of you probably knew this trivia already.

Up north, we had the one-two punch from a crippling wind storm last week. Winds gusting to 100km/ hr. blew through the Muskokas wreaking havoc on power supplies and knocking down huge trees everywhere. In our rental bungalow, we were only without power for a little more than a day, and while that is nothing compared to the five days some folks up north suffered without power, it became a problem for those of us who could not pump out our basements. The house we’re living in temporarily is very cheaply built, and among its many other faults, it floods whenever there is a thaw. Short of the fact that it IS heated, it is about as bad as the cottage we knocked down in Katrine. This last thaw was quick and severe. We had about 2 feet of water in the (partially carpeted) basement, and no way to pump it out until the electricity was restored. What a mess! On top of this, we had to scramble to find a generator for our new home, because our generator on order has not yet arrived. Temperatures in the Muskokas quickly dropped from highs in the mid-50s to well below zero on New Year's Eve, and we needed to keep that house heated. To add insult to injury, our plumber has essentially disappeared and this has severely impacted the building project. As my mother-in-law often says “At least nobody’s in the hospital.” Yet.

2008 was hardly a banner year for the world, and as Israeli ground forces push into Gaza, it looks as if things are aren’t going to get better for the first part of 2009. Still, as we hoist our tumblers of reasonably priced pink sparkling wine from Australia (champagne has become far too expensive) “audaciously” we hope for a better future, one in which our leaders do not suffer from chronic myopia and purely political motivations…

“We two have paddled in the stream
From morning sun till dine
But seas between us broad have roared
Since auld lang syne."

May we all brave the roaring seas.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

"Madoff with the Money" - New Song

MADOFF WITH THE MONEY


BERNIE MADOFF BILKED THE BIG BUCKS FROM THE WEALTHY AND THE STRONG
AND IF YOU WENT WITH BERNIE WELL I HOPE YOU DIDN’T “GO LONG”
HOPE YOU GOT IT WHILE YOU COULD CAUSE BY NOW IT’S LIKELY GONE
AND IT ISN’T MUCH CONSOLATION THAT HE KNOWS THAT HE WAS WRONG

I USED TO THINK THOSE ENRON BOYS WERE THE BELL RINGERS OF GREED
BUT BERNIE’S PUT THEM ALL TO SHAME HE’S THE GREEDIEST INDEED
AND AS WE BAILOUT ALL THE SCUMBAGS WHO GAVE MONEY OUT FOR FREE
I JUST HOPE THE FEDS DON’T COME GUNNING FOR LITTLE SCMUCKS LIKE ME


CHO:

BERNIE MADOFF WITH YOUR MONEY, THAT DIRTY ROTTEN LOUSE
MADOFF WITH YOUR MONEY NOW YOU’RE GONNA LOSE YOUR HOUSE
YES HE MADOFF WITH THE MONEY, FIFTY BILLION DISAPPEARED
MADOFF WITH YOUR MONEY WITH HIS PONZI SMOKE AND MIRRORS


IT’S CLEAR THAT BUSH HAS BUNGLED THINGS I THINK THAT’S SAFE TO SAY
BUT WHO AMONG US REALLY FEELS OBAMA CAN SAVE THE DAY?
AND HOW ABOUT THOSE REGULATORS AND THE JOKERS AT THE SEC?
NOW WE KNOW THE PARTY’S OVER AND THAT NOTHING COMES FOR FREE

CHO:

WALL STREET PLAYS BY DIFFERENT RULES, BUT THE HORSE HAS LEFT THE GATE
IF YOU THINK IT’S TIME TO REINVEST, I THINK YOU’RE A LITTLE LATE
MOST PEOPLE WORK HARD FOR THEIR MONEY AND FOR THEM THIS IS ALL INSANE
THAT THE BAD GUYS GO UNPUNISHED WHILE THE REST OF US FEEL PAIN


BANKERS, BROKERS, CONGRESSMEN, THE AUTO INDUSTRY
ALMOST EVERYONE HAS LET US DOWN, I THINK IT’S CLEAR TO SEE
AND IF YOU TRUSTED GUYS LIKE BERNIE YOU PROBABLY LOST YOUR ASS
YOU SHOULD PUT YOUR MONEY IN A MATTRESS, THEN IT WON’T DISAPPEAR SO FAST

