The Oppenheimer Report 8/26/13

To add to the joy which has been this summer, we have had flooding in the basement of the family home in Toronto. The heavy rains in early July made their way into the house, and when Shauna and I began to investigate it became apparent that this had been a problem for a long time. The finished basement was full of junk, so the moisture problem was not immediately apparent, but when we started to move stuff around, it was obvious that this was a serious problem. When we discovered mold had formed all around the base of the walls we decided that it was time to get the insurance company involved. This all happened about the time Dad Taylor had stroke #2 in December. At that time it become abundantly clear that house maintenance had not been a priority for Mom and Dad Taylor in quite some time.

The mold remediation guys came in and did their thing, and in the meantime we gave away three refrigerator boxes full of old clothes that were piled up in the basement. One of our caregivers sent them down to a charity in the Philippines coordinated by one of her family members. Some of the other stuff was ruined and ended up in the dump, and the rest, which included most of the personal property of Shauna’s brother, who had died in 2000, ended up piled up floor to ceiling in the laundry room. When Shauna and I arrived in early July (I had been down in June for stroke #3), all the drywall and paneling was stripped and removed, electrical wires were dangling from the ceiling, the floor tiles and sub floor in one room had been torn up and removed. In short, the basement was a somewhat organized disaster.

Now that the toxic mold had been removed, and much of the water damaged debris removed, the next step was to ensure no more water seeped in through the foundation. After several bids we settled on a waterproofing company called Mud Monkeys to do the waterproofing, based largely on customer satisfaction reviews we’d read. So far, so good, but this is major construction work, which involves digging 5-6 feet down to the footings of the house foundation, installing proper weeping tiles (the original clay weeping tiles, designed to divert water away from the house had for the most part cracked or disintegrated, and were in any event woefully inadequate to handle the drainage for this house), filling gaps and cracks in the block work, sealing the blocks with concrete, covering that seal with tar and heavy duty polymer wrap, then back filling. It is slow, noisy work and I am sure our neighbors hate us by now. I hate us. Every morning at 8am the jack hammers and augers begin to pound out their cacophonous symphony, and we awaken un-refreshed and irritated. We don’t usually get home from the hospital until around midnight, usually unsettled from the latest unhappy turn of events, and so there is little time for restful sleep. Why, you may ask, did we not postpone this work until some less stressful future time? Two reasons. First, it took two months to get these guys here in the first place; they are very much in demand and we did not want to lose our time slot. When we scheduled the job, Syd was still walking and talking. Second, the improper drainage issue had to be addressed ASAP; we cannot risk another flood. As it was, we had two major rainstorms before Mud Monkeys did arrive, and with the bare cinderblock walls exposed, it was clear where and to what extent water was flowing in. When it rains it pours.

While all this goes on, I continue to ferry Shauna and her mom to and from the Veterans long term care facility at Sunnybrook, where we are in the hellacious limbo of juggling caregivers and sometimes negligent nurses to ensure Syd has the best treatment he can have. We have no idea how long he will survive, because so far he cannot ingest nutrition, but I understand that Shauna and her mom want to spend as much time with him while they can. We are not comfortable leaving Shauna’s mom alone in her house right now, but tensions are high, and this slow burn is affecting everyone. Mom Taylor is understandably distraught, but we are not going to leave her alone in her house without someone to make sure she takes care of herself, something she has steadfastly refused to do. I’ve been in this situation before, the only difference is that eventually, my mom did not have a choice. She fell ill and someone had to step in. Once again we are the meddlesome children, forcing an elder to deal with an unacceptable reality. We are the messengers. This is infinitely more difficult when the senior is of relatively sound mind and body, and adamantly refuses assistance. Some days I just scream into a pillow, or take a walk around the bucolic hospital grounds to remind myself what the past summer must have been like. I do believe there is a lesson to be learned from this tribulation. It concerns me that medical science seems to be increasing our longevity, seemingly in inverse proportion to our acceptance or understanding of quality of life ramifications. Next week, I will take a break from this morbidity and find something lighter about which to rant. To the two of you who are still reading this, you have my sympathies.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/19/13

What Dad Taylor Saw
 

We got a call Thursday morning that Dad Taylor would be transferred to the Veteran’s wing of Sunnybrook Hospital the next morning, and so the roller coaster continues. By hospital standards he has stabilized, and there was nothing more they could do for him in the stroke ward. We had applied to have him transferred to the Veteran’s wing as a long term care option, and he was accepted faster than we thought he would be. Now, we have no idea what to expect, because he still requires constant supervision and his care is complicated. Nevertheless, I am relieved to have him out of that crazy stroke ward, because that was an unsettling environment in which to heal. He is now in a large single room, which is infinitely quieter than the stoke ward double he lived in for the past six weeks, with a series of four or five progressively worse roommates. The last was an old Indian woman who spent most of every night moaning loudly and making some other very strange noises. A few days ago I found out from one of her daughters - without inquiring I might add - the probable reason for her discomfort. A chronic laxative abuser, the woman had not eliminated since she entered the hospital over a week before. I was afraid she was going to blow on my watch and I fully expected to walk in one day to find windows blown out and nurses in HAZMAT suits mopping up the aftermath of her eruption.

After six weeks of being in the stroke ward every day, it is strange not to be going back. Every day I saw many of the same people. I’d walk in and before I got to Syd’s room, I’d be greeted by at least five or ten people I came to know. Many of the nurses, family members, and patients on the floor became my friends over the month and a half I was there. There is an inmate bond that occurs when one is in the hospital for so long. Last week, Shauna introduced me to a guy named George who was a retired Toronto firefighter who had served for 35 years. George is a character. I became fond of him almost instantly, he knew everyone on the floor, and I could always get the lowdown from George on which patient or nurse had misbehaved in my absence. George was on the floor because he’d had a stroke, but he suffered from a lot of other ailments as well, many relating to injuries he sustained on the job. George just found out, among other things, that he has lung cancer, and is now waiting to see if it is operable. He has been a wake up call to me because he never complains and he has a great attitude. I know that any of you still reading this blog must be about ready to throw in the towel, so oppressive has been the subject matter. But this has been the most meaningful journey I have been on in a long, long time, and I have learned a great deal. No matter how much I blather on about becoming more thankful, there is nothing like an extended visit to the darker side of a hospital to really drive that feeling home. I am so much more aware of and interested in people’s back stories than I was before and it has made my life more meaningful. Indeed I have been jaded, but before I start humming Amazing Grace, rest assured I am still the cynical wretch I have always been … perhaps I am just a wee bit less myopic.

Now that Dad Taylor is in the Veteran’s wing, things are entirely different than they were in the hospital. He is in the section for the patients requiring the most care; nevertheless, they have had him up and in a wheelchair. Sunday we brought him, fully dressed, down through “Warriors Hall” and outside to the garden courtyard. I put his hat and a pair of sunglasses on him. We cruised through the flowers and the past a lovely rock pond with falling water. The sun was shining. Perhaps I was projecting, but I think he knew he was outside and in a beautiful setting. Birds were singing, pecking at the bread crumbs on the ground under the “Do Not Feed the Birds” sign, and for just a moment the family could imagine that we were heading out to a picnic.

The night Shauna and I learned that Dad had to go back into the hospital, July 6th, we were out on my boat for a sunset cruise. The lake was like glass and we drifted in the pink dusk light. Reading her book, wearing one of her colorful sundresses, Shauna was the picture of serenity. I took a picture on my cell phone and sent it to Syd and Ethel. Syd was able to see that moment, and three hours later everything went south for him. Last week, Shauna celebrated her 55th birthday, and as I always do, I wrote her a birthday letter. In it, I mentioned that July 6th, before the bad news came, was “a moment”. In the past 20 years we have shared many such moments, many snapshots of serenity. I know there will be many others, and I will store every one of them in the scrapbook of my mind.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/13/13

In the past four weeks I have watched some strange things happen on the stroke ward at Sunnybrook Hospital. One guy, who was at one time my father-in-law’s bedmate in a double room, was a “code blue” the other night. He was brought back to life and the next morning he was sitting up in a chair smiling and communicating with his wife and with me. I saw that guy when he was first admitted two months ago, and at the time I never would have assumed he would recover. I have now watched several people in recovery from severe strokes, and the progress is sometimes remarkable. My father-in-law’s brain trauma was seen to be so significant that the neurologist doubted he could ever again understand speech or communicate in any meaningful ways. Over the past four weeks he has done both and is showing signs of increased mobility. Although he had consistently failed the “swallow test,” Tuesday afternoon he successfully swallowed some applesauce, giving hope that he might be able to regularly ingest sustenance without a feeding tube. We do not know exactly what all this means, and understand he is still gravely ill, but it is proof that one should never give up hope. Doctors often cannot accurately predict if or how far someone will recuperate from brain trauma. My sister is one example; she made an almost full recovery. I have now seen at least four patients in this stroke ward who have amazed me with their recoveries. Having said all of this, there is such a minefield of complications we navigate every day in lobbying for Syd’s best care. Last Friday, he became visibly agitated, he was rigid, and started shaking. Obviously he was in discomfort, but he could not tell us what was wrong. It turned out he was running a fever and fluid was rapidly building up in his lungs. We dodged that bullet, but the ever looming question of when to throw in the towel and opt for palliative care haunts us daily. It is infinitely easier when the patient has made his wishes known, but Syd did not. Now we wrestle with the question,” what would he want?” The fact that he seems to be fighting to live drives us to believe we should help him try, but none of us is certain we are doing “the right thing.”

This past weekend I took a 24 hour break from my responsibilities as a devoted husband and son-in-law to drive down to Buffalo early Saturday morning and attend the Annual Western New York Offshore Powerboat Poker Run. This was my third year attending this poker run and by far this was the largest. This year over one hundred high powered offshore boats were in attendance, making it a record turnout. In our “classic” forty year old 27’ Magnum ( I LOVE that boat) we were dwarfed by a flotilla of newer, vastly more powerful (and expensive) super boats. The run basically took us to various checkpoints around Grand Island on the Niagara River, after which we made an open water run down to Angola, about 20 miles south of Buffalo. While not a rough day by Lake Erie standards, there was a healthy chop and we got some air.  In these lean times, when automobiles are getting smaller and more fuel efficient, this poker run is proof positive that wretched excess is alive and well in America. A LOT of fuel was consumed last Saturday on waters off Buffalo. One thing I like about this Western New York power boat club is that they donate a healthy portion of their proceeds to a charity called Excalibur, which provides boating experiences for the handicapped. This is a little, underfunded charity that provides huge benefits for the community. That is just one example of why they call Buffalo “The City of Good Neighbors.”

In the news last week, and speaking of wretched excess, it was reported on CNN last week that Japan’s debt has topped 1 Quadrillion yen; more per capita debt than any other developed nation. Former president George W. Bush underwent heart surgery for a blocked artery. See, he does have a heart, just no brain! Baseball star Alex “A-Hole” Rodgriguez got a 211 game suspension for alleged use of performance-enhancing drugs. Cheating in professional sports, who knew? Rodriguez will forgo $30 Million in salary and apparently now has a serious public relations problem for refusing to admit his indiscretions. Fess up A-Hole, it worked for Letterman. In other criminal news, gangster Whitey Bulger is presently trial in Boston. Also, they tore down Ariel Castro’s house in Cleveland. He’s the fiend who imprisoned those young women for years, torturing and abusing them. Strange that his neighbors and his own daughter never caught on. Will Russian anti-gay laws threaten Russia’s winter Olympics? As one humorist commented, there goes figure skating. Johnny Weirdo would be in prison faster than you can say “Would you like fries with your vodka?

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/5/13

A few weeks ago I mentioned a patient I’d met on the stroke ward named Betty. She is 88 years old. When I first met her she’d had what I think was her eighth stroke. Most of those strokes affected her eyesight, but left her otherwise relatively intact. I’d see her walking around the ward with her IV pole and occasionally I’d walk with her and chat. She’s a tall lanky woman, and I joked with her that she was a marathon walker. She’s very intelligent, and she didn’t seem to be put off by my oftentimes inappropriate humor. I have met a lot of humorless people in this hospital, so when I find a patient with a keen sense of humor, I tend to glom on. Last week, Shauna mentioned that Betty had been acting strangely, and was sitting in a chair blocking the entrance to her room, with her back to the hall. Later I went in to ask her how she was doing, and it became immediately apparent that she’s had another stroke, this time a bad one. Her speech was noticeably slurred and her coordination was off considerably. Most notably, she looked and acted dispirited.

Though we were not close, I thought she might want to talk about what had happened, and she seemed relieved to speak frankly about her situation. She has had visitors, mostly friends, who I think are not particularly interested in dealing with the reality of her situation. I’m no shrink, in fact I could probably use one right now, but this woman needed to vent and I was available to listen. She was clearly depressed and said she wished the next stroke would take her out. She hated the uncertainty, knowing that more strokes were imminent and that she would never resume anything resembling her life of three weeks ago. She felt as if she was simply waiting to die. We spoke for a long time, and because I have spent so much time watching people die of late, for some reason I felt particularly suited to offer my unschooled opinions on the subject. There are not a lot of people I know who will speak frankly about death, or quality of life issues, but with this stranger, who was facing her imminent or perhaps not so imminent demise, I began to discuss Dad Taylor and his situation. I think the act of getting it out in the open, not deciding anything, not coming to any conclusions, but still revealing the dark feelings, was cathartic for Betty, and perhaps for me as well. It was a conversation I had with my father, and one that I wished I could have had with my mother. Most people don’t want to talk about it, but living in denial worse. Taking stock of one’s life, no matter how compromised it becomes, and being truthful with yourself can be life-affirming. As I have said before I am not at all religious, but I have evolved into a more thankful person than I used to be. I enjoy searching for and finding the honesty that exists in all of us. If more people would get their noses out of their Blackberries, Droids, and IPhones perhaps we could once again develop a sense of community, something I think has been on injured reserve for a long, long time. There ends my self-righteous rant du jour.

Another roller coaster week of emotions for the Taylor family. Having met with the hospital ethicist and having heard all the opinions for Syd’s chances of a “meaningful” recovery, Shauna and her mom had conceded that palliative care was likely the imminent next course of action. That meant no feeding tube, no IV, and only comfort care to ensure Dad Taylor did not suffer as he drifted off peacefully. As fate would have it, the night of that meeting, he rallied significantly, creating legitimate doubt about pulling his IV. He is clearly communicating in a meaningful way, for the first time, and even I the skeptic want to buy him enough time to make his needs known, if he can. This is more complicated than I could possibly explain on paper. Weighing the risk of complications against the hopes that he can say goodbye; these are not easy decisions. We will certainly not let him suffer – there is no indication he is now suffering now, and his vitals are better than ever – but despite the hospital’s glaringly obvious inclination to free up a bed, I’m not convinced he’s quite ready yet. Denial? Probably a little bit. Hope? By its very nature hope it is beyond what we know. But there is powerful love in the Taylor family, and I accept the decisions that have been made, even when I do not fully understand them.

I went to look for Betty last night and she has been moved off the ward and into a rehabilitation facility off site. I wanted to show her a B. Kliban cartoon about which a friend reminded me the other day. The cartoon is of a woman staring at two empty boots with smoke coming out of them. The caption reads: “Due to a convergence of forces beyond his comprehension, Salvatore Quanucci was squirted out of the universe like a watermelon seed and never heard from again.”

We should all be so lucky.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/29/13

 

Dad Taylor is still in about the same condition as he was in last week, with perhaps some minor improvements. While we keep our hopes up, he still cannot swallow and now the question becomes, how do we provide him with sustenance long term? Right now he has an NG tube running through his nose into his stomach, but this is only a short term solution for delivering liquid food (somewhat similar to Ensure). So far two attempts to insert a PEG, or feeding tube in his stomach have been unsuccessful. To complicate matters, his out-of-control roommate (who was moved after the incident) yanked out his NG tube a few weeks ago, necessitating the insertion of a new one. As well, he has tried several times to pull it out himself, probably because it is terribly uncomfortable. Inserting an NG tube is not an easy procedure, and has caused him some distress. He has had the procedure done three or four times now. The next option for the longer term PEG insertion is a more invasive surgical procedure, requiring a general anesthetic, and this is of course more risky. We are not even sure yet if a surgeon will consent to do it, and there are no easy decisions at this point.   

There is a distinctive odor which emanates from the stroke ward, and every morning when I walk through those double doors it hits me like a junk yard wind in summer. It is the subtle perfume comprised of human waste, disinfectant, medications… and body odor. I noticed the body odor the first day I was there and thought to myself, “don’t these visiting friends and family members wash?” Then it dawned on me. As I was running myself ragged, transporting people to and from the hospital, arranging for meals, dealing with household hassles, the banking, the bill paying, and the thousand loose ends which were left unattended to when we rushed down to Toronto three weeks ago, I hardly had time to eat, much less to take a shower. After a few days that caught up to me. One day, shortly after we arrived in Toronto, as I sat on Bayview Ave. in the humid summer heat, in what seemed like a never-ending maze of road construction, detours, and traffic jams,, I realized that I had BO, and did not have time to do anything about it. When I had the chance I addressed the problem, and put a deodorant stick in my backpack for future ten second body fragrance tune ups. While hardly a substitute for a shower, perhaps it would somewhat mask my future odiferousness (is that a word?). On the high crisis days – and there have been plenty of those in the past three weeks - an extra half hour of sleep trumps a shower. And yes, I have since found time to wash, as things have “settled down” to a nervous waiting game.  

It seems that there have been periods in my life when troubles converge in a perfect storm that threatens to drive me out of my mind. One of those periods was 1978 just after I had just graduated from college. My dad was diagnosed with colon cancer and was firmly convinced he was going to die. I began my new job at the family real estate firm, where everyone likely hated me because I was the privileged son of the then absent president. To ice the cake, my older sister, visiting my ailing dad from out of town, experienced a severe brain hemorrhage and fell into a coma for about three weeks. The neurologist told us that it was unlikely she would ever walk or talk again (she was driving a car within 18 months). My mother and I were left to tend to her two young boys, who did not understand what was wrong with their mom, as we dealt with my father’s myriad of post- surgical complications, and visited my comatose sister in the hospital every day. That was one messed up summer. I became something closer to a man that summer, and the experience steeled me against lesser travails to come. There were so many little annoyances that cropped up concurrently that summer. For instance, I remember the painters who were painting the next door neighbor’s house, dropped a bucket of white paint on our driveway which splattered all over my mom’s black Buick. In that time of family crisis, when so many things went wrong in s short period of time, I remember my mother and I laughing about this accident as we wondered, “What next?!”

In Royal news, it’s a boy! Kate had her baby boy, and they have named him George. Why not Tony, or Iggy, or Felix? King Felix has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Two notable train wrecks in the past several weeks: First there was the Lac-Megantic, Quebec train wreck which involved the explosions of tanker cars, killed 47 and left a big hole in that town. Then, last week about 80 died and many more were injured when a high speed passenger train derailed in Spain. The conductor has been arrested for negligence because it was reported he went into the turn where the derailment occurred at around twice the speed he should have been travelling. Yikes! Was there a mechanical failure, or was this guy related to the captain of the Costa Concordia?

Back to the hospital.     - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/22/13

 

Dad Taylor has shown some miniscule improvement, most notably that he seems to acknowledge his loved ones. He is still mute, we do not know what he is thinking or if he is thinking, and he is still essentially paralyzed on his right side. This is a very confusing time for our family, because lthough the neurologist has painted a grim picture of Dad Taylor’s future, we have already seen clear evidence that he can understand us in some basic ways. Shauna and her mom are worn out, and there is little I can do to help them through this troubling time.  

After two weeks in the stroke ward, one becomes familiar with the inmates. There is a lot of down time for family members waiting in a hospital, and we have begun to talk to some of the other patients and their families. Tom down the hall, a man I’d guess is in his late sixties, lives up north not far from where we live. Shauna told me he introduced himself as “Lord Tom,” but lest I think he was a Royal, he confided that any putz with sixty bucks can buy a square inch of land in Scotland online, fill out some paperwork, and become an official lord. Sounds fishy to me, but it would not surprise me if he is right. Lord Tom was in the early stages of hip replacement surgery when he had a stroke during the operation. The doctors had to cement his mangled hip back together, the one they were in the midst of sawing apart. They sewed him back up, and sent him down to Sunnybrook. Needless to say, Tom was in excruciating pain and he was screaming and ranting whenever the morphine ran out, which it often did. I felt badly for his bedmate Boris. Then again, Boris was fairly well out of it and did not complain much.

Then there was the Notebook Couple a few rooms away from us. They appeared to be very old, and the man, who always wore those big, all-encompassing, post-eye-surgery sunglasses, hardly ever left his mate’s side. She looked as if she might be suffering from some form of dementia, and he always seemed caring and attentive. He was there in the morning and did not leave until late at night. On one rare occasion, when the man was not in the room, I watched her for several minutes as she stared blankly at an egg salad sandwich she was shakily holding inches away from her mouth. I wanted to help her, but on top of the fact that the hospital would not allow it, the man was fiercely protective, allowing only nurses to enter the room. I later discovered why he was insulating them when she called me into the room to ask who was in charge. She told me she got better food when she was living in the concentration camp. I had a déjà vu moment and for an instant saw my mom in her advanced stages of dementia. I suddenly felt bad for sunglass guy. It all comes down to the lack of control, and one quickly learns that, in a hospital, one is almost completely out of control. Living with dementia and brain trauma is extremely challenging.

I made friends with an elderly lady named Betty, who was in a nearby room. She was born in Timmons Ontario, in the Great White North. She’d had quite a few strokes which had left her half blind but in control of most of her other faculties. She was funny and intelligent and I think quite alone. She was also unfortunate enough to be in the same room with a guy whom we dubbed Ghandi. He really looked like Ghandi and chanted incessantly at full volume. Ghandi quickly won the most-annoying-patient award, prying the honor away from Lord Tom. I think one of the nurses must have killed him in the middle of the night, because one day he simply disappeared. Everyone had a story, most of them were interesting, and each was living in their own square inch of Hell.

Final notes on the nation-gone-mad department: I could not believe George Zimmerman was found innocent in the murder of Trayvon Martin! Once again justice is deaf, dumb, and blind, leaving me and a lot of other baffled onlookers more than a little concerned about the state of the criminal justice system in America. What is with Florida; if you decide someone is threatening you, you automatically have the right to kill him or her? Talk about a stupid law that encourages vigilantism. And Boston bomber Tsaranov is on the cover of this month’s issue of Rolling Stone Magazine. It doesn’t make him man of the year, but it does seem a little weird and yellow journalistic. Why give a misguided zealot so much press? Is anybody still covering the victims? In Great Britain, The Royal Bun is almost out of the oven, and Kate, the Duchess of Whatever is about to pop out a monarch. There are reports that the Queen has arrived at the hospital today with The Royal Catcher’s Mit.

 More notes from my altered universe next week. Hope you are all enjoying your summer.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/8/13

 

(

Written earlier in the week):

This week I begin this report with a discussion about what a gullible fool I am. We bought a couple of those bright green Pocket Hoses you see so heavily advertised on TV, and they seemed like a great idea at the time. In the ad it boasts they don’t kink and they are much more manageable than conventional garden hoses. Of course they came with some kind of guarantee, and what cinched the deal for me was that they use the handyman from Home Improvement as their point man. Naturally, I assumed this was going to be a good product. The Home Improvement guy wouldn’t steer me wrong right? Guess what, he isn’t really a handyman. I should have known as soon as I ordered these things over the phone that something was odiferous in Denmark. The person from Bangladesh who took my order was doing a lot of fast talking in broken English. When I order a Pocket Hose I am theneligible for an incredible discount on the solar powered nose hair trimmers. I said “No thank you, just the two hoses.” But when I declined the nose hair trimmer, there were literally ten other deals which I was forced to decline as well, and the person taking the order was talking so fast I almost slipped up and ordered something else I did not want. By the end of the conversation I was getting really annoyed and almost cancelled the order altogether. Almost. Anyhow, within three weeks my hose arrived, probably from China, and I was so excited. After hooking it up to our outdoor faucet, it seemed to be everything the ad promised it would be. Then it sprung a leak after about three uses. The second hose also sprung a leak – actually five or six leaks – the first time I used it! When I called to complain to the company, which has a Van Nuys, California address but whose customer support is in Tibet, they were just a little too familiar with the complaint. After providing my original order number, they immediately agreed to send two more hoses free of charge (original shipping was $17). My problem is that I now know the product is crap and I have two large useless synthetic piles of fluorescent green landfill, and will presumably have two more to throw out in about three weeks. It’s not as if I’m some Birkenstock-wearing peace creep environmentalist, but even a wasteful sloth like me can be sensitive to my Sasquatchian carbon footprint. I feel taken, I feel violated, and I wish I had not acted so impulsively when I spontaneously phoned PT Barnum Inc. and purged with my little plastic magic wand. Of course I did a post mortem on the internet to find out that I was not the only patsy to be hosed by the Pocket Hose bandits. There were literally 78 pages of complaints listed when I Googled Pocket Hose complaints. As is my motto: Life is a hosejob, but at least it’s a job. Word to the wise, do not waste your money on a Pocket Hose.

It is 11:53 PM Monday night and we are in Toronto. We got a call Sunday night that Shauna’s dad had had yet another stroke, and this one was far more severe than any of his previous strokes. We have had little sleep and understandably Shauna and her mom are pretty beat up. Syd is unable to speak two days after the stroke and is severely impaired on his right side. He may not recover from this one, but if he does, his health care will become exponentially more complicated. Today, as I was heading home from the hospital to take Jasper out for a walk, the heavens let loose and Toronto had a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. Streets were flooded, cars were stranded on the Don Valley Pkwy, power was out all over the city and people were stuck on the subway during their evening commute. In short, there was chaos in the city. I crept up Bayview at a snail’s pace, through the major intersections without traffic lights, and I thought to myself, this too shall pass. Syd, wherever you are in that mental prison from which you cannot escape, I’m saying a prayer for you on this stormy night.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/2/13

A belated Happy Canada Day to all the Canadians among my twelve loyal readers, and an early Happy Fourth of July to all my friends stateside! Our little lake was lit up with fireworks Sunday night and coincidentally, a lot of people lost their dogs that night. Over the years we’ve had several dogs that were petrified of fireworks. Weather wise it was a bit of a bust up here in the Great White North, but even rain beats a sunny week spent visiting someone in the hospital. I hope my father-in-law is going to recuperate, because this latest stroke knocked the stuffing out of him. Once again, I am thankful we have caregivers in place and more and more it looks as if they are doing a pretty good job. That is the big thing I have to be thankful for this week. All the other stuff is gravy.

Last Saturday, my plumber and local get-off-your-ass-and-see-some-music influence called me and reminded me about the Burk’s Falls Rodeo happening last weekend. It wasn’t really boating weather so I hopped in the car and drove over to the nearby Burk’s Falls fairgrounds to see what was going on. Not much as it turned out. When I got to the entrance gate, the bored girl selling tickets took one look at me and gave me the senior citizens discount. It is the second time this has happened to me locally, and I’m not sure how to feel about this.Still, I never look a gift discount in the mouth. When I drove in there was a bandstand set up similar to the one I described at the Stisted fairgrounds a few weeks ago, some concession stands selling cowboy stuff, and about 100 yards away there was a horse ring and a lot of pens stuffed with livestock. The event was badly under-attended, perhaps because it was not properly promoted, but there was live music before and after the rodeo events, and I’m always up for seeing the local talent. The sound man was a local musician whom I wanted to meet and I had plenty of opportunity to chat with him during the shows. He knows a lot of the best local musicians and is a good guitarist himself. He’s been known to produce, and I’m hoping he can help me record proper demos of some of my songs. I’m in the middle of writing a theme album and I could use some guidance. After the rodeo events were over it was time for the two main acts: Mike Lynch and Jamie Warren. Both were pretty good, and although I’m not a huge country music fan, more and more lately I am impressed with the songwriting. It’s all about telling a story, and the country guys seem to be doing that best right now. I talked to Mike Lynch after his set and he knew my buddy Tim Hicks (Google Tim Hicks' “Stronger Beer” ) because they both hail from St. Catherines in the Niagara region of Ontario. All in all it was a successful outing and I’m glad I went. I only wish more people had been there to listen to the music.

For well over a decade, Shauna and I drove out in Banff, Alberta every summer, and our stay always coincided with the running of the Calgary Stampede. The Stampede is a big rodeo, but we never went. Somehow the prospect of driving back out of the mountains to attend a crowded event down in Calgary was not all that enticing to us. I would have enjoyed seeing some of the musical acts, but frankly, I’ve never been particularly interested in rodeos. That probably has something to do with my parents. They were horse lovers and they strongly felt that some (not all) of the rodeo events were cruel to horses, and probably to other animals as well. Indeed, it seemed as if every year during the Stampede, there was some news story about a bad accident involving the chuck wagon races, wherein a horse was badly injured and had to be destroyed. Mom and Dad also did not like thoroughbred racing for the same reasons. I used to joke that the only reason I might have wanted to attend the Calgary Stampede was to disgust Shauna by sampling the local delicacy, Rocky Mountain Oysters, A/K/A bull’s balls.   

Final notes … It’s wildfire season, and fires are blazing all over North America. There was a tragic story the other day about an entire elite team of firefighters from Prescott, Arizona, the Granite Mountain Hotshots, wiped out when a shift in the wind left them with no escape. Nineteen of Arizona’s finest died in that fire, and no one is sure yet exactly what happened. Those guys were the Navy Seals of firefighting, and they were well trained to handle almost any emergency. In last week’s abbreviated report I failed to mention that actor James Gandolfini, A/K/A Tony Soprano from The Sopranos, died suddenly of a heart attack while vacationing in Italy. I loved that show! Apparently the opposite of the character he played on the Sopranos, Gandolfini was not only a great actor but a generous and humble guy as well. He was 51. Last but not least, Egypt is once again in the international headlines as crowds of protesters gathered once again in Tahrir Square, this time calling for Muslim Brotherhood leader Mohamed Morsi to step down. Sounds like the military is about to step in, and if I can believe the Western Satan Dog media, this is what Egyptians want. Are they back to square one?           Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/27/13

Sorry folks, this one will be brief. No pearls of wisdom this week. I have been down in Toronto for the past week, and just returned yesterday. My father-in-law had another stroke and was admitted to the hospital. If ever there was a question about whether my parents-in-law needed the assistance of caregivers, all doubts have now been removed. Now we move on to the next and more complicated phase of their life at home. There is nothing like an extended visit to the hospital to reinforce my thankfulness for my good health. I might even cut down on cheeseburgers.

Certainly one of my greatest concerns this week, aside from my father-in-law, is for all my friends in Alberta who are just now recovering from a devastating flooding in that province. Friends in Canmore and Exshaw had to be evacuated and the flooding took out a chunk of the Trans Canada highway near Canmore. That highway is really the only way in and out of the mountains, and I am sure that detour severely impacted the flow of goods and services to the people who most desperately need them. The destruction in High River and Calgary has been unbelievable and I was shocked to hear that the water level rose to something like the tenth row of the Calgary Saddle Dome. Our friend Jim, who does road work in the Canmore area, just called to say that just today they have re-opened one lane of the Trans Canada. Jim’s house in Exshaw was flooded and there is presently seven feet of water in his basement. As well, he told me that there is a foot or two of heavy silt everywhere around his property. Water can be pumped out but the heavy silt is a little harder to remove. What a mess! Years ago, when Shauna and I were still going out to Banff every summer, we stored our cookware and other household items in Jim’s basement. I presume it’s all still there, floating around along with all the other ruined stuff. I called him today and jokingly asked if we could have our stuff sent back to us. With friends like me, who needs enemies.   

Hopefully, I will be able to provide a more carefully written report next week.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/17/13

The weekend before last I attended a few hours of the quarterly and much-anticipated Katrine Jamboree at the local community center. I might have been the youngest person in the audience; there were certainly a lot of geriatric hoofers on the dance floor.  In my never-ending quest to sample the local musical talent, I sat through three or four acts before I’d had enough. I will say this, the finger sandwiches were quite good.  When it comes to live music I’ll listen to almost anything – I’ve sat through some pretty lame open mic acts in my day – but this was a less than spectacular set of performances. By contrast, last weekend I attended the 7^th annual music festival known as  “The Family Traditions Hoot” held  at the nearby Stisted Fairgrounds, and that was pretty darned good. My only problem was locating the Stisted Fairgrounds.

 Advertised on Moose FM, one of the local rock stations, this hootfest sounded like something I’d like to see, and it came recommended by our plumber, who is a pretty good musician in his own right. Unfortunately, like most of the locals around here, my plumber assumed I knew the area better than I do, and his directions were less than helpful. “It’s at the Sisted Fairgrounds … you know, a mile or so past Sprucedale and then south about ten miles, until the road changes to Yearly, then you make a left on this side road and a right on that one, etc.” I consulted my local map, and of course there was no such location to be found.  I finally did what I always do; I drove aimlessly in the general direction I was instructed to go, and assumed some kind pedestrian would provide guidance once I got close. Men and directions, right? As luck would have it, and after several wrong turns on dusty back roads, in the middle of nowhere, I found a tiny sign directing me to the elusive hootfest. As the crow flies, it is relatively close to Huntsville, but it is one of those you-can’t-get-there-from here spots. It’s a wonder I found it.  

 When I arrived I had a deju vu moment, because the event brought back memories of an annual pig roast we used to attend in Western New York. Lots of tents and campers and a lot of cars parked in a field.  This get together was a little less unruly than those crazy pig roasts were. There amidst the trailers and concession tents was a mobile stage set up and a band was playing. The vocals sounded pretty good, but the rest of the band was weak. Fortunately, their set was almost up. As the next band set up a couple of guys that looked like very old hippies got up and played some filler tunes on very out-of-tune acoustic guitars. The next band up was a bit of a disappointment as well and I was beginning to think this adventure was going in the been-there-done-that catagory. I hadn’t brought a lawn chair, or mosquito repellant, or anything to eat or drink, and quickly realized that I was completely unprepared for any long term listening.  But I stayed and I’m glad I did. Eventually my plumber showed up, and he had an umbrella, lawn chairs, refreshments, and the much needed mosquito coils. I’d already missed four bands but did see four more, and two of them were really good. Even the bad ones were better than those at fossil fest the week before. I recorded some of the better stuff and as I listen to it now, I’m glad I made it.  

 Final notes … Disturbing video of those riots in the streets of Istanbul and Ankara, Turkey. Istanbul was the first exotic city I ever visited, back when I was a teen, and what an eye opener that was for me. Jury selection has begun for the George Zimmerman trial down in the rogue state of Florida. Zimmerman is the vigilante neighborhood watch guy who shot and killed Trayvon Martin, a teenaged African American man. Zimmerman claims he acted in self defense, but no one really knows what happened. Why did Zimmerman follow Martin even after he’d called in the 911 alert? Much has been made about the fact that Martin was not a bad kid, and Zimmerman may have over-reacted. This one has all the makings of a race riot if Zimmerman is acquitted.  Florida’s “You-Snooze-You-Lose” law basically allow the “threatened” victim to use deadly force, so it will be interesting to see how the jury rules on this one. Assault weapons aside, do you think that there would be less victims and less crime if all victims were packing heat? Hero or traitor: now the spin doctors are saying that NSA leaker Ed Snowdon might have been spying for China. Of course there’s going to be a smear campaign against this guy. I don’t know how I feel about this one. I can’t imagine whistle blowers at the NSA are favorably treated, but did Snowden cross the line? This story calls into question how we control information, or fail to do so. With everything from banking to shopping  to filing income tax returns, all your information is in cyberspace whether you know it or not.  I’ve been wondering, exactly how does one control information and police the internet? In an autocracy perhaps it’s a little easier, but we live in a free country. I think that horse is out of the barn and didn’t look before he leaped.

                                                                                                                                                             

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/10/13

The past week was a fretful one as once again Shauna and I are faced with difficult decisions relating to the health of her parents. There have been caregiver issues and this part is not all that uncommon. We faced this when my mom and dad were being cared for. Different caregivers have different methods of treating their patients and sometimes those methods clash. It should be the worst problem an elder has that the people charged with their care are passionate about their approach and want to do the best job they can. That said, sometimes the squabbles are about trivial things. This one left the wastebasket full after her shift, that one di not clean up properly. 24-7 care can be a volatile situation when, as in our case, one of the elders is still ostensibly “in charge.” The caregivers – and we have three at present – are faced with the complications of negotiating with two fiercely independent elders as well as each other. This can be tricky, and it’s a bit like a dysfunctional family. Add to this the fact that none of the caregivers speaks very good English and the problem becomes even more complicated. Communication is important, and diplomacy is a big part of the job.

 Right now, one of the problems with which we are faced concerns diet. Shauna is in contact with the caregivers all day, through text messages and Skype, and in this way she can monitor her parents’ care on a regular basis. Last week Dad Taylor’s blood pressure became very erratic, spiking to well over 190 at one point. At some ungodly hour of the morning we were afraid we were going to have to take him to the hospital. Dad had already suffered several strokes and he could not be allowed to go to sleep without lowering his blood pressure significantly. A visit to the hospital is not without its problems, as Dad could end up more traumatized by a long wait in the Emergency Room. One of our caregivers, the one who was on duty during the spikes and who is probably the most medically competent of the three, insisted he immediately drink large amounts of tea with honey and cinnamon. He was not happy about drinking a lot of fluid, because every trip to the washroom is an ordeal, but eventually her actions brought his BP down to a marginally acceptable level. Then we consulted the patient notes and came to the conclusion that there was likely much too much salt in both parents’ diets. Over the next few days we began to scrutinize their meals and realized that their salt intake was well over double that which is recommended for an elder. We restricted Dad’s salt intake over the next several days and the results were remarkable. His BP was down substantially and has stabilized. He is an 88 year old man, and there are other factors affecting his health as well, but why stack the deck? And why is it so difficult to regulate salt intake?

 I never used to be a label reader, but after cooking for both sets of my elderly parents, I became more aware of their salt ingestion. So much food, especially canned foods and pre-packed meals, are absolutely loaded with salt. Mom Taylor was buying a lot of things that were easy to prepare, and which she assumed were nutritious; things like canned salmon and instant rice. It turned out much of the food she was preparing was off the scale for salt content. A package of flavored rice, something she often served, had almost the daily allotment of salt for an elder.

We all hear and read the warnings about too much salt, but especially here in North America, salt is a much bigger problem than most of us realize. It is linked to strokes and hypertension, heart attacks and even kidney disease. I knew it was an issue with fast food, but never realized how widespread the problem is. Because of Shauna’s medical conditions, I am perhaps more conscious of our salt intake than the average person, but what makes me angry is that it is virtually impossible to avoid over-salted food if one buys prepared food in the supermarket. Try to find no salt ANYTHING these days, and you might be surprised. A box of crackers might advertise no salt, and yet, when you read the ingredients, it turns out it does contain some salt. I couldn’t believe how much salt there is in cereal and bread. Check out the salt content in Kelloggs raison bran. It seems like everyone is jumping on the organics bandwagon, and there seems to be a growing demand for more healthful foods. I am happy about this trend, but too much salt might be just as bad for our health as the chemicals we spray on our vegetables. I think there is a growing market for stores that cater to the elderly. Perhaps someone will develop a codger friendly supermarket, but so far, I have not seen one.  

Speaking of codgers, Queen Elizabeth celebrated the 60^th Anniversary of her coronation last week. Hubby Phil looked a little worse for wear, and I understand he was in the shop afterwards for some “exploratory” surgery. He’s almost 92 and still pretty active, so good for him. I thought the Queen looked pretty good as well. I’ll bet someone watches her salt intake.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/3/13

Last Wednesday marked the 19^th anniversary of the day Shauna and I wed, and to commemorate the event Shauna put together a Facebook album of nineteen photos whose chronology spans the length of our relationship so far. I knew her back when I had hair, and it was black, not grey! One of the last photographs in the series was taken recently as we got our cars serviced at the local Honda dealer. How very romantic! But they say one picture speaks a thousand words, and what I see when I look at that photograph is contentment. I also see a codger. Shauna looks better than the day I married her, and I thought men got better looking with age. Not me ... I’m Festus. Let us have a brief moment of silence to acknowledge the swift passage of time. Most of all, that series of photographs reminded me of all that Shauna and I have seen and shared to this point. There is the photo of us standing outside Ron’s Fish N Chips in Blind River, Ontario where we had a delicious meal one hot summer night driving home from Banff. I remember meeting Ron and learning a little about his colorful life, and I remember photos lining the walls of his restaurant, showing Ron and his buddies on their many fishing adventures. There were the timer shots of the two of us on mountaintops overlooking the Bow Valley and the turquoise glacial lakes of Alberta, and British Columbia. Over the years, Shauna and I hiked hundreds of miles over the trails of the Canadian Rockies – no mean feat when one considers that Shauna has several chronic disabilities. There is the photo of a much younger (and wilder) me wearing a Lady Godiva wig at a party in Rochester, N.Y., making a silly face as the then unmarried Shauna looked at me with an embarrassed and confused smile, and perhaps just a smidgeon of disgust (I still get the same look from time to time). There is a timer shot of the two of us standing in her father’s boat in Katrine, with our 6’cardboard cutout Mountie “Dudley” whom we “liberated” from the Chateau Lake Louise one night after a long hike. We walked right through the main lobby of the hotel and into the parking lot with it. In that photo we were just about to go out on the lake and scatter some of her brother Jordan’s hair on the lake to commemorate his recent passing. Before he died he implored “Don’t postpone joy,” and that has been our motto ever since. Jordan had a great, albeit twisted sense of humor. One day, shortly after his unsuccessful brain surgery to remove a malignant tumor, he was sitting in a car waiting for his mother to come back from some store, and a vagrant came up to the window next to him and begged for money. Jordan rolled down the window, pulled off the bandana he was wearing to reveal a nasty unhealed incision on his head, and he said something like “I’d really like to help you out, but I’m saving up for my next surgery, and this time I think I’m going to let a doctor do it!” We brought Dudley along for comic relief. In fact there have been many photos of us taken with Dudley, from all across Canada, and he now stands in a place of honor overlooking our great room from the loft. Indeed we rescued him from his undignified sentry position outside an overpriced jewelry shop in the hotel. Mounties do not hawk jewelry. There is a photo of the two of us looking suntanned and relaxed, I believe standing outside a goofy restaurant called “Le Tub” in Hollywood, Florida. I remember the grounds of this restaurant were littered with old toilets and other bathroom fixtures and I also remember they were known for their burgers, if one could maintain one’s appetite.   

 

That photo series was a good idea, because it jogged my eroding memory. I find that as the years pass more quickly now, it is more important than ever to reflect back on the journey. Don’t live in the past, but certainly acknowledge it. Our marriage has not been perfect, what marriage is, but when I see these snapshots of time’s passage I am reminded how much richer the trip is with a companion. Thank you Boo for these past two decades, and I hope you can go all nine rounds with me, because it has been pretty interesting so far.   

Somebody mailed a letter to NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg which was laced with the deadly poison ricin. It might have had something to do with Bloomberg’s stance as a gun control advocate. There has been an outbreak of a Sars like virus in Abu Dhabi which could become a worldwide threat. I remember how frightening it was when SARS surfaced in Toronto, and how it decimated the local Asian business community. Antibiotic resistant viruses scare the hell out of me. Is it the death of the Tea Party? U.S. Congresswoman Michele Bachmann has announced she won’t seek re-election. To me she and her TeaBagger buddies were the nail in the coffin of the Republican Party, but the elephants had been paralysed by boneheads and extremists long before the Teabaggers became a political force. Yet another super cell storm blew through Oklahoma last week on the heels of that devastating EF5 Tornado that leveled Moore. And finally, a moment of silence, Edith Bunker died! Actress Jean Stapleton (no relation to Maureen Stapleton) passed away last week at 90. I loved Edith. Comic genius.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/28/13

I am writing this on my new (and apparently obsolete) computer which, for the time being is running fine. Windows 8 continues to be a problem for me and I was not until yesterday could I even load a word processing software onto this computer. Everything must be done online these days, and I do not like this one bit. Basically, I was unable to write on this computer for weeks because I could not download the large MS Office file that includes the word processing software I prefer to use. I also bought a computer without a touch screen, and Windows 8 was designed for touch screen computers and tablets. It is not “mouse friendly.” Thank you Microsoft may I have another! Heaven forbid I should be one step behind in our technological race to extinction! There is simply too much for an old fool like me to learn. I need a password to open my computer, a password for my email accounts, a password to access my passwords, and I am having trouble keeping track of them all. Frankly there really isn’t much to hide on my computer anyway, so I might as well just leave it unprotected. OK, there was that one midget hermaphrodite porn site, but everyone has a few skeletons in their hard drive. I believe anybody who thinks a couple of passwords will protect them from the omnipresent threat of identity theft is barking up the wrong tree with both oars out of the water.

 On this subject of advancing technology, my favorite pet peeve, I am presently reading David Sedaris’ latest book Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls. Sedaris is by far my favorite contemporary comedic writer, and in his usual tongue in cheek fashion he discusses cell phones and their increasing ability to multi task. He said he skipped IPhones 4 and 5 and is holding out for #7, which he understand includes a Taser. Then he will be able to email someone, call someone, text someone, take a picture, watch a sports event, and defend against an attacker, all at the same time. The other day Shauna and I were in Huntsville and she realized that she’d forgotten to record some must see program, like Real Housewives of Saskatoon, on our “PVR” at home. No problem, because she has an application on her Blackberry, which by the way she loves more than she loves me, and it enables her to remotely access our PVR and program whatever recording she desires. We could be in the wilderness, if said wilderness had cell service, and be comforted in the knowledge that when we returned home we wouldn’t have missed one cat fight, one dramatic pause with music, one random murder, or scandalous celebrity meltdown. At what point do we lose control of our lives when we become so reliant on this “labor saving” technology? Do I really need an electric machine to peel my potatoes?   

 That EF5 tornado that leveled Moore, Oklahoma was something to behold, wasn’t it? Given the short warning, the path it took, and the long amount of time it was on the ground, I am surprised more people were not killed.  How strange as well that it followed basically the same path as a similar destructive tornado that hit the area back in 1999. Weather junkie that I have become, I just watched a video entitled “Inside the Tornado,” which I found on the Weather Channel website, and I could not believe what I was seeing. Somone, probably an experienced storm chaser, was able to film this tornado as it passed directly over the camera. I do not know how this was possible without having the camera destroyed, but it is the wildest natural disaster video I can ever remember viewing. What immediately struck me was how loud it was.

 
Did you see the video of that Muslim extremist Adelbolago calmly “discussing” his brutal act just after he and another man butchered a British soldier to death with a meat cleaver and knives in the streets of London? He claims the act was retribution for all the Muslims who have been killed at the hands of British soldiers. Now they’re saying this guy was deported from Kenya in 2010 and may have links to Al-Qaeda. How do we let these guys get in to our countries? Last week I spoke of the increasing use of face recognition technology in day to day life, and I had an Orwellian thought. After I watched that disturbing phone video of this man calmly discussing why he chose to slaughter another man like livestock, on the streets of a major international city, to bring attention to his plight, I wondered how long it will be before there is an application for our cell phones that allows us to target the monsters and the nut jobs. Perhaps we could call it BigFaceBrotherBook, but I’ll leave it to the twenty-somethings of Silicone Valley to come up with a catchy name. All one needs to do is take a cell phone picture and hit send to homeland security for verification. I don’t think we’re all that far from this now, because we are all being recorded almost everywhere in public. I guess this would make every public place the new battlefield. Final notes … there was a hung jury in the sentencing phase of the much hyped Jody Arias trial. They just couldn’t agree to put her to death. And speaking of face recognition, I heard the other day that actor Brad Pitt may suffer from that weird disease that prohibits people from being able to recognize familiar faces, making him I suppose a less than ideal customer for my new homeland security app.   

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/20/13

Happy Victoria Day! Although I heard on the news that Newfoundland had had snow last weekend, up here in the GWN we are finally experiencing the seasonal weather we have so far been missing. I put the dock down yesterday and fired up the dingy for its shakedown cruise. Flowers have been planted, trees pruned, and our rather pathetic lawn has been mown for the first time of the season.

