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| Left-over crab apples |
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| Hoar frost on blue spruce |
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The Waiting Game
In January, Tom had the experience of having a prostate biopsy to gain more information about feelings of pressure on his bladder. We have a "free" health care system in Canada -- we obtain medical information and advice as needed, but we have to seek out assistance from a primary general or family physician, who then makes a referral to a specialist. In this case, the specialty that provided the consultation was urology, someone who focuses on the urinary and reproductive systems of males. Tom has (we have) been waiting since winter to uncover and understand why that bladder was being pressured (more than normal! more than you would expect from a male who has had a tiny bit of experience with beer drinking and has managed to hold his own, although never to the extent of some of his partying beer-guzzling friends -- but I digress...). At the same time, he started to have pain in his right hip/pelvic region (now officially recognized as the acetabulum), which got attention from both his primary care physician and the specialist to whom he had been referred for the biopsy.
Our health care system is truly a blessing -- I have since heard stories of people in that big country to the south who cannot afford anything but a basic diagnosis and live without additional assistance because of the cost. We, as consumers and supporters (through our taxes) of the Canadian health care system, still have a personal obligation to understand as much as we can and make decisions that are appropriate for our health needs. In spite of everything, of all the information from the specialist and family doctor, this has still been a waiting and processing game. As a consumer of the information, you are still very much on your own when it comes to understanding the terminology, the consequences or possible side effects of the treatments that are recommended, and the way your own brain processes the word "cancer" when it comes to a diagnosis. And I'm not the one with this particular diagnosis. In each of these steps, from wondering and asking, to discovering, to hearing, to seeing, there's been a wait. Day after day we waited, until we met with the urologist.
The big C -- that's all my brain focused on once we met with the specialist to discuss the biopsy results. The finding was of cancer cells in each of the snippets that had been removed from his prostate. I'm speaking from my own perspective -- Tom had a slightly different (more mature? more focused?) response -- some relief, a lot of black humour, and ultimately, a very positive and deliberate response to dealing with this invasion in his body. The suggestion was that a radical prostatectomy would be needed; lymph nodes would also be removed and biopsied; that's what happened on July 4.
I didn't really sleep the night before -- it doesn't help that we are having a hot and humid summer, and our upstairs bedroom is as stuffy as it gets when things have been hot for a week. So I turned on the stand-alone air conditioner, which droned its way through any of my subconscious. Tom did manage to sleep for a while. At the hospital, prior to surgery, he was offered something to relieve the anxiety and help him relax -- he was already quite relaxed, but the effect of 1 mg of lorazepam allowed him to drift off while we waited. I suggested that I could use some as well... this highly addictive (and effective) product wasn't extended to me -- darn! I was left to wait, and told to be there at 12:30 to meet up with him post-recovery. It's a strange feeling to let someone you love be wheeled away into the big unknown -- they would inject him with needles, tubes would be inserted, medications would take over his breathing and his brain, people would cut him open and start to snip things away to get at the tumour that was sitting in and around his prostate. I came back home for a little while, then headed back to the hospital under a black, thundering sky. What were they doing? How would his body respond? How would he be afterwards?
Checked in with the nursing station on the 4th floor of the Grace Hospital, but they sent me to the "day room" to wait. A little bird of a man showed up, engaged me in a strange story about being left in his house for 3 days on a cold floor in the winter before neighbours got worried and broke in to find him there unconscious. The story was full of details related to an incident in the winter that had undermined his efforts to volunteer for Winnipeg Harvest following an unsuccessful Cheer Board volunteer stint, but strange segues kept me wondering if he had slipped to another level of consciousness. Enough reality to keep me guessing; something wasn't quite right though, given that he had been in hospital since before Christmas of 2011. Regardless, the conversation occupied my worried mind for a bit.
Finally they came to let me know that Tom was in the room, and he was quite "funny". Exact word used. A relief to me -- when Tom is on, relaxed, and engaged with the world, he is very funny. Funny enough that I laughed so hard I spat food on him one of the first times we talked together. So... I sat with him, the nurses came and checked his blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, etc., every 15 minutes, and he insisted I give him several New Yorkers and Macleans magazines I'd brought for him. A quick commentary on Justin Trudeau's profile versus full face photographs -- which one looked better. Some bits from the New Yorker. More introductions of the medical team who were providing assistance. This is his brain after surgery -- I was impressed. Then as my brain wandered a bit (I was tired, I must say in protest), he started on a story about chicken in red panties being threatened by Gestapo, or the Nazis. With that I snapped to attention. What was he reading? He wasn't reading -- he'd drifted back to a bit of a slumber and started talking about something he was seeing. So THIS is your brain on drugs... impressive! A few more stories about green lights flashing by, certain shapes drifting in and out of the walls, and I realize I saw how a visual person processes the anaesthetic and narcotic haze following surgery.
He's now home; says he's feeling better every day with 40 staples and an in-dwelling catheter for another week. Recovery takes its time, and he has some work ahead of him. Hip pain was back once the epidural drugs were taken away, and that's still a concern. We meet with the specialist next week to uncover and discuss the next stage. The lymph nodes were clear, but there was extensive tissue involvement with the tumour in and around the prostate. So that's what we need to figure out next.
Our health care system is truly a blessing -- I have since heard stories of people in that big country to the south who cannot afford anything but a basic diagnosis and live without additional assistance because of the cost. We, as consumers and supporters (through our taxes) of the Canadian health care system, still have a personal obligation to understand as much as we can and make decisions that are appropriate for our health needs. In spite of everything, of all the information from the specialist and family doctor, this has still been a waiting and processing game. As a consumer of the information, you are still very much on your own when it comes to understanding the terminology, the consequences or possible side effects of the treatments that are recommended, and the way your own brain processes the word "cancer" when it comes to a diagnosis. And I'm not the one with this particular diagnosis. In each of these steps, from wondering and asking, to discovering, to hearing, to seeing, there's been a wait. Day after day we waited, until we met with the urologist.
The big C -- that's all my brain focused on once we met with the specialist to discuss the biopsy results. The finding was of cancer cells in each of the snippets that had been removed from his prostate. I'm speaking from my own perspective -- Tom had a slightly different (more mature? more focused?) response -- some relief, a lot of black humour, and ultimately, a very positive and deliberate response to dealing with this invasion in his body. The suggestion was that a radical prostatectomy would be needed; lymph nodes would also be removed and biopsied; that's what happened on July 4.
I didn't really sleep the night before -- it doesn't help that we are having a hot and humid summer, and our upstairs bedroom is as stuffy as it gets when things have been hot for a week. So I turned on the stand-alone air conditioner, which droned its way through any of my subconscious. Tom did manage to sleep for a while. At the hospital, prior to surgery, he was offered something to relieve the anxiety and help him relax -- he was already quite relaxed, but the effect of 1 mg of lorazepam allowed him to drift off while we waited. I suggested that I could use some as well... this highly addictive (and effective) product wasn't extended to me -- darn! I was left to wait, and told to be there at 12:30 to meet up with him post-recovery. It's a strange feeling to let someone you love be wheeled away into the big unknown -- they would inject him with needles, tubes would be inserted, medications would take over his breathing and his brain, people would cut him open and start to snip things away to get at the tumour that was sitting in and around his prostate. I came back home for a little while, then headed back to the hospital under a black, thundering sky. What were they doing? How would his body respond? How would he be afterwards?
Checked in with the nursing station on the 4th floor of the Grace Hospital, but they sent me to the "day room" to wait. A little bird of a man showed up, engaged me in a strange story about being left in his house for 3 days on a cold floor in the winter before neighbours got worried and broke in to find him there unconscious. The story was full of details related to an incident in the winter that had undermined his efforts to volunteer for Winnipeg Harvest following an unsuccessful Cheer Board volunteer stint, but strange segues kept me wondering if he had slipped to another level of consciousness. Enough reality to keep me guessing; something wasn't quite right though, given that he had been in hospital since before Christmas of 2011. Regardless, the conversation occupied my worried mind for a bit.
Finally they came to let me know that Tom was in the room, and he was quite "funny". Exact word used. A relief to me -- when Tom is on, relaxed, and engaged with the world, he is very funny. Funny enough that I laughed so hard I spat food on him one of the first times we talked together. So... I sat with him, the nurses came and checked his blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, etc., every 15 minutes, and he insisted I give him several New Yorkers and Macleans magazines I'd brought for him. A quick commentary on Justin Trudeau's profile versus full face photographs -- which one looked better. Some bits from the New Yorker. More introductions of the medical team who were providing assistance. This is his brain after surgery -- I was impressed. Then as my brain wandered a bit (I was tired, I must say in protest), he started on a story about chicken in red panties being threatened by Gestapo, or the Nazis. With that I snapped to attention. What was he reading? He wasn't reading -- he'd drifted back to a bit of a slumber and started talking about something he was seeing. So THIS is your brain on drugs... impressive! A few more stories about green lights flashing by, certain shapes drifting in and out of the walls, and I realize I saw how a visual person processes the anaesthetic and narcotic haze following surgery.
He's now home; says he's feeling better every day with 40 staples and an in-dwelling catheter for another week. Recovery takes its time, and he has some work ahead of him. Hip pain was back once the epidural drugs were taken away, and that's still a concern. We meet with the specialist next week to uncover and discuss the next stage. The lymph nodes were clear, but there was extensive tissue involvement with the tumour in and around the prostate. So that's what we need to figure out next.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Aunt Herta
Herta Judith Voth.
A life lived. A woman who did so much on her terms, but always in conversation with her God. She was devout and she was determined. A formidable combination. Three weeks ago her family and many friends, from different parts of the world, celebrated her life. She was my aunt, the aunt of all of my cousins and our children. Our family history has been changed.
January 3, 1923 (born in eastern Russia) to January 23, 2012, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Manitoba and Canada welcomed my grandparents and their three young children in 1925, fleeing the Revolution, banditry, a lost life. Springstein, Manitoba became their home. My growing up years were filled with Springstein and Manitoba stories; the lore included stories of my mother's older sister, Herta, who was instrumental in rescuing my unconscious two year old mother from the horns and hooves of an angry bull. It would have been interesting to view that encounter -- the bull and Herta and the body of a young child. The young child survived, thanks to Herta's rescue, the skills of a local man, a Hutterite who had amazing healing skills, and care from her family. Ultimately, the bull did not.
Herta was an awe-inspring figure in my eyes. Coming in and out of my younger life, she presented a challenge. This woman wasn't full of frivolity. Her life was always focused, always with a goal in mind, and young nieces, of which I was one of several, had to think about their place in the world and act accordingly. When my younger sister and cousin had a good time checking through Herta's belongings in her bedroom one afternoon, I, as the older sister/cousin, was the one taken to task for not managing them. She wasn't unkind, just had already had so many unique and demanding experiences that we must have seemed a bit careless to her. Her training as a nurse, at the Misericordia Hospital in Winnipeg, was an excellent career choice for a smart, focused and determined young woman. I remember her care-giving skills in our house when my youngest brother, Joe, was born, and my own mother faced several health and healing challenges. Again, my need to whine about a life event that must have seemed frivolous; in this case, a rotten grade 7 class picture (with one eye closed and my hair pinned up all goofy) was no need to complain when there were so many more important things in life that deserved complaint... tell that to a girl in grade 7!!
Her love, however, was deep and wide, just like the song said. Love, concern and caring for parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, the indigenous peoples of Panama and Colombia in her working/nursing/missionary years, the Mennonite communities of Bolivia in her "retired" years. Animal life (the bats who lived in her jungle home; the kittens and cat she brought with her on the journeys so they could keep the mouse/rat population down; stories of pythons who lived in family homes in the jungle, an accepted part of life), her "grand" nieces and nephews, her adopted children and grandchildren, friends from the Latin American community in Winnipeg and elsewhere, and the list is much longer than I will ever know.
When I became an adult, she and I were companionable. Her invitation to me, when I was 17 or 18, to visit her in Panama didn't fit into my life's plans at the time - I was heading towards University in the autumn, but I realize now I was scared of the possibilities of that visit. Too bad. Might have been a life changing event. But that's the road I didn't take, so when she "retired" from her work in Panama and settled (if you can call it that) in Winnipeg, we had a chance to become better acquainted.
She loved the hot, dry weather. She enthused one hot August day, when the temperatures were close to 40 Celcius, about the gorgeous hot wind. She loved to be useful, no sitting around. In her mid to late 70s, she came to our home twice a week to help me with our three little children, the boys being 3 months old at the time. She sat with them, rocking them in their little seats, encouraging an afternoon nap so I could fall into a deep and dark sleep for an hour. This probably saved my (mental) life at that point, given that the two dudes were party boys at night. She took Nicole with her on the plan to Ontario to spend time with my parents, so I could focus on our boys. She spent her nights with my cousin Ken and his family, when he was coping with cancer. I know she also spent nights with Tinaye, her adopted grandson. Energy enfused with drive and love was a major characteristic.
She also made me good and mad at times, not including the need to keep my sister and cousin more gainfully occupied! Telling me, in different words, but telling me, that I needed to grow up a little bit wasn't necessarily what I wanted to hear. We were part of a large group of family and friends who celebrated her life in late January and many people shared their particular and unique involvement with Herta. Her life was rich indeed -- we were blessed to be part of it, her energy is part of our large family structure and will continue with the current and future generations.
A life lived. A woman who did so much on her terms, but always in conversation with her God. She was devout and she was determined. A formidable combination. Three weeks ago her family and many friends, from different parts of the world, celebrated her life. She was my aunt, the aunt of all of my cousins and our children. Our family history has been changed.
January 3, 1923 (born in eastern Russia) to January 23, 2012, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Manitoba and Canada welcomed my grandparents and their three young children in 1925, fleeing the Revolution, banditry, a lost life. Springstein, Manitoba became their home. My growing up years were filled with Springstein and Manitoba stories; the lore included stories of my mother's older sister, Herta, who was instrumental in rescuing my unconscious two year old mother from the horns and hooves of an angry bull. It would have been interesting to view that encounter -- the bull and Herta and the body of a young child. The young child survived, thanks to Herta's rescue, the skills of a local man, a Hutterite who had amazing healing skills, and care from her family. Ultimately, the bull did not.
Herta was an awe-inspring figure in my eyes. Coming in and out of my younger life, she presented a challenge. This woman wasn't full of frivolity. Her life was always focused, always with a goal in mind, and young nieces, of which I was one of several, had to think about their place in the world and act accordingly. When my younger sister and cousin had a good time checking through Herta's belongings in her bedroom one afternoon, I, as the older sister/cousin, was the one taken to task for not managing them. She wasn't unkind, just had already had so many unique and demanding experiences that we must have seemed a bit careless to her. Her training as a nurse, at the Misericordia Hospital in Winnipeg, was an excellent career choice for a smart, focused and determined young woman. I remember her care-giving skills in our house when my youngest brother, Joe, was born, and my own mother faced several health and healing challenges. Again, my need to whine about a life event that must have seemed frivolous; in this case, a rotten grade 7 class picture (with one eye closed and my hair pinned up all goofy) was no need to complain when there were so many more important things in life that deserved complaint... tell that to a girl in grade 7!!
Her love, however, was deep and wide, just like the song said. Love, concern and caring for parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, the indigenous peoples of Panama and Colombia in her working/nursing/missionary years, the Mennonite communities of Bolivia in her "retired" years. Animal life (the bats who lived in her jungle home; the kittens and cat she brought with her on the journeys so they could keep the mouse/rat population down; stories of pythons who lived in family homes in the jungle, an accepted part of life), her "grand" nieces and nephews, her adopted children and grandchildren, friends from the Latin American community in Winnipeg and elsewhere, and the list is much longer than I will ever know.
When I became an adult, she and I were companionable. Her invitation to me, when I was 17 or 18, to visit her in Panama didn't fit into my life's plans at the time - I was heading towards University in the autumn, but I realize now I was scared of the possibilities of that visit. Too bad. Might have been a life changing event. But that's the road I didn't take, so when she "retired" from her work in Panama and settled (if you can call it that) in Winnipeg, we had a chance to become better acquainted.
She loved the hot, dry weather. She enthused one hot August day, when the temperatures were close to 40 Celcius, about the gorgeous hot wind. She loved to be useful, no sitting around. In her mid to late 70s, she came to our home twice a week to help me with our three little children, the boys being 3 months old at the time. She sat with them, rocking them in their little seats, encouraging an afternoon nap so I could fall into a deep and dark sleep for an hour. This probably saved my (mental) life at that point, given that the two dudes were party boys at night. She took Nicole with her on the plan to Ontario to spend time with my parents, so I could focus on our boys. She spent her nights with my cousin Ken and his family, when he was coping with cancer. I know she also spent nights with Tinaye, her adopted grandson. Energy enfused with drive and love was a major characteristic.
She also made me good and mad at times, not including the need to keep my sister and cousin more gainfully occupied! Telling me, in different words, but telling me, that I needed to grow up a little bit wasn't necessarily what I wanted to hear. We were part of a large group of family and friends who celebrated her life in late January and many people shared their particular and unique involvement with Herta. Her life was rich indeed -- we were blessed to be part of it, her energy is part of our large family structure and will continue with the current and future generations.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Tom Roberts - Ceramic Artist/Potter Extraordinaire...