BERNIE MADOFF WITH YOUR MONEY,THAT DIRTY ROTTEN LOUSE
YES HE’S MADOFF WITH THE MONEY BUT HE GETS TO KEEP HIS HOUSE
THOUGH HE WEARS AN ANKLE BRACELET CONFINED BY HOUSE ARREST
PERHAPS SOMETHING A LITTLE LESS COMFORTABLE MIGHT BE MORE APPROPRAITE


WRITTEN BY JAMIE OPPENHEIMER C2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The OppenheimerReport - 12/17/08

I just returned from Buffalo where I very much enjoyed the celebration of my Aunt Bobbi’s 86th, along with some relatives I have not seen in a long time. It was good to reunite with those people, to see children I remember as rug rats now all grown up, and to catch up on the lives of people with whom I have lost touch. I’m making every effort to spend more time in Buffalo these days. It seems to make my parents happy, and I’ve been conspicuously absent from Buffalo for much of the past two years. I don’t want to look back when they are no longer around and feel as if I could have spent more time with them. Given that Dad is 98 and Mom is 89, there is a lot of down time during my visits. Both of them sleep a lot during the day, so I use that time to do some of the much-needed repairs on their big house. I delude myself into thinking that if I make some of these repairs to the house then I am somehow redeeming myself as a son. And what do they call that river in Egypt?

As we close in on Christmas, I recently had occasion to visit a Future Shop electronics store in Toronto. I was looking for a “Bluetooth” headset, as it is now illegal to use a cell phone in my car without one. I ended up buying a very inexpensive one at one of the 629 discount computer stores near our apartment, but my visit to Future Shop was a reminder of just how out of step I have become with the relentless march of progress. By the way, it was hard to believe that we are in the middle of an economic crisis, judging from the large number of customers in that store. I still own an old VCR, even though almost everyone else has switched to DVD. My parents even have a DVD player; they don’t know how to use it but they have one. I was the last person to buy a CD player, stubbornly clinging to my cassette and record players, until it became virtually impossible to find new music in any other medium. As for video, I figured I would wait to buy a DVD player until the recorders came down in price. Once again, I must have missed the mark. Actually, I may be ahead of the curve, because it looks as if there is a new kid on the block, and his name is Blue Ray. I have no idea what blue ray technology is, but I think it is designed to replace conventional DVD players. They change this video and audio stuff more often than Canada Post raises the price of their postage stamps. And as for cell phones, fuggetabottit.

Finally, in the I-m-Mad-As-Hell-But-What-Can-I-Do-About-It-Anyway department, I need to rant for a moment about that Bernie Madoff (with the goods) guy, bilking investors out of $50 Billion in perhaps the world’s biggest Ponzi scheme. On top of the unfathomable enormity of the crime, the part that sends me into a convulsive, twitching, frenzied, frothing fit of indignation is that he will serve whatever term he receives under house arrest … in his SEVEN MILLION DOLLAR Manhattan apartment! It wasn’t all that long ago that we hung a person for stealing a horse; why aren’t we crucifying this guy?? It seems to me that he symbolizes everything that has gone wrong with our society. This man was at one time the Chairman of the Board of NASDAQ, and an esteemed member of the investment community! Do you think maybe the SEC dropped the ball on this one? I’m thinking perhaps a public gelding, followed by a brief stoning, and finally a hydrochloric acid enema. My goodness, I thought that Koslowski guy was bad, and of course those thieves at Enron and Adelphia, but this guy is the “Greed and Avarice” bell ringer. Seriously folks, how do you suppose the French Revolution got started? And what do I want for Chanukah? Madoff’s posh Manhattan apartment, sold to the highest bidder. Let that rat bastard live in a card board box for the next ten winters. Oh, by the way, Happy Holidays!
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 12-8-08

I lost a good friend last week. His name is Morris Newberger, but he was generally referred to as “Brother” Newberger in my family. He and his sister Babbette lived with my maternal grandparents for a while after their parents died prematurely. Morry built a wonderful life from nothing, became a successful entrepreneur, a philanthropist, a good father, a good brother, and a loving husband. I learned a lot about my grandfather from him, and I’m glad I got to know him, albeit late in his life (and mine). I will re-connect with that leg of my family when I go down to Buffalo on Friday to celebrate Babbette’s birthday. Morry’s daughter will come in from Dallas for the occasion and I look forward to catching up with some cousins I haven’t seen in many years. I’m starting to see members of my ever-shrinking family disappear, and I want to take every opportunity to connect with those who are still here.