Last Friday I played four of my songs at the musician’s showcase in Burk’s Falls and although the house was not as packed as it has been for previous showcases, there was a healthy crowd of 40 or 50 listeners, and I am told by Shauna that I did not suck. And she would tell me. Though I have played in public many times over the last thirty years, I am always a little more nervous when I know that people are actually listening. You know you’re in trouble when some drunk comes up while you are in the middle of a song and loudly asks if you know any Johnny Cash. I played four songs written over my songwriting “career” to date, and the last song I performed I wrote less than two weeks ago. It is always a challenge to play new songs in public, because I am still tweaking the lyrics, but sometimes I’ve got to leap before I look, with both oars out of the water. One of the great things about this showcase is that I have met some gifted local musicians and songwriters and have come to realize that I am not the only talented genius in the area.

One of my favorite open mics in Toronto, which no longer exists, was held at a sports bar in downtown Toronto called Grace O’Malley's. The reason it was so enjoyable for me was because of the host, a country singer/songwriter named Tim Hicks. Open mic hosts can sometimes be real jerks, largely because it’s not any musician’s first choice for work. As a host you are dealing with a lot of wannabe musicians, and some of the acts are simply atrocious. A good host must diplomatically weed out or abbreviate the worst acts while keeping everyone happy. In most cases open mics are not designed to foster new talent but rather to boost liquor sales on a slow night. If they are successful in this latter endeavor, then the performances often suffer. Tim ran a good open mic. He knew how to give someone the hook without really offending them, he was patient, and he is a very good artist as well. I was in touch with him recently and he seems to be doing well as a professional musician. That is something not many people can say. He’s had some success with several of his songs, won some regional country music awards, and is now getting some serious industry interest out of Nashville. His song and video Stronger Beer has received more than 250,000 hits on YouTube. You can Google it - it’s a tongue in cheek comparison between American and Canadian pop culture. His “new country” song Get By is an ITune top 160 right now for downloads, and I think a pretty good, radio friendly song. I never thought I’d see the day when artistic success was measured in hits and downloads, but that is the music business in the 21^st century. Last night Shauna and I watched the Billboard Music Awards, and if that is the direction pop music is taking then heaven help us. Kids these days. I wish I was cute and nineteen, I’d be famous!

Final notes. There was an earthquake late last week in Quebec not far from the Ontario border, and people as far west as Toronto and Cleveland felt the rumble. We don’t usually think of the Northeast as prone to earthquakes, but I understand Western New York sits on or near a major fault line, and if memory serves me correctly (as it does less and less often), the University of Buffalo has an earthquake monitoring station. Saw an interesting 60 Minutes segment last night on advances is face recognition technology. I always thought face recognition was something that was only used for national security, but as it turns out, face recognition technology has become cheaper and more available, and it is now being used by big businesses to target potential customers. Privacy schmivacy, when it comes to selling jeans, anything goes.

Toronto mayor Rob Ford made CNN last week after allegations there was a cell phone video showing the mayor smoking crack with a drug dealer. Channeling with former DC mayor Marion Barry are we? No confirmations either way, but Toronto media is not  giving the story a lot of airplay. Ford has a lot of enemies and bad press rolls off him like water off a duck's back. Speaking of Toronto, the Leafs broke our hearts (once again), losing Game 7 in Boston, in overtime, after they had dominated the entire game and were up by 3 points! Arrrgh!!! Finally, as I finish writing this report, an F4 tornado has just blown through Oklahoma near Oklahoma City and the damage is obviously severe. My heart goes out to all the victims of this latest natural disaster.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5-13-13

Go Leafs Go!

It’s feast or famine up here in the Great White North. Two weeks ago we were experiencing severe flooding and now there is a fire ban in the area because it is so dry. Half the trees I planted last season have died for lack of water, proving that I truly do have a brown thumb. As I began this report on Thursday morning, the skies were grey and the weatherman was calling for rain from a Colorado low rolling in. On Saturday the thermometer had plunged thirty-five degrees and now there are frost warnings. I make the same mistake every year; assuming that the hot dry weather means that winter is over, I go out and buy a bunch of flowers or put my germinated seeds outside to harden, and then BANG, the weather changes. Good thing I don’t try to make my living as a farmer. Conventional wisdom up here is to hold off planting until the end of May, but nobody ever accused me of being wise.

Murderess Jody Arias was convicted of first degree murder in the killing of Travis Alexander in Arizona. While I did not follow the high profile trial closely, I think anyone on a jury could see that her story did not add up. After the Casey Anthony acquittal last year and the O.J. fiasco back in the 90s, I was beginning to have my doubts about the criminal justice system in America. This time I think the jurors got it right. Back when I still lived in Buffalo, my one and only experience with jury duty was as a juror in a murder trial. Some guy had shot another guy to death in a bar, appropriately named The Peyton Place Lounge, and was pleading self defense. He claimed he’d never used a gun before in his life, yet he managed to shoot the victim in the heart and lung, in a dark bar, from a distance of fifty feet, in the back, with a handgun his girlfriend just happened to be carrying in her purse. First of all, the victim was walking away from him at the time, so it was hard to believe this murder was self defense, and secondly, it’s not easy to kill a man with a small caliber handgun, in a dark bar, from fifty feet. Beginner’s luck I guess. I sat on that jury for over a month, listened to ballistics testimony, and coroner’s reports, and police reports, and eyewitness accounts ad nauseam, and shortly before Christmas, we convicted the guy of first degree murder. Anyone who thinks that sitting on a jury is exciting has never done it. Even though this was a murder trial, it was excruciatingly boring. Ultimately, what sunk the defendant was ballistics testimony, and during jury selection the defense must have overlooked the fact that five of the jurors were experienced marksmen. Thankfully, the DA did a good job of presenting the case against the defendant. Of course, we as jurors were instructed not to watch the news or read newspapers during the trial, but after the trial we found out that the defendant had had a long history of violence. He’d kidnapped women and handcuffed them to the rafters of his attic for days, he probably shot his grandmother to death with a shotgun, although there was not enough evidence to convict, and there were several other suspicious murders that had his fingerprints all over them. In this recent Arias trial, the jurors were allowed to go home every night, and I can’t believe they were able to completely ignore all the press about the case. These days, with Twitter, and cell phones, and the internet, and all the different ways we are bombarded with information, it seems unlikely that somebody on that jury did not hear something from the outside world about this trial. Everybody loves a train wreck. What I found interesting in this Arias trial is that in Arizona, jurors are allowed to question the witnesses, including the defendant.

This coming Friday, I will be performing a few of my songs at The Village Tavern in nearby Burk’s Falls, and it should be an interesting experience. Unlike the noisy open mics I am used to playing, this showcase is a venue where people might actually be listening. I have been writing songs now for well over thirty years, and I think I will play one of the first songs I wrote, one I wrote about fifteen years ago, and one I wrote several weeks ago. The most recent song, tentatively entitled “Better” is in the polishing stage, and the lyrics are as yet unfinished. It would be much easier to play songs I am used to playing in public, but that is too much in my comfort zone. Playing a new song in public will be challenging, but it’s the only way I will grow as a performer. What is it they say … do one thing every day that scares you? I scare myself every day, just looking in the mirror. As I sign off tonight, it is Sunday night, it’s snowing lightly, and the Toronto Maple Leafs just tied up the series with the Boston Bruins 3-3. Do I dare to dream? Game 7 is in Boston Monday night, so I may not be dreaming long, but GO LEAFS GO!!!!

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED