Woodstock Art Gallery

At the Woodstock Art Gallery

 Ballet as Art

A Certain Legacy

A Certain Legacy 

Long  before I thought of my own death
we had a service for my grandfather.
He was an immigrant and a photographer
from Russia,
lived through the Revolution, the Depression and a War,
lost his wife to typhus, gave up photography
was buried in a grave marked with a stone
carved with the letters C-9

When my father died after a simple but complex life
I was away, coming back for the funeral
We grieved in our own ways.
After, we drove in the country-side sharing stories
of life and living.
Now he lies next to mother several rows over from grandfather.
We never stop and visit.
I think of him on birthdays and some holidays.
He’s 114 today.

After cancer, stroke and general wear and tear I
think of my own death.
I see a pattern here.

Marty

Ban cell phones in Ontario

To the Editor,

For once I am in complete agreement with an initiative from the Ford Government and that is to put a ban on cell phone use in public schools. I have been an educator for 40 years and never have I seen such an insidious invasion into the classroom as the uncontrolled use of cell phones as students text, e-mail, stream and use any number of social media sites during class time.

 I totally support technology in the classroom just not this technology.  There are those who say we should embrace and integrate the use of personal electronic devices into classroom instruction and in theory that sounds plausible, but over-all unachievable because students do not just use the devices in the proper way as they are most frequently addicted to these same  devices and their many applications.  I have been physically attacked in a school while foolishly attempting to separate a student from his Smart phone during class time.

For students who say it is their right to have their cells in class I would simply say they are lucky to have the right to an education.  How this is enforced could be problematic and what the punishments for breaking the law will be on the classroom level should also prove interesting.  However, the rewards once the withdrawal period is over and their little opposable thumbs have stop twitching after going cold turkey will be a better focus on education.  Students after class will have the whole evening to text through dinner, then their parents can deal with it.

Marty

THIS IS HOW IT APPEARED IN THE KW RECORD ON WEDNESDAY MARCH 20. 2019

Ford was right to ban cellphone use in classrooms
I support technology in the classroom, just not this technology, writes Marty Rempel of Waterloo.
OPINION Mar 18, 2019 Waterloo Region Record

Students can't use cellphones in class starting this fall — March 13


For once I am in complete agreement with an initiative from the Ford government, and that is to put a ban on cellphone use in public schools. I have been an educator for 40 years and never have I seen such an insidious invasion into the classroom as the uncontrolled use of cellphones, as students text, email, stream and use any number of social media sites during class time.

I support technology in the classroom, just not this technology. There are those who say we should embrace and integrate the use of personal electronic devices into classroom instruction. In theory, that sounds plausible, but it is unachievable because students do not just use the devices in the proper way, as they are most frequently addicted to these devices and their many applications. I have been physically attacked in a school while foolishly attempting to separate a student from his smartphone during class time.

How this ban is enforced could be problematic and what the punishments will be at the classroom level should also prove interesting. However, the reward will be a better focus on education. After school is over, students will have the whole evening to text through dinner. Then, their parents can deal with it.


Marty Rempel

Waterloo

The Day the Magic Died

The Day the Magic Died

On a dark and blustery day my granddaughter

asked

“Grandpa where is the car parked?”

“I think in a distant galaxy far far away.”

“That’s just silly, where is it really?”


I think the day the magic died was

the day silliness was in question,

no more monsters in the closet,

no more night lights,

soon no more bedtime stories.

Tentatively I asked,

“When you

are a teenager will you have time for me?”

“Don’t be silly grandpa, that depends on what my

friends are doing.”

Constant War

In Body Bags with Severed Legs

We never learn from history.
Young men romanticize their lust for war,
the common threads and constant mistakes
are endless themes which
politicians use to blaze a path and show the way
with greed and craft
“On to victory they say.
“We’ll be home before Christmas.”
The mothers and wives weep and wait
while the foolish men
thrill to some patriotic rush.

Empires may rise and fall yet
we still choose another Dieppe, Somme
Kuwait, or Iraq to raise the banner where
the brash young men go for glory, their torn
bodies returning home in black body bags, or
the lucky ones live their discontented lives
with severed legs
and broken dreams.
Allowing the next generation to pick up our quarrel
with our foes only to do it all over again.

Teacher Professional Development

Seminar 73 with Black Coffee

Professional Development Portfolio:
“Bureaucratic Enhancement of the
Logic Model in terms of Mid-Management
Leadership Styles.”
My anticipation is peaked.
I paid money for this.

alert…
Momentarily, suspended
attention to detail, my head does
a tiny bobbing action,
like Bob-the-dog on the dash
of my son’s Subaru.
Side tracked

The tailored high priced
speaker
drones on
and
on as my eyes roll,
the painful head jerk
to reality,
reaction like whiplash
in a head-on-car crash.

I’m awake
just rsting my eyes,
“This study includes
two relevant ministry categories…”

More relevant, if only
I had more black coffee.

Mennonites and Shunning

On Mennonites and their practice of shunning...

“Salt of the Earth”

They come together in
Community raise a
Neighbour’s barn in days.

A restless horse eager to
Race home waits beside a
White clapboard country
Church.

Limestone markers stand
In a field, askew like
Wounded soldiers.
Some date back a century
And more.







Inside wrapped in their
liturgical blankets
Detached from the world
Worshippers raise their
Voices singing hymns of
Suffering and sacrifice.
Sitting upright in hard
Wooden pews built by
Grandfathers generations
Ago.

Observing the sacraments.
Praising their Lord.
Women with covered heads
Bowed,
Men with untrimmed beards
sit stoically on opposite
Sides of the
Divide.

Those that diverge from truth
Deviate from the path
They
Are shunned.
Kept in quiet solitude
Close
Yet Far.

Customer Loyalty Points and Value

Customer Loyalty Points

Customer loyalty cards are another type of card that  have even a higher degree of uselessness within our society and economy.   One can collect any variety of points from Petro to Air Travel and buy valuable items/gifts from bottled water to digital cameras, cheese corn and airline travel, but be reminded that some restrictions may apply; so please contact your distributor for dates, times, quantities and program applications for your region.

It gets to a point that a given company has two distinct levels of goods and/or services that it offers to the public, those that it actually produces and its loyalty customer points.  After a time it becomes unclear to the consumer as to which is more important buying the product or using the platinum card that will generate the most points to buy those wonderful gift items, like bottled water or windshield washer fluid, the type that can remove the bugs in summer.

Case in point before moving to Woodstock I took my car for repair work at Busy Corner in Waterloo a dingy run down building with no waiting room or washroom for costumers, but run by likely the most honest and competent mechanic on the planet.  When he diagnosed my car in a certain way it was a certain truth.

For dependability and things in this life that you can count on there is: death and taxes and then there is Busy Corner.  They are that solid a garage, not that it is good to be compared to either death or taxes.  Suffice it to say that I trust this man with my car, my first born, and just about anything else.  He does not operate a customer loyalty card system because he doesn’t have to. I am a loyal customer to begin with because his prices are low, his work of high quality, he is fast, moderately friendly, what more could you ask for in a mechanic.

Steve’s Garage in Woodstock has coffee, clean washrooms, a waiting room, with a flat screen TV, and it has a loyalty customer service program.  It also over charges; so why would I want all these things?  I already have my $1300 brake job with alignment and enough points to buy a six pack of Pepsi.  Please let’s stop with the loyalty points!  Just give fair competitive prices.

Orangutangs (a novel)

Chapter 21

Understanding orangutang gives us a clouded, partial glimpse into what we were before we became fully human.  (16) Galdikas “Reflections of Eden” 

Dry Season and Jungle Rain

Mark was now four months into his term with two months remaining.  His research continued to progress well.  With his field notes and data collection he would have more than enough to complete his dissertation and complete his PhD thesis once they returned to Toronto.  Mark had been accepted to teach while finishing his thesis in the Anthropology Department at the University of Toronto.  The time at Fossey had passed quickly and knowing they would be returning home soon was a bitter-sweet reality.