O.J.’s finally going to the “Big House”, and isn’t it ironic what finally sent him there? Kidnapping and assault are hardly as bad a murder. It’s like Al Capone getting tagged for tax evasion. The Brown family has to be relieved. So many things about Simpson are maddening to me. I couldn’t believe that the guy could be so arrogant as to write a book entitled “If I Did It”. Lock that sociopath up and throw away the key. Of course, he could be out on appeal if someone can prove he didn’t get a fair trial, but I have faith that the same system he played so effectively can play him, and will keep him behind bars for a long while. They kept replaying the video of the moment when he was acquitted back in the mid-nineties. I couldn’t help wondering what Robert Kardashian(sp?), one of his (now-deceased) defense attorneys, was thinking at that moment, because it looks to me as if he was thinking “My g-d, we just got a murderer off scott free. He looks shocked and appalled.

The other day I came to the sudden realization that I did not own a pair of decent shoes. All of my walking shoes are completely worn out.. I’ve been wearing waterproof duck shoes and boots almost exclusively for the past six months, which is fine for up North. When I am in Toronto or Buffalo, a pair of casual shoes is in order. For the past ten years I have worn Ecco shoes almost exclusively, but for some reason, when they wear out, they cannot be re-soled. Those shoes are very comfortable, and they last a very long time, but when the soles wear out, the shoes are to be thrown out. I owned four pairs of these shoes and all of them had holes in the soles. I dislike shopping for any kind of clothing, especially shoes, and I want to get the process over as soon as possible. I have not bought a pair of shoes in ten years, and I was surprised to find out how difficult it was going to be to find something I would choose to wear ... even in Toronto. As almost anyone who knows me is aware, I am not a slave to fashion. I simply wanted a pair of plain, black walking shoes that were casual, stylish and comfortable. What I found were a lot of shoes that fall into two categories: “Elf” and “Pilgrim”. The elf shoes have very long, pointy toes and are, to me, very silly looking. The pilgrim shoes are equally silly, with a sort of flat or bull nose toe. Some even had buckles! Neither is anything like what I would choose to wear. I could order from a catalogue, but there is always the chance the shoes won’t fit, and I’d have to wait a week to ten days for them to arrive. I needed a pair of shoes now. I found a store that sells Eccos but in the ten years since I bought my last pair, they have become really expensive. In fact, any shoe I did find, which remotely appealed to me, was very expensive. I finally went to trusty Sears, and they had a big sale on shoes. I bought a perfectly suitable pair of walking shoes for sixty bucks which should tide me over for a year or two. Now, at least I won’t be walking around with holes in my soles. I wonder if they just sell the elf shoes around Christmas. And on that subject, I think the pilgrim shoes should have been cheaper. After all, Thanksgiving is over.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/1/08

Shauna and I just returned from visiting my parents in Buffalo for the American Thanksgiving holiday, and every year that holiday seems to have more meaning for me. As I and my immediate family sat down for Thanksgiving dinner, around the table at which I’d had the good fortune to eat my supper for well over forty years, I was profoundly aware of all of my blessings. I rarely give toasts, but this year I did, and I expressed my gratitude for those blessings. On top of the freedom to live in a Democratic society, and the good fortune to be healthy, and the love of my family … how much better does it get than to be able to share a celebration with four generations of my family? My parents were at the table, and we also had a great grandchild celebrating Thanksgiving with us this year (see photo above).

When I was younger, it seemed as if the starting gun for Christmas “cheer” began the day after the American Thanksgiving. These days, and I use as my barometer the displays at the Huntsville dollar store, the opening day for Christmas madness is sometime in late September. No sense in waiting until the last minute to buy that plastic Christmas wreath, or whatever other synthetic decoration you’ve had your eye on. While you’re at it, why not buy some Halloween candy, or perhaps a pair of leftover heart-shaped handcuffs (kinky eh?) from Valentine’s Day. You’re never too early to prepare for an upcoming holiday. The truth is, I feel as if the past year has flown so fast that all of these holidays are simply a blur on the swiftly passing landscape. I was down in Toronto to pick up some supplies several weeks ago, and I found a list on my desk of the staff in our apartment building to whom we gave holiday tips last year. Surely, much has happened since last Christmas, but when I see something I did a year ago, and it seems like a few weeks ago, understandably I feel temporally challenged.

Of course, with Christmas "just around the corner", we have the flurry of holiday commercials to accompany it. Once again, I feel honor bound to point out that, in my estimation, a commercial depicting Santa shocked into unconsciousness by a couple of giant M&M candies is not a good thing for a child to see. Besides, who is going to want to eat the candy that gave Santa a heart attack? And do these candies even feel remorse? As I do every year around this time, I heartily recommend that you read a piece of work by my favorite comedic author, David Sedaris, entitled “SantaLand Diaries”. Though not the funniest thing Sedaris has ever written, that story fairly well sums up the Christmas spirit as I see it. I know it is available in one of his earlier books “Barrel Fever” but it may be available in cyberspace as well. Years ago, I heard Sedaris read the whole twisted story (really more of a mock journal) on public radio while I was driving in my car, and I almost ran off the road because I was convulsing in laughter. His irreverent observations still make me chuckle today. If the mistletoe mafia is bleeding you dry and you need to inject some desperately needed perspective into your holiday activities, I suggest that Mr. Sedaris’ humorous short story might just be the therapy you seek. Finally, I hope that, during this holiday season, you will find the time to re-connect with your families, and to remember that there is always something for which to be thankful. I for one have made some serious adjustments to my definition of good fortune -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/3/08

Wednesday - Winter’s frosty breath chilled me to the bone tonight as Jasper and I took our evening constitutional. The weather man has been threatening snow for the past several days, but as yet, we have not seen much. Jasper doesn’t seem to mind and is in fact energized by the cold weather. I, on the other hand, am already pining for Spring.

Saturday – Maybe I spoke too soon, today was beautiful, and they’re calling for warm weather this week. Last year, I believe around the middle of November, we had a severe Winter storm up north. Shauna and I were delayed in leaving Toronto, and by the time we traveled north, our retractable dock up in Katrine was frozen into the lake. When we left for Toronto, we never dreamed the weather would change so quickly, and so early. By the time we had returned, we had to rely on our builder (Glenn) to chainsaw the ice from around the dock to free it up enough so that I could crank it out of the water.

Sunday – Today was spent removing the last remnants of the stuff from the old cottage, which we had stored in a trailer on the property. Some of it went into the as yet unfinished new log home, some of it went to our temporary rental bungalow in Burk’s Falls, and some of it went to the dump. When we closed the old cottage, two years ago, we had intended to go through everything before it was moved into storage, but Shauna’s dad fell gravely ill, and we ended up staying in Toronto for the six week window of opportunity we thought we’d have to go through all that stuff. Not knowing what we would save or throw out, the poor builders saved everything and moved it into storage. That trailer was packed full of all of the furniture, windows, doors, hardware, and a lot of the other extraneous stuff we never intended to save from the old cottage. It was a monumental job to move it all out. Three days later, we are nowhere near done sorting out what should stay and what should go. The good news is, psychologically, it is refreshing to be moving things into the new home. We’re still a long way from completion, but at least the end is in sight. The dock incident and the closing of the old cottage are lessons learned: expect unforeseen delays and plan accordingly.

Monday – Tomorrow, America will elect a new president, and it will probably be Barack Obama, judging by the latest polling results. It’s amusing to see the donkeys so gun shy after the last two “stolen” elections, but as I said months ago, even before Obama became the Democratic candidate, the donkeys would have to work pretty hard to blow this one. Even Billy Carter might have looked good after eight years of Dubya’s nonsense. If anything good has come of the failed Bush administration, it is the spreading hope that many Americans believe their votes are important. Democracy isn't perfect, but it tends to be self-correcting. I am hopeful that the Bush failure will energize the American voters to be more pro-active in the election process. No matter which candidate wins this election, he will have his work cut out for him. With an astronomical trade deficit, an enormous national debt, a tanking economy, and two wars bleeding us dry, America is in dire need of effective leadership. If Obama can fill the bill, as so many believe he can, then I say long live the new king.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED