Algebra Agony

My son struggles with algebra.  Eventually he gets it, but it takes time to work through the mistakes. 

When I was a student, math was an easy chew and swallow which tasted delicious.  The music-math connection helped, but I just adored the order and tidiness of equal signs.  So now, when my student has muffed a problem, I have the capacity to whiz through it on the board and get to the answer in double quick time.  This does not impress him. It presses him down. 

The frustration level got so high a year ago February that I decided to change from 1 lesson of algebra/day to 1 hour/day. By eliminating the “rush” factor, we could concentrate on comprehension.  It was a good temporary tactic which I, by default, gave permanent status.  We are back to a lesson/day with a goal of mastery and completion by the end of June. 

Effective teaching must be geared towards the student. 

As rudimentary as that is, I have missed the mark.  Self-centered thoughts intrude: “Oh, I can do this; why can’t he?”   I want to eradicate the little girl with her hand waving in the air, Miss Smarty Pants, wanting recognition and validation.  Grow up.  It’s not about me.

What does it take to be a good teacher?  It takes patient observation, careful analysis, and well-devised corrective measures; it requires focus on the the student’s progress and improvement.  A good pitching coach doesn’t  have to  throw 90 mph fastballs: he must be a good diagnostician.  My son and I are working together to improve his work.  As his scores and speed improve, confidence will propel attitude. He has read this post and permitted me to discuss it publicly.  Thanks, dude!

Finally, here are two things I learned about teaching math in 1994, my first year of home schooling.

1.   Do math early in the day.
                2.   Immediate feedback is essential

  

Curiosity and a Particular Joy

When we give others something excellent,
we reflect the
standards of heaven.
We make others curious.
When they get curious,
they’re open
to discovering things
they would not otherwise understand.
Such discoveries
provoke growth
and a particular joy.

~ Jeffrey Overstreet
in Through a Screen Darkly:
Looking Closer at Beauty
Truth and Evil in the Movies

HT: KGB and LC, quote-collectors extraordinaire

The Sword and the Circle

When I decided to learn more about the Arthurian legends I had a choice between Thomas Malory’s lengthy Le Morte D’Arthur or Rosemary Sutcliff’s trilogy written for children.  Mark Twain is quoted as saying that “the reading of any two chapters of Le Morte D’Arthur would put even the Knights of the Round Table to sleep.”

Heh, heh.  It’s no agony to choose, for apart from time limitations, I believe that Sutcliff is one of the most gifted writers of children’s books.  She has been steeped in the old literature (yes, even Malory); she comes as close as a modern author can to replicating the cadences and word pictures of the great medieval poets.  Her turns of phrases (he drew a breath of quiet), the kennings (compound expression used in place of a noun, i.e. hunger-water for saliva), the pulsing verbs (horses went bucketing along the road) and in particular the vivid similes are quite extraordinary. 

Similes

Meanwhile, on a day of late summer when the air shimmered like a midge cloud with the heat… p.89

…the wind howled like a wolf pack in the long dark nights.  p. 103

Then the woman who had come up behind him gathered round her, and one took off her own smock and slipped it over her head, and another wrapped her in her cloak, for she was as naked as a needle. p.151

And the love between Tristan and Iseult would not let them be, dragging at them as the moon draws the tides to follow after it… p.183

I [Iseult]  must end what has been between my Lord Tristan and me, not leave it flying like a torn sleeve. p.191

So much separates us from medieval thought; many stories are thus inaccessible.  Some are plain cheesy. There, I said it. Others ate around the edges of my heart, to quote my friend Di.  My favorite is Gawain and the Loathely Lady.  It  touches the tender psyche of women, most of whom are insecure about their appearance.

In short, King Arthur gets in a bind; an ugly, deformed, misshapen hag (Lady Ragnell) saves Arthur in exchange for one wish.  She asks for one of his Knights of the Round Table to marry her.  He’s devastated to have to honor his word.  All the married knights praise God they don’t qualify to serve their king this time.  Gawain takes one for the team, really for his king, and offers to marry her.  He is kind-hearted and determined to make the best of it.  On their wedding night he steels himself to be a true husband in the biblical way, ahem, and when he arrives at the bed, lo! she is changed into the babe of all babes.  