The studio is finally finished, and Tom made the big move over to the new space in our back yard during the winter/Christmas break. A lot of work, indeed, requiring input from friends, children, and the spousal unit, who didn't do that much! However, the boys worked like adults with this move.
Tom is now setting things up, getting the new place organized. Here's a link to a video and information about his work: In Plain View Winnipeg.
Tom is now setting things up, getting the new place organized. Here's a link to a video and information about his work: In Plain View Winnipeg.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
25 Days in the Life - Becoming a Teacher
Teacher candidate... student teacher... call it what you want. It's an experiment in learning and teaching. I've just finished my first 5 week practical experience, placed in a classroom of middle years learners, mentored by a teacher, advised by a Faculty representative. Some of my learning in the first 25 days: Tales from the classroom.
3. Everything can be a fraction -- 25/25 days of teaching, 5/5 weeks of practicum, one (1) practicum finished. Parts of a whole. Equivalent fractions.
4. Math facts are a fact of life. You gotta figure out how to figure out the basics. I have to figure out how to teach them.
5. A hot classroom gets hotter when 20+ bodies are mingling in the room. A few times I felt like I was melting.
6. I had to quell my own giggles when a student got "busted" for blithely doing something contrary to what had been requested -- and how the student snapped to attention as the footsteps came up behind the desk.
9. Families are important. Don't forget the impact of the family.
10. It's an international world in our classrooms. Exciting to meet students whose origins are from places I thought were exotic when I was a kid. Equally exciting to hear Indigenous students talk about their heritage with pride.
11. Project-based learning rocks! Doing it well is my personal challenge as I move forward.
12. Personalities outside the classroom ... something new to experience every day.
15. I want to do a novel study. Or literature circles.
16. "When are we going to do real science?" This from a student when we were talking about doing a project on nutrients and labeling, part of the Manitoba science curriculum.
17. Smart technology is only as smart as the user.
18. You can integrate art into all facets of teaching.
19. "I just love this!". The student who loves figuring out how to "do" math.
20. Diversity compels us to teach creatively. Inclusivity means more than just a body in the room. Doing it is work that requires input from many individuals.
23. The Tim Tam slam -- bite the ends off a Tim Tam biscuit (an Aussie wonder that is available in Winnipeg, via Superstore, London Drugs). Dip one end into a cup of coffee, slurp coffee through biscuit, and quickly bring the Tim Tam into your mouth before it disintegrates... quick, it will fall apart fast!
24. I was out of my element when I started. I was frightened. It became a new and wonderful experience. Thanks to the students, the classroom teacher, a new teacher in the school, and fellow U of M students -- it became a learning and teaching experience that has re-invigorated me.
25. I'm going to miss them. And I want to go back.
1. A group of complete strangers accepted me and made me part of their lives, quite instantly.
2. Student response to a research project when I suggested books as a research source (as opposed to internet-only): "BOOKS ???!!!" in a shocked voice.3. Everything can be a fraction -- 25/25 days of teaching, 5/5 weeks of practicum, one (1) practicum finished. Parts of a whole. Equivalent fractions.
4. Math facts are a fact of life. You gotta figure out how to figure out the basics. I have to figure out how to teach them.
5. A hot classroom gets hotter when 20+ bodies are mingling in the room. A few times I felt like I was melting.
6. I had to quell my own giggles when a student got "busted" for blithely doing something contrary to what had been requested -- and how the student snapped to attention as the footsteps came up behind the desk.
7. Sometimes you just have to move forward and look to the next day or week and try something new.
8. The internet connection generally goes down when you want to use it to illustrate or demonstrate a particular concept. Be prepared to find another way to teach the information.9. Families are important. Don't forget the impact of the family.
10. It's an international world in our classrooms. Exciting to meet students whose origins are from places I thought were exotic when I was a kid. Equally exciting to hear Indigenous students talk about their heritage with pride.
11. Project-based learning rocks! Doing it well is my personal challenge as I move forward.
12. Personalities outside the classroom ... something new to experience every day.
13. Counting pennies is a great way to teach someone about estimation/guessing ... it was an excellent practical way to see how close students came to understanding amounts of money/pennies.
14. Students love being read to. And I love reading ... it's a win/win. Pace myself. 15. I want to do a novel study. Or literature circles.
16. "When are we going to do real science?" This from a student when we were talking about doing a project on nutrients and labeling, part of the Manitoba science curriculum.
17. Smart technology is only as smart as the user.
18. You can integrate art into all facets of teaching.
19. "I just love this!". The student who loves figuring out how to "do" math.
20. Diversity compels us to teach creatively. Inclusivity means more than just a body in the room. Doing it is work that requires input from many individuals.
21. Marks matter. To me (as a student) and to my students. I want to know how I've done and how they've done.
22. But, what's important is how I "do" assessment in a way that matters to my teaching and to their learning. For, of, in, about -- it helps me figure out better ways to teach. Assessment is always ongoing.23. The Tim Tam slam -- bite the ends off a Tim Tam biscuit (an Aussie wonder that is available in Winnipeg, via Superstore, London Drugs). Dip one end into a cup of coffee, slurp coffee through biscuit, and quickly bring the Tim Tam into your mouth before it disintegrates... quick, it will fall apart fast!
24. I was out of my element when I started. I was frightened. It became a new and wonderful experience. Thanks to the students, the classroom teacher, a new teacher in the school, and fellow U of M students -- it became a learning and teaching experience that has re-invigorated me.
25. I'm going to miss them. And I want to go back.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
MATH
Math... a bogeyman? Something to be feared? Something to teach. When we started this term (which is now winding down to the final 2/5 of the practicum... 15/25 done, that is), I met our Math Ed prof and casually mentioned that I was intrigued by the "math" class. Math education, I was corrected. Indeed. Math ed. How do you teach math?
Problem-based learning, that is. And recently a study was published stating that Manitoba ranks below several other provinces in how our students do on certain mathematics and literacy standards tests. One or two percentage points difference, but it was enough to get some emotional responses from the public. In my practicum, as we discussed in our math ed class, the range of ability and interest varies. For some, it's a difficult prospect to think about division. Multiplication is another challenge, and without understanding grouping of numbers and how they can be re-arranged, you won't figure out division easily. (I am interested in figuring out to explain this to a group of students ...) Thanks Thomas Falkenberg, math ed prof., for raising the standard on how we can help our students learn this area. People, at least some of the parents whose comments aired on radio or in letters to various editors, aren't that thrilled with problem-based learning. Where are the facts? Why don't they just memorize a set of numbers? Well... until you understand how the bits are put together, memorization only exhibits one kind of learning ability. And in a province that has one of the highest immigration rates in Canada, many classrooms have students from around the world, including some who arrive in the middle of the term, on any given day, with varying abilities in the English language. So the challenge is to help students figure out the how and why, and also understand new terminology and some abstract concepts in another language.
Taking math to the real world is another challenge, and yesterday Nicole and I entered Chatter's, a chain store that sells "beauty supplies" and is open to the public! OK, we're on. She had to buy a $10 gift for a fellow gymnast, for the 'Secret Santa' event which is happening next week. Understanding the relationships and concepts in numbers is difficult for Missie; however, she knows what she wants to buy for the person whose name she picked. She's clear on fashion and loves to enhance beauty, but figuring out how to spend the money can be a challenge, especially when everything is so beautiful! So we entered to an immediate "How can I help you"?! All cheery. Not listening, though. I explained our price point, looking for some ideas. Immediately the "upsell" began. Oh, you can buy two of these for $9.95 each and get a 3rd for free. I explain the price point again, and that it might not be fair to other kids at the event if we brought a $20 gift, disregarding the limit. The interest waned, and off the young lady wandered. No longer a viable customer, I guess. Nicole and I added the amounts of some gorgeous nail polish and a cute little foot scrubber -- just under $10. I explained I would pay for the extra tax that would occur (percentages are still a concept that hasn't registered). Off to the checkout and the price appeared higher than we'd figured. Now how can I teach math if prices don't jive? So I asked yet another attractive store clerk to check the price -- frowning, she points to the sticker on one of the products and assures me it's the amount that is listed. I mention that the price on the shelf is different. Really? With a little put-down in the voice. Like, why is the lady arguing with ME about the price. Oops... price is different. OK, back we go. It's only $1.00, she says. Yes, but it's my daughter's dollar, not yours, and we'd just figured out the math (I left the math part out; that would be the ultimate bore), and, and, and. You will try to make us feel like bad people while you figure out the price difference. So we waited, while the young lady changed everything and gave us the difference. Math is math, yes. So is a bad attitude. I mentioned one more time that it's someone else's money, not hers.
I am enjoying the challenging of "teaching" math. Both to my daughter and to students who are learning it in the classroom. Math is everywhere, and math can be fun and without a foundation in basic facts and math relationships, the world will be smaller. But math in the real world might be improved by a little change in attitude.
Problem-based learning, that is. And recently a study was published stating that Manitoba ranks below several other provinces in how our students do on certain mathematics and literacy standards tests. One or two percentage points difference, but it was enough to get some emotional responses from the public. In my practicum, as we discussed in our math ed class, the range of ability and interest varies. For some, it's a difficult prospect to think about division. Multiplication is another challenge, and without understanding grouping of numbers and how they can be re-arranged, you won't figure out division easily. (I am interested in figuring out to explain this to a group of students ...) Thanks Thomas Falkenberg, math ed prof., for raising the standard on how we can help our students learn this area. People, at least some of the parents whose comments aired on radio or in letters to various editors, aren't that thrilled with problem-based learning. Where are the facts? Why don't they just memorize a set of numbers? Well... until you understand how the bits are put together, memorization only exhibits one kind of learning ability. And in a province that has one of the highest immigration rates in Canada, many classrooms have students from around the world, including some who arrive in the middle of the term, on any given day, with varying abilities in the English language. So the challenge is to help students figure out the how and why, and also understand new terminology and some abstract concepts in another language.
Taking math to the real world is another challenge, and yesterday Nicole and I entered Chatter's, a chain store that sells "beauty supplies" and is open to the public! OK, we're on. She had to buy a $10 gift for a fellow gymnast, for the 'Secret Santa' event which is happening next week. Understanding the relationships and concepts in numbers is difficult for Missie; however, she knows what she wants to buy for the person whose name she picked. She's clear on fashion and loves to enhance beauty, but figuring out how to spend the money can be a challenge, especially when everything is so beautiful! So we entered to an immediate "How can I help you"?! All cheery. Not listening, though. I explained our price point, looking for some ideas. Immediately the "upsell" began. Oh, you can buy two of these for $9.95 each and get a 3rd for free. I explain the price point again, and that it might not be fair to other kids at the event if we brought a $20 gift, disregarding the limit. The interest waned, and off the young lady wandered. No longer a viable customer, I guess. Nicole and I added the amounts of some gorgeous nail polish and a cute little foot scrubber -- just under $10. I explained I would pay for the extra tax that would occur (percentages are still a concept that hasn't registered). Off to the checkout and the price appeared higher than we'd figured. Now how can I teach math if prices don't jive? So I asked yet another attractive store clerk to check the price -- frowning, she points to the sticker on one of the products and assures me it's the amount that is listed. I mention that the price on the shelf is different. Really? With a little put-down in the voice. Like, why is the lady arguing with ME about the price. Oops... price is different. OK, back we go. It's only $1.00, she says. Yes, but it's my daughter's dollar, not yours, and we'd just figured out the math (I left the math part out; that would be the ultimate bore), and, and, and. You will try to make us feel like bad people while you figure out the price difference. So we waited, while the young lady changed everything and gave us the difference. Math is math, yes. So is a bad attitude. I mentioned one more time that it's someone else's money, not hers.
I am enjoying the challenging of "teaching" math. Both to my daughter and to students who are learning it in the classroom. Math is everywhere, and math can be fun and without a foundation in basic facts and math relationships, the world will be smaller. But math in the real world might be improved by a little change in attitude.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Carrot Lentil Tomato Soup
Take some garden tomatoes (we have a huge pile, ripening in the basement, because we didn't harvest them until last weekend - had to cover them with sheets a few times when the temp dipped to zero), chop them up. Add to some sauteed onion, garlic, and little carrots (mini bits from our garden) and chicken broth. I then added a piece of chicken that was hanging around in the freezer with a handful of lentils. Spices used: chili flakes, salt, pepper, basil (pesto), and a big handful of chopped, fresh cilantro.
Cook everything until soft -- add some 1/2 and 1/2, or milk, or no dairy if you don't like it.
Cook everything until soft -- add some 1/2 and 1/2, or milk, or no dairy if you don't like it.
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