It was now mid-July and the dry season was upon them.  In some parts of Indonesia there was very little difference between wet and dry seasons, but along the coast of Kalamantan, the Indonesian portion of Borneo, the typically wet coastal swamp lands dried up and at times, especially during El Nino years, became dangerously dry and frequently ignited into raging fires destroying even more natural habitat.

The advantage of the dry season was that the usually inaccessible coastal and fluvial swamp lands, once dry, made it much easier to track and follow orangs whose highway system in the canopy was impervious to  conditions on the forest floor.  Researchers slogging through stagnant pools of black murky water, suffering from unidentifiable skin disorders, infections, tropical ulcers and an almost infinite array of miscellaneous discomforts while trying to follow an arboreal creature who seamlessly flew like a trapeze artist in unabashed mockery of the weaker primates below was not an equal contest. A drier forest floor also meant fewer snakes, mosquitoes and leeches, a much appreciated benefit.  Research and observation advanced rapidly when the rains abated.

Because of the drier conditions in the tropical peat swamp, along the rivers, Mark and other researchers were able to switch their observational venue significantly by moving from the tropical forest where they focused their initial research when they first arrived at Fossey during the wet season to the swamps.  It made no difference to the orangs oblivious to what was happening below them.







Mark was excited about the prospect of easier access to the group of 11 orangutang he had been consistently tracking since starting his studies.  He had finally convinced Celine to enter the jungle with him.  Every since her incident with “the insane orangutang” as she called her, at the feeding platform, she had been reluctant to venture out very far from camp.  Eventually, she had been out again to the feeding platforms, when she was assured by others in her team that the crazy mother was not in attendance.
During her time at Fossey Celine had gone on a few river sojourns with small groups using the camp motor boats, motorized canoes; and once she went on an over nighter by diesel klotok as far as Kumai for supplies with Albrecht and a few others, but otherwise over the last four months Celine had held to a self imposed sequestering in the camp.  The jungle was for Celine a more ominous space.

With Marks constant persuasion coupled with a growing sense of claustrophobia and cabin fever and with persistent assurance that the snake, leech and mosquito populations were on the decline Celine agreed to spend some time with Mark in the swamps as he conducted his now routine observation schedule.

Mark and Celine got an early start each carrying a backpack with food and supplies for the day.  On the way out they passed the camp perimeter and next the feeding platforms, which would see a feeding frenzy of activity later in the day. 
“This is where the crazy one attacked me.” Celine pointed to the platform where she had fallen.
“No fear, nothing like that will happen today. I promise.”
They continued toward the river walking on dried mud where the earth had solidified.  It was a strange feeling walking in this part of the reserve through the hollows of the dried swamp surface, passed the exposed roots of trees usually hidden beneath the dark still water of the swamp.
One disadvantage of the dryness was the inability to travel quietly.  Instead of stepping on supple water logged vegetation they now tramped over dry twigs and leaf litter which made a loud crackle under foot.  The morning light passing through the upper reaches of the forest canopy made a strobe-like effect as it filtered downward to the relative darkness of the forest floor. Dust raised from their passing appeared free floating in the air when backlit by the beams of light that tentatively probed the layers of foliage.





Mark drew out his compass and well used trail map. “The problem with this type of study is that the orangs are not on any type of schedule. They forage and meander at will.  Fortunately, they are territorial, so I eventually find them, but not always when I want to. If I am lucky I can, or today we can, locate one of my study group opportunistically, like we are doing right now.  Sometimes if I hear that one of my group has appeared at one of the feeding platforms I can observe and follow my subject from the platform out into the jungle when feeding is finished.”
Mark wanted to keep Celine engaged with his research process so he explained everything as he went along. “We are going to travel along this trail.”  He pointed to the map for Celine to see. “The trail is somewhat parallel to the river for several km and then we may have to cut inland a few more km before we make a sighting. Today is special, I hope to introduce you to Penetang a young female, about 20 who has a young one she is trying to wean.  The problem is her son, Pentel, is reluctant to leave the nest and mom is getting impatient.  There’s lots of fascinating dynamics playing out.”
“Sounds like an interesting scenario.”
“Oh that’s not the half of it,” Mark added with enthusiasm. “Weaning is a difficult process at the best of times considering infants stay with their mom for about eight years learning all they can before they go it alone. What is different in this case is that Penetang is also being pursued by a very ardent and determined subadult male suitor.  If we are very lucky today we will witness what very few people have seen and this will really boost my thesis work.
“What are we going to see?”
“Let’s just say it will be the best of the mating and nesting practices of orangutans is action, but I can make no guarantees.”
Not having to pull leeches from various parts of their bodies and with humidity slightly lower in the dry season it was almost comfortable in the forest. The morning cacophony from dawn’s activity was abating, left only with remnants of rhapsodies, serenaded by the sounds of distant song birds and the whine of the ever present cicadas.  They just had to be careful not to share the trail will a wild boar and all would be fine.
After walking for a few hours they came across a small troup of gibbons who took immediate flight and disappeared into the upper reaches of the canopy.   Mark noticed the remains of a red fruit on the forest floor and gazed up into the canopy directly above the fruit rinds and sighted Penetang and her soon to be weaned son Pentel.
“Celine look up, straight up, way up, and you will see mother and daughter.”

Almost at the same time Penetang spotted Mark and Celine and was not pleased with their joint presence and to demonstrate her annoyance made a few mild kiss squeaks in protest and threw some fruit and branches down in their general direction. In the process of habituation, with only Mark as a frequent observer, Penetang and Pentel were likely upset with the unfamiliar primate Celine in their territory.  According to his field notes Mark had logged 73 hours of observations with this pair.  When the initial fuss was over mother and son settled down to their routines attending to their non stop feeding at a relaxed leisurely pace.

That morning Penetang and Pentel were feeding on a delectable combination of aru fruit and banitan nuts.  Pentel tried to supplement his breakfast by nursing from his mother’s breast.  Penetang objected with quick annoyance and made her breast inaccessible to her son by changing her body angle, or by moving over to another near by branch.  Pentel was persistent and Mark recorded over 80 rapid attempts and rejections before Penetang allowed a very brief feeding.  Even mothers have their limits.

“Is this what you do all day?  Count how many times an infant tries to feed.”

“Its all important Celine.  Everything I observe and record is part of a bigger pattern and I never know what’s important or what the pattern is until I gather everything and fit it all together like a big puzzle; so I have to record everything.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess in some geeky scientific way it does.  It’s lucky for you Mark that you are so observant. I don’t think you miss a trick.”

Mother and son continued their leisurely foraging enjoying their banitan nuts.  Pentel depended on his mother to remove the pit like nut from its extremely hard casing. Only the powerful adult jaw of an orangutang was strong enough to open the banitan, another skill that Pentel would soon have to learn on his own once he was fully weaned. Their solitude was interrupted with a thunderous crashing and snapping of branches as Mochtar, the subadult male, made his dramatic approach. If nothing else dominant males liked to be noticed. Penetang did not look up and completely ignored her suitor as he took his position in a branch a few feet below Penetang and Pentel.
“I thought this was the dry season.” Celine whispered to Mark.
It is, this is something a little different.  Jungle rain.  Penetang is pissing on Mochtar.  It may be some sort of mating ritual, or she is showing some of her own dominance as a female. I’m not quite certain.  We’re just getting the mist.  You know like at Niagara Falls, but don’t move.  We don’t want to spook them now.”
“That’s disgusting.”
After the pissing ritual Mochtar obviously did not take offence, but undeterred eagerly took the opportunity to climb beside Penetang and Pentel and share their Banitan nuts, but before doing so quickly felt Penetang’s genetalia.
“Why’d he do that?
“He wants to see if she is pregnant, or if not, if she is an available female.  It looks like Penetang is available.”
“Does this mean Pentel is history, Celine asked.
“I think it will definitely speed up the weaning process.  I think Pentel better enjoy those banitan nuts because he may not be getting any for awhile.”
“So are all anthropologists such perverts.  You call this science?”
Mark laughed. “I thought you’d enjoy this.”
The threesome continued their joint feeding foray. Pentel pried open his mother’s lips and removed softened portions of the banitan nut and popped them in his own mouth as one would a kernel of popcorn at a feature presentation.  Penetang didn’t seem to mind.  They went on this way for a long time.
Suddenly Mochtar stood up.  Maybe he had enough of the banitan. He pulled Penetang up beside him and while each held on to a branch above them for balance,  he firmly grabbed Penetang by the hips and they began rthymically copulating face to face as casually as if if one of them had said, “Pass the butter for the banitan nuts.”
Celine gasped.
Pentil ate more banitan and ignored what was going on.

Mochtar kiss squeaked his annoyance at the interruption but otherwise got on with his task.  As Mochtar gained in momentum his partner semi-reclined against another large branch.  Mark ever observant had the stop watch feature of his watch activated and timed Moctar at 99 seconds.  Mochtar paused, either for dramatic effect, or to catch his breath or both and continued for another 3 minutes and 45 seconds.  Whereas Penetang seemed bored with the experience, she did not shy away.  Mochtar had more of a glazed distant nesting look and was really into the experience.  At one point in the copulatory event Penetang looked down directly at Celine, like a tourist on a tour bus, as if she had some special message for her.

Celine embarrassed looked away from the penetrating brown eyes of the female orang-utan.  After a few more minutes had passed Penetang pulled away, Mochtar was forced to withdraw.  They exchanged glances and after a respectable interval Penetang joined her son and continued eating banitan nuts.

Mark and Celine were quiet for a few minutes processing what they had just witnessed.  Mark was engaged rapidly scribbling notes in his field book for several more minutes.  He paused looked at Celine and said, “Now that’s Science!  Wasn’t that great?

“I think I need a cigarette, Celine said catching her breathe since she had held it for the majority of the arial sexual display.  Well I think Mochtar thought it was great, and that goes in your thesis. You are going to have the only R rated thesis in the department.”

Mark smiled, “Yeah you could be right about that.  He looked at his watch, disengaged the stopwatch feature, “we are going to have to head back soon.  We don’t want to be out here in the dark, but if these three make a nest sometime soon I will know where to find them tomorrow and keep tracking them tomorrow.  Let’s give them a few more minutes and see what they do.”
Mark switched from the copulating humour from a moment ago to a more serious topic, a trait which always baffled Celine as to how he could go from the ridiculous to the sublime without skipping a beat in between.  She never really understood his quirky sense of humour. “You see nest building in birds is an instinctual behaviour. It is programmed into their genes just as their migratory process is engrained into their genetic code. They are pre-wired to certain behaviours.  It has nothing to do with innate intelligence and they have no choice. It is different with mammals.  Great Apes, like the orangutang must learn how to build a nest just as they learn to do everything else they must know to survive. They are extremely intelligent animals, so much like people.

Orangutans have been seen making umbrellas from broad leaves to shield them from rain; they use sticks to break apart termite colonies to get at the delicacies within.  And they have to learn how to build a nest, so I’m hoping our friend Pentel here will get one of his last lessons in nest building this afternoon. These are all learned behaviours passed on from mother to child.  The mother is paramount in child rearing”

The equatorial sun varies little in its daily path across the sky the hours of dawn and sunset vary little as a consequence and perhaps the angle of the sun, or on a whim due to fatigue from strenuous copulating and banitan grazing, the adults showed signs that they were ready to build their nests.

Mochtar began building his nest a few trees away from where Penetang began building hers. As a starting point each selected a branch as a sturdy base support, then in a whirlwind miraculous show of skill they each bent and formed the smaller surrounding branches into a circular springy platform, like basket weavers at a Middle Eastern bazaar. The base was completed within minutes.  About a half an hour was spent foraging near by trees for suitable leaves for padding to make the mattress almost a foot thick.

The end result was a compact, sturdy and comfortable shelter.  Orangutans often make two nests during the day in different locations as their migrations lead them throughout the jungle.  One for an afternoon snooze in the heat of the day and another for the night, next to eating orangutans like to sleep.

“Okay, now I know where to find these three performers in the morning, but right now we have to get back to camp before it gets dark; so we had better quick march.”
“Yes, sir.”  Celine said with a mock salute.
The hike back to camp from the jungle always seemed longer because of fatigue and the lack of anticipation.  They arrived in camp and to their cabin as the sun was setting still pulsating with radiance.  The rest of their cabin-crew and a few add ons were sitting on their porch hanging out, playing crib and sharing a few beers.  “Hey welcome back wayfarers of the jungle.  You make any great finds today in the primate world?”

“Just two fucking orangutans” Celine responded as she proceeded to her room to change and get a refreshing sponge bath.

“True,” Mark added with an embarrassed smile, we did see two copulating orang-utans, Mochtar and Penetang, from my study group.  They seem to have a thing for each other, and yes they gave us a very graphic performance of their affection and passions for each other.  But more on that later.  We’re just going to change, then we’ll come out and join you.  Don’t drink all the cold beer!”

By the time Mark got to the room Celine was undressed standing naked beside the bed partially hidden by the gauze like qualities of the mosquito mesh.  She was well tanned from her months in Borneo.  Her hair was matted from sweat and “jungle rain’ from their trek.  She hadn’t shaved her legs or armpits for some time and was looking European, like the German girls.  Mark now, in a primal way, found it more of a turn on.

Celine’s long blond hair cascaded in lazy curls between her white breasts, her large red nipples stood erect in stark contrast to the dirt and tan of the rest of her body.  A bead of sweat ran down her neck, gained momentum at her shoulder where it paused leaving a clean line evidence that it had moistened and cleansed Celine’s skin.  She directed her eyes toward Mark and immediately sensed his arousal.

Not taking her eyes from Mark she placed her index finger in her  mouth moving in in and out in a rthymic motion. She then removed her finger dripping with saliva, and slowly ran it across her chin, down her neck, between her breasts, across the plains of her stomach to the thick wet darkness between her legs where she delicately inserted it with a long satisfying moan, slightly tilting her head back as she did so.  “I’m dirty, and I’m wet.  Do you want me Mark?

Electronics in our lives during isolation

Chimes and Paranoia

My washing machine finished its cycle,
like my drier and dishwasher,
telling me so with a cheerful jingle
to brighten my day and alert me to
the need to remove the dry clothing,
the clean clothing,
or empty the dishes.
They all seem so happy.
My cell phone has so many chimes
and sounds, rings and tones
for calls, and messages I can no longer
keep them straight.  Its starting to worry me.
The alarm in the morning is up beat,
like my doorbell.  I think they may be friends.
My microwave beeps when finished its
time cycle, like my treadmill and step
machines. They seem to know each other.
Are they talking about me?
It’s like hearing voices in my head
from all sources
in all directions
at all times.
Now my fridge calls me with a
delicate chime to close the door if I leave
it open for too long.
Conspiracy?

Connected (to the internet)

Connected




She dated from an app
sharing her personal electronic
profile,
drove her car with
Google Earth,
making dinner at night sitting alone
on a chat site, or Skyping
a Facebook friend,
she put it all on Instagram, so she
could share the moment,
post today's Selfie.
She twitted her ideas in
under 144 characters,
streamed her TV viewing
for binge watching on Friday nights.
Facetimed with her intimates
then checked her e-mail before bed,
sleeping with her ear buds in,
so she was never alone.

marty rempel

Geographical solutions

Geographical Solutions

Whether we come or go
is there peace in our arrival
relief in the departure?
A to and fro,
a point A and Point B,
they make for coming and going,
for reprieve,
new beginnings,
good byes and hellos,
for a remaking and a taking apart,
we all need at least two locations
to stay sane.
Leaving here and going there
feeling better for the change,
at least for awhile...




marty rempel