Chicago Sports In Haiku began in May, 2008 as The Cubs In Haiku. I combined my passion for the Cubs with a somewhat less passionate interest in haiku to create a simple blog. Instead of detailed analysis or fan rants, I'd post a game summary or highlight in the style of the Japanese haiku - 17 syllables for each Cubs game.What began as a Cubs-only site has now been expanded to cover two baseball teams, football, hockey and basketball. I love it!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Chicago Sports News in Haiku
Hey teachers, here's a poetry site with great boy-appeal! Chicago Sports in Haiku. Founder Ed Nickow says
Monday, April 26, 2010
Creating Creatives--Part 5
Next up on Bloom’s model is Synthesis. This is where the ability to arrange, collect, compose, design, develop, organize, and plan takes place. (It’s also the place where writing takes place—important to me as a children’s author and someone who teaches writing in schools.) This is where creativity really takes hold. Now a student can create his or her own designs, or alter one to suit his or her own needs. And, as these higher-order thinking skills are put to use, there is also a higher likelihood of a poor outcome. After all, creativity means trying something new—it means being uncertain of the outcome. It’s an inspiration, or a hunch, but it’s not tried and true. There isn’t a rote right and wrong in this realm, and that scares many students. (It scares a lot of adults too!) This is where you expose yourself to being not-so-good—maybe even bad at something.
Instead of viewing a poor outcome as a bad thing, we need to encourage students to see every non-success as a learning experience. Creatives have the confidence do it their way. We need to encourage students to bravely persist, knowing that this try is not their last shot at something—they can always go back and do it over again, differently, or scrap it entirely for a new and better project. We need to strip the shame from our unsuccesses and celebrate the attempts. It is in attempting something new—something untested and unknown, that we are Creatives.
Can you remember a time when you tried something new and it was a disaster? Maybe you changed the color scheme on a stitching pattern, or used a different fiber. Or was it a new twist on an old recipe you were cooking? What were those experiences like? How did you feel about them? How did you handle them?
Instead of viewing a poor outcome as a bad thing, we need to encourage students to see every non-success as a learning experience. Creatives have the confidence do it their way. We need to encourage students to bravely persist, knowing that this try is not their last shot at something—they can always go back and do it over again, differently, or scrap it entirely for a new and better project. We need to strip the shame from our unsuccesses and celebrate the attempts. It is in attempting something new—something untested and unknown, that we are Creatives.
Can you remember a time when you tried something new and it was a disaster? Maybe you changed the color scheme on a stitching pattern, or used a different fiber. Or was it a new twist on an old recipe you were cooking? What were those experiences like? How did you feel about them? How did you handle them?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Child Advocate for her Librarian--"Dear the government"
As reported by children's author Elsa Marston on a librarian's listserv, this letter appeared recently in the Bloomington, Indiana newspaper.
If that doesn't say it all, I don't know what does!
Dear the government,
I don't like that you're firing our school librarians. I am a first-grader at Childs school, and I think that Ms. Williams is a great librarian. She reads wonderful stories, and her voice goes up when it is supposed to and down when it is supposed to.
She helps me find books and makes me interested in reading and makes books
exciting for me. Ms. Williams makes us feel special. She knows each kid's name.
Childs school will never be the same without Ms. Williams in the library.
Why are you firing our school librarians?
Anna W.
If that doesn't say it all, I don't know what does!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Creating Creatives Part 4
Next up on Bloom’s Taxonomy is the first of the “higher-order thinking” tiers—Analysis. Here, students can finally appraise, compare, contrast, and here’s what’s really important—criticize and question their work. Which gets us back to creativity and how we as a society deal with it.
Pablo Picasso reportedly said “Everyone is born an artist. The trouble is remaining one as we become an adult.” We all know what he’s referring to. Many of us have come to see work, practice and learning as black and white—an answer is right. Or it is wrong.
Julia Cameron , author of The Artist’s Way, says: In order to become an artist, you must first be willing to do art badly. I would add, you must also be willing to try over and over again.
Indeed, if every painter were to judge his ability after his first painting, we would have no more painters. So while this skill and analysis, is important to the creative process—to creating Creatives—we need to temper it with affirmation, and patience. And we must remember (and remind students) that life allows do-overs. In fact, it is in the do-overs, and the willingness to keep trying, that real creativity gains ground.
Let’s imagine the future again—the world that today’s kindergarteners will be working in. It will be those who can try new things, perhaps unsuccessfully, adjust, and try again in a different way, who will be the innovators and achievers. Learning to try, not be satisfied with the result, and try again is key to future success.