Lady Ragnell tells him that his kindness broke half of the spell and now he must choose whether to have the babe at night and the hag at day, or vice versa.  He bounces between the options and then asks her which she would prefer.  In asking her preference, he breaks the entire spell, because he allowed her to choose.  The next day the court is astounded at the beautiful woman who is his wife.

It’s a sensitive story, well-told, but it leaves lingering questions.  The puzzle Arthur could not solve without the hag’s help was this: What is it that all women desire?  The correct answer is: Their own way.  Gawain profited from giving Lady Ragnell her own way.  Does Genesis 3 come to mind when you read this?  While the story doesn’t indicate that this will be the pattern of their marriage, the thought of a marriage where I always got my own way is terrifying.   Hmmmm.

Will You Be My Grandma?

New neighbors moved in next door to my in-laws.  This is the kind of family that is often featured in newspaper insert magazines.  Two ordinary people open their home and their family to foster and adopt several kids from difficult backgrounds.   This  family has a van-load of children with varying abilities and disabilities.

My in-laws are the loveliest people, a rare combination of tidy + tidy.  Their life is neat, clean, ordered, structured, and predictable.  Enter the new neighbors. 

Grandma (what we call my MIL) was in the backyard working when  a four-year old  towhead  came to the fence. 

“Hey!” he hollered, “Can I throw rocks into your backyard?”

“No,” Grandma said in measured tones, “But if you would like, you can drop them through the fence near this rose.”

For an hour the little blonde boy was occupied looking for rocks to deposit through the chain-link fence. Eventually he approached for more chat.

“My name is Danny,” he volunteered.  “What are you?”

“What am I?”  she repeated, tilting her head.  “I’m a Grandma!”

He was silent for a moment, staring into her eyes.  “Will you be my Grandma?”

She hesitated, uncomfortable with the frank question.  Weighing the options, in a millisecond, she decided.  “Yes, Danny, I’ll be your Grandma.”

That night his folks were tucking him into bed and saying prayers, when little Danny revolted. 

“I–Want–My–Grandma to tuck me in and pray with me!”

Mystified, they asked couldn’t imagine who he was talking about.  A little probing brought illumination.  Their neighbor had said she’d be his grandma.  They explained that she wouldn’t be able to come over and tuck him in every night, but that was nice, wasn’t it, that she said she’d be his grandma.

The next day one of the older boys  was running around and spotted Grandma.  He waved and shouted, “Hi, Grandma!”  Danny was furious.  “That’s.   My.  Grandma!”

This is our God



And the Lord of hosts

will prepare a lavish banquet
for all peoples on this mountain;

A banquet of aged wine,
choice pieces of marrow,
and refined, aged wine.

And on this mountain
He will swallow up the covering
which is over all peoples,
Even the veil which is stretched over all nations.

He will swallow up death for all time,
And the Lord God will wipe tears
away from all faces,

And He will remove
the reproach of His people

from all the earth;
For the Lord has spoken.

And it will be said in that day,
Behold, this is our God
for whom we have waited
that He might save us.



Sir Gawain and the Green Knight


Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
  has always left me a little on edge.  Really, it’s such a strange story.  I didn’t get the point and was left shrugging my shoulders. 

This time, reading J. R. R. Tolkien’s alliterative translation was pure delight. Maybe as I age I can find beauty in works without demanding that they conform to my modern sensibilities.   Reading Sir Gawain was as delicious as reading and listening to Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf.  They really are companion books.

Do you know the story?  Sir Gawain, a knight of the Round Table, enters a be-heading (!) game with a Green Knight.  He finds himself at a warm castle at Christmas, knowing he is engaged to meet and be beheaded by this Green Knight on New Year’s Day.  His host tests him with another game in which the host’s wife enters Sir Gawain’s bedroom and offers herself to him.  Three times he refuses, but the last time he accepts a gift from her.  The rest of the story, gentle reader, is in the book.

In the introduction, Tolkien writes:

The story is good enough in itself.  It is a romance, a fairy-tale for adults, full of life and color; and it has virtues that would be lost in a summary, though they can be perceived when it is read at length: good scenery, urbane or humorous dialogue, and a skilfully ordered narrative.

and

Let us be grateful for what we have got, preserved by chary chance: another window of many-colored glass looking back into the Middle Ages, and giving us another view.

I feel like the lady in Costco, passing out samples, persuading you to come, buy and eat.  Here are some morsels:

The fair head to the floor fell from the shoulders,                    
and folk fended it with their feet as forth it went rolling.           
                                        p.39 this just makes me laugh!

 After the season of summer with its soft breezes,
when Zephyr goes sighing through seeds and herbs,
right glad is the grass that grows in the open,
when the damp dewdrops are dripping from the leaves,
to greet a gay glance of the glistening sun.                                
                                        p.43 more lush seasonal descriptions follow

soups they served of many sorts, seasoned most choicely,
in double helpings, as was due, and divers sorts of fish;
some baked in bread, some broiled on the coals,
some seethed, some in gravy savoured with spices,
and all the condiments so cunning that it caused him delight.
                                           p. 57  what a feastly description!

*     *     *     *     *        

Quick story:  I was teaching a literature class and mentioned Sir GAH-win.  After some discussion, one of my students erupted, “OH! Sir Guh-WAYNE!  I didn’t know who you were talking about!”  

At that point, I realized that I had never heard the Sir Gawain’s name spoken!!   My student  hadn’t either.  I’ve listened to a Teaching Company tape and the lecturer said GAH-win. Now we know!

*    *    *    *    *    *

A bonus find:  A lovely site on alliterative poetry called Forgotten Ground Regained.  Paul Deane offers his 1999 translation of parts of Sir Gawain.  If you like poems, check out  A Cry to Heaven (after Psalm 6). The site is worthy of time to explore.  Great fun.

Rise and Sing

Easter
Wings

 
Lord, who createdst
man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he
lost the same,
Decaying more and
more
Till he
became
Most
poor:
With
Thee
O let me
rise
As larks,
harmoniously,
And sing this day
Thy victories:
Then shall the fall
further the flight in me.


My tender age in
sorrow did begin:
And still with
sicknesses and shame
Thou did’st so
punish sin,
That I
became
Most
thin.
With
thee
Let me
combine
And feel thy
victory:
For, if I imp my
wing on thine,
Affliction shall
advance the flight in me.

~ George Herbert

Wednesday Words

Gavin the Great (my 2 year old grandson) loves Pooh.
His dad and mum are reading
The House at Pooh Corner
by A.A. Milne to him. 

This week the newest addition to his word-hoard is:

                   Pooh eats hon  ney.

Since he prefixes every sentence with a string of staccato “no” s
in the sense of wait-wait-wait, it comes out like this:

 No, no, no, no-no (pause) POOH (pause)  EATS (pause ) HONEY.

I declare, it is as much fun to watch him learn to talk
as it was to watch him learn to walk.

Here are some new-to-me words I’ve come across this week.  Check out Seasonal Soundings’ fabulous Wednesday Word entry.

nugatory               trifling, insignificant
scutage                 a tax paid in lieu of military service in feudal times
tendentious            having or showing a definite tendency or bias
acedia                   spiritual torpor and apathy; ennui
metempsychosis     transmigration of the soul
contumacious         stubbornly perverse or rebellious

As I wrote yesterday, I’m loving
Old English poetry and its word pictures.
Do you notice the space in the middle?
It’s called a caesura, which means
a pause in a line of verse. These lines
are from St. Andrew’s Voyage to Mermedonia.

Sage of counsel     he began to speak       
Wise of wit     he unlocked his word-hoard

Your turn….do you have a word, new or not that delights you?
Please, unlock your word-hoard in the comments!

Awarding a Burden of Woe

I am held captive, wrapped in the beautiful robe of Old English poetry. 

This morning I read Doer’s Lament.  Doer (“the brave one”) is a court-singer who has been replaced by a new minstrel. He rehearses historic adversities and ends each stanza with the refrain

That evil ended.    So also may this!

Here is one section:

  He who knows sorrow,     despoiled of joys,
Sits heavy of mood;    to his heart it seemeth
His measure of misery     meeteth no end.
Yet well may he think     how oft in this world
The wise Lord varies     His ways to men,
Granting wealth and honor     to many an eorl,
To others awarding     a burden of woe.

Do you like riddles?  Here is one for you entitled Book-Moth.  It foreshadows Hamlet’s humor.

A moth ate a word.     To me it seemed
A marvelous thing     when I learned the wonder
That a worm had swallowed,     in darkness stolen,
The song of a man,     his glorious sayings,
A great man’s strength;     and the thieving guest
Was no whit the wiser     for the words it ate.