Pablo Picasso reportedly said “Everyone is born an artist. The trouble is remaining one as we become an adult.” We all know what he’s referring to. Many of us have come to see work, practice and learning as black and white—an answer is right. Or it is wrong.
Julia Cameron , author of The Artist’s Way, says: In order to become an artist, you must first be willing to do art badly. I would add, you must also be willing to try over and over again.
Indeed, if every painter were to judge his ability after his first painting, we would have no more painters. So while this skill and analysis, is important to the creative process—to creating Creatives—we need to temper it with affirmation, and patience. And we must remember (and remind students) that life allows do-overs. In fact, it is in the do-overs, and the willingness to keep trying, that real creativity gains ground.
Let’s imagine the future again—the world that today’s kindergarteners will be working in. It will be those who can try new things, perhaps unsuccessfully, adjust, and try again in a different way, who will be the innovators and achievers. Learning to try, not be satisfied with the result, and try again is key to future success.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Creating Creatives Part 3--Bloom's Taxonomy--moving up
Written as a series for Jen Funk Weber's Stitching for Literacy Program--
The second tier on Bloom’s Taxonomy, that hierarchy of learning, is Understanding. Here, students begin to be able to classify, describe, discuss, explain, and identify the things they are learning about. In stitching, we would see students recognizing the different stitches and having an idea of how they are formed.
Just above the second tier, is the third, Application. Here, knowledge and skill begin to take hold. Now students not only know what the stitches are and how they are formed, but they can also apply them—doing the actual stitching. Here, the fine motor skills come into play even more, as stitches move from the simplest to more complex. Math skills come into play as students need to space their stitches, or read a chart and place their stitches in the right place. At this stage of the game, creativity is just beginning to take root.
Reflect on your own past for a moment. What did you think of yourself when you were first learning to stitch? Did you consider yourself to be creative? Has that changed? Do you consider yourself to be creative now?
The second tier on Bloom’s Taxonomy, that hierarchy of learning, is Understanding. Here, students begin to be able to classify, describe, discuss, explain, and identify the things they are learning about. In stitching, we would see students recognizing the different stitches and having an idea of how they are formed.
Just above the second tier, is the third, Application. Here, knowledge and skill begin to take hold. Now students not only know what the stitches are and how they are formed, but they can also apply them—doing the actual stitching. Here, the fine motor skills come into play even more, as stitches move from the simplest to more complex. Math skills come into play as students need to space their stitches, or read a chart and place their stitches in the right place. At this stage of the game, creativity is just beginning to take root.
Reflect on your own past for a moment. What did you think of yourself when you were first learning to stitch? Did you consider yourself to be creative? Has that changed? Do you consider yourself to be creative now?
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Arterial Dissection
A year ago, I sustained an injury, the result of a freak accident, which caused the dissection of two arteries in my neck—the right carotid and the left vertebral arteries. In the subsequent 48 hours, this undiagnosed injury brought with it a frightening chance of stroke and death.
It all started when I bought a new bed and mattress. I thought I’d save some money by setting it up myself. My friend, Ken, had warned me to be careful. “They’re heavy,” he said, but I laughed and said “They aren’t even pointy. How could I hurt myself?” But when I dropped the mattress on my head, twisting my neck in the process, I had no idea I had caused the internal injury. At first I didn’t feel too bad. In fact, it wasn’t until 48 hours later that the headache began. That headache lasted a full month, getting progressively worse until I thought I had triggered a migraine. Unable to get in to see my Internist, I drove myself to the Urgent Care one night, desperate for relief. They diagnosed me with a migraine—after all I had a history—but it had been 10 years since I had had a full-blown migraine. That was the first heads up.
They treated me as though it was a migraine, and I went home and collapsed on my bed. My good kitty Frankie, lay on the bed next to me, and as I dozed and woke through the night, my head still pounding, I was briefly aware that he was there. By the morning the pain was even worse and I had begun vomiting. The pain had become so unbearable, I was having suicidal thoughts. I needed to escape the pain. I could not bear it. I lay on my back on the living room floor twisting in pain when I wasn’t hanging over the toilet retching. My father came and took me to the ER. I told them that I was hearing a strange noise with each throb of my head. A high-pitched squeal. Heads-up number two.
They treated me for a migraine again—this time with a cocktail of drugs. When the headache had gone from being off the charts to a “2” (on a scale from one to ten) they sent me home. I lay on the bed, again with Frankie beside me, half awake, if not asleep, for the next 48 hours. If Frankie left me, I never knew it. When I started to wake up, I found the headache still with me, only now it was bearable—still teeth-gritting bad, especially if I moved—but I could take it. It was a month before it fully resolved. But I still could hear the noise in my head. Tinnitus, it is called—a sound that no one else can hear. And while that is often a normal condition, especially as people age, the pulsatile nature of this was not. It required a medical work-up.
I went first to the hearing doctor. I described to him the high pitched squeal that I would sometimes mistake as a bird chirping outside the window--only then I would realize that it had been chirping too consistently and too long. I would laugh at myself, thinking, “oh, it’s that sound.” He tested my hearing. Normal, and he was concerned. He ordered an MRI of my brain.
Then, days later, I got the call. The doctor told me I had a dissected carotid artery, a condition which he described as a tear in my artery. He told me to remain calm, do nothing strenuous, and not to eat or drink until he could a neurologist on the case to do further assessment. A torn carotid artery? That sounded like a death sentence to me. I called my best friend Ken. I needed him to be with me. I hoped he could get there in time. I called my ex-husband who was on his way out of town. I tearfully begged him to return home to my two boys, telling him of my condition, and saying “they might need you.” If I died, I wanted their father to be with them. And I drove to the house where my boys lived. I was afraid to turn my head for fear of bleeding to death, but I needed to get to them—to tell them myself—to see them again. In the driveway, I called my parents. They needed to know, and my boys would need them too, if things went badly.
I spent some time with my boys, then left for my house. Ken arrived, and by that night I was having more MRIs and was admitted to University Hospital. I spent a sleepless night with more imaging studies, and hourly checks on my neurological symptoms, and IVs of medicine to thin my blood with the hope of preventing a stroke. Finally, they explained to me, that a dissection is the inner layer of an artery that pulls away from the middle layer. That sounded better than what I had been imaging, but they cautioned me that the chance of death from it are significant due to the possibility of clots forming at the tear site and breaking away, and entering the brain. In the next days, they discovered a second dissected artery—this one the left vertebral.
What was happening to me? I was popping arteries right and left. As I lay in the hospital bed that night, I thought and thought—one was on the left, the other on the right. It must have been a twisting accident. The mattress, I realized.
In the coming days I was on IV drugs to thin my blood. Then I learned to give myself Lovenox injections in my belly. Intimidating at first, but I could do it. They sent me home and I had blood tests twice weekly to check my blood. Finally, I was switched to an oral medication. Six weeks later, at my follow-up visit with the neurologist, I learned several things. First, very little is actually known about arterial dissections. They happen most often in high impact accidents such as car wrecks. But some people have had them after something as gentle as yoga. Little is documented about the recovery process of these dissections. The injury in the vertebral artery appeared in the MRIs to be further healed than the carotid. But the doctor admitted that is was entirely possible that the vertebral artery heals at a faster rate than the carotid too. Often, these arteries heal, closing back together, but at six months out, mine have not and likely will not. So for the rest of my life I will likely be on blood thinners—just as a precaution.
I have also decided that I should avoid any high impact activities when I can. With my arteries remaining dissected, I would not want them to dissect further upon impact. So I avoid ladders when I can, and learning to ice skate is probably not in the cards for me. But I feel good, the pulsitile tinnitus has gone away (it was caused by obstructed blood flow), and other than taking Plavix, life is as it used to be.
My take-away? If you 1) suffer a headache that is by far the worst you have ever had, 2) is worse than you have had in years, or 3) if it is in some way different than any other severe headaches you have had, you should probably see a doctor. My injury went undiagnosed through the most critical period, and I know I am lucky to be here.
It all started when I bought a new bed and mattress. I thought I’d save some money by setting it up myself. My friend, Ken, had warned me to be careful. “They’re heavy,” he said, but I laughed and said “They aren’t even pointy. How could I hurt myself?” But when I dropped the mattress on my head, twisting my neck in the process, I had no idea I had caused the internal injury. At first I didn’t feel too bad. In fact, it wasn’t until 48 hours later that the headache began. That headache lasted a full month, getting progressively worse until I thought I had triggered a migraine. Unable to get in to see my Internist, I drove myself to the Urgent Care one night, desperate for relief. They diagnosed me with a migraine—after all I had a history—but it had been 10 years since I had had a full-blown migraine. That was the first heads up.
They treated me as though it was a migraine, and I went home and collapsed on my bed. My good kitty Frankie, lay on the bed next to me, and as I dozed and woke through the night, my head still pounding, I was briefly aware that he was there. By the morning the pain was even worse and I had begun vomiting. The pain had become so unbearable, I was having suicidal thoughts. I needed to escape the pain. I could not bear it. I lay on my back on the living room floor twisting in pain when I wasn’t hanging over the toilet retching. My father came and took me to the ER. I told them that I was hearing a strange noise with each throb of my head. A high-pitched squeal. Heads-up number two.
They treated me for a migraine again—this time with a cocktail of drugs. When the headache had gone from being off the charts to a “2” (on a scale from one to ten) they sent me home. I lay on the bed, again with Frankie beside me, half awake, if not asleep, for the next 48 hours. If Frankie left me, I never knew it. When I started to wake up, I found the headache still with me, only now it was bearable—still teeth-gritting bad, especially if I moved—but I could take it. It was a month before it fully resolved. But I still could hear the noise in my head. Tinnitus, it is called—a sound that no one else can hear. And while that is often a normal condition, especially as people age, the pulsatile nature of this was not. It required a medical work-up.
I went first to the hearing doctor. I described to him the high pitched squeal that I would sometimes mistake as a bird chirping outside the window--only then I would realize that it had been chirping too consistently and too long. I would laugh at myself, thinking, “oh, it’s that sound.” He tested my hearing. Normal, and he was concerned. He ordered an MRI of my brain.
Then, days later, I got the call. The doctor told me I had a dissected carotid artery, a condition which he described as a tear in my artery. He told me to remain calm, do nothing strenuous, and not to eat or drink until he could a neurologist on the case to do further assessment. A torn carotid artery? That sounded like a death sentence to me. I called my best friend Ken. I needed him to be with me. I hoped he could get there in time. I called my ex-husband who was on his way out of town. I tearfully begged him to return home to my two boys, telling him of my condition, and saying “they might need you.” If I died, I wanted their father to be with them. And I drove to the house where my boys lived. I was afraid to turn my head for fear of bleeding to death, but I needed to get to them—to tell them myself—to see them again. In the driveway, I called my parents. They needed to know, and my boys would need them too, if things went badly.
I spent some time with my boys, then left for my house. Ken arrived, and by that night I was having more MRIs and was admitted to University Hospital. I spent a sleepless night with more imaging studies, and hourly checks on my neurological symptoms, and IVs of medicine to thin my blood with the hope of preventing a stroke. Finally, they explained to me, that a dissection is the inner layer of an artery that pulls away from the middle layer. That sounded better than what I had been imaging, but they cautioned me that the chance of death from it are significant due to the possibility of clots forming at the tear site and breaking away, and entering the brain. In the next days, they discovered a second dissected artery—this one the left vertebral.
What was happening to me? I was popping arteries right and left. As I lay in the hospital bed that night, I thought and thought—one was on the left, the other on the right. It must have been a twisting accident. The mattress, I realized.
In the coming days I was on IV drugs to thin my blood. Then I learned to give myself Lovenox injections in my belly. Intimidating at first, but I could do it. They sent me home and I had blood tests twice weekly to check my blood. Finally, I was switched to an oral medication. Six weeks later, at my follow-up visit with the neurologist, I learned several things. First, very little is actually known about arterial dissections. They happen most often in high impact accidents such as car wrecks. But some people have had them after something as gentle as yoga. Little is documented about the recovery process of these dissections. The injury in the vertebral artery appeared in the MRIs to be further healed than the carotid. But the doctor admitted that is was entirely possible that the vertebral artery heals at a faster rate than the carotid too. Often, these arteries heal, closing back together, but at six months out, mine have not and likely will not. So for the rest of my life I will likely be on blood thinners—just as a precaution.
I have also decided that I should avoid any high impact activities when I can. With my arteries remaining dissected, I would not want them to dissect further upon impact. So I avoid ladders when I can, and learning to ice skate is probably not in the cards for me. But I feel good, the pulsitile tinnitus has gone away (it was caused by obstructed blood flow), and other than taking Plavix, life is as it used to be.
My take-away? If you 1) suffer a headache that is by far the worst you have ever had, 2) is worse than you have had in years, or 3) if it is in some way different than any other severe headaches you have had, you should probably see a doctor. My injury went undiagnosed through the most critical period, and I know I am lucky to be here.
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