Chiff and Fipple Forums

Bloomfield wrote:

Nanohedron wrote:Good Lord, Carol! Are you sleeping with the enemy, after all? And who's this knob, Vygotzky? He's not listed in Webster so he HAS to be a hack.

Self-Regulation

Vygotzky (1978) places the origins of cognition in social interaction. He argues that the acquisition of cognitive skills occurs when children solve problems as they interact with adults or more knowledgeable peers. First as they observe adults and more advanced peers and then as they actively participate in increasingly complex tasks, children become adept at independent problem solving. This process is the transition from other-regulation to self-regulation. According to Vygotzky, talk is the most important mediator in cognitive development. In the transition from the expert giving instructions and providing guidance to final self-regulation, through a stage of inner speech, the child achieves competent functioning. Inner speech decreases over time as the child internalizes the social message and turns it into thought.
Successful self-regulation is contingent upon the existence of a zone of proximal development. Vygotzky created this concept to account for the distance between the child's ability to problem solve individually and his or her potential ability to problem solve with adult or expert guidance.

From this point of view, the optimal learning situation includes the novice, still unable to solve problems independently, and the more advanced peer or adult. The latter uses problem-solving behaviors, experiments with new approaches, and, by assigning responsibility for certain aspects of the task to the novice, encourages him or her to develop cognitive skills. When an adult or a more advanced peer facilitates the functioning of the novice so that his or her functioning is at a higher level than that achieved individually, the process is called "scaffolding." Scaffolding alleviates some of the cognitive burden experienced by the novice and occurs in two ways: First, the adult or the more capable expert assumes responsibility for parts of the problem; second, by supervising the novice's behaviors to see if they fit the task, the expert exerts metacognitive control. Through such metacognitive control, the novice becomes increasingly aware of the mental processes required by the task, thereby activating and practicing them as necessary (Vygotzky, 1962). As the novice develops more and more advanced problem-solving skills, he or she needs less help and is able to solve problems independently (Newman, Griffin, & Cole, 1989).

Vygotzky argues that higher-order, psychological functions develop through social interaction. Adults and more knowledgeable peers broker and foster the novice's development. They manage the environment and demonstrate how to interact with it, explain and give meaning to actions and experiences, call attention to the relevant dimensions of behavior, and illustrate problem-solving strategies. The acquisition of a new skill is not only added knowledge and improved functioning, but also a passage from a dialectic on the outside to an internal world. In other words, new skills help the individual handle the environment.

Very good, Bloomfield. But if you're intending to charge me tuition you're the worse off for it.

And that had better not be an entry.

No charge Nano. Anyway I pilfered it off some website.

By the way, that snippet you graciously provided seems to fit Carol's suggestions about Vygotzky. It was quite nearly unreadable.

This thread makes me think of a session where there are some fantastic whistle players. They race through reels, ornamenting left and right (in all the right places, of course), and the rhythm is precise. All in all absolutely wonderful. Then they stop and say, "Now you play something."

Yeah, right.

Susan
(and good grief no, that's not an entry - it's a whine)
(and Carol...shouldn't you be working?

A True Story Entry:

We sat on the floor in the pantry in the dark, backs against the wall - five dusty kids in Keds with broken shoelaces. David held a transister radio, moving the tuning knob back and forth while it emitted screechy static. The older boys had told Randy and me there were people from Mars trying to contact us. They wanted to know more about Earth.

As the radio screeched out its message, David translated. The Visitors were going to come to a field near our home that evening and we could see their ship. They wanted a gift - something they could take back from Earth.

The communication didn't last long and the older boys left us two little kids to ponder what had happened and decide on a gift. We walked around our home. What would be of interest to Martians? Rationally enough, we decided on a handful of grass - very helpful to their biologists, I'm sure. We wrapped it in waxed paper and waited for the sun to lower.
We knelt on the sofa and watched out the front window for the signal from across the street that the Visitors had arrived.

Finally, we were motioned across the street. We were told to stop at the pasture fence and watch the shed. The two of us stood on the rails of the fence and stared at the dark doorway of the shed, Randy clutching the wrapper of grass in his hand, his eyes huge.

Out of the shed door, walking very slowly, came the boys. All three of them were holding on to a round silver spaceship, about the size of a paper plate, with a clear dome on top and a red light flashing from within. It was an incredible moment. They walked toward us - then moved back a little as if some Power within the ship was fighting them. They stepped to the middle of the pasture and stopped. David said quietly it was as close as the Visitors would come. We were instructed to leave our gift on the top rail of the fence, bow, and leave immediately. We did so with a great deal of solemnity.

We never saw the Martians themselves, but Randy and I know they exist.

Relax. They're not nearly big enough to worry about.

Susan

Okay, it's been 6 months or so and there may be some new folks that missed this. Our local MD RenFest starts in a few weeks so this came to mind. Originally written to justify a white PVC whistle at the Faire, repeated here for your enjoyment.
<br><br>
<b>Dragon's Tooth Whistle</b><blockquote>"Missy, Yer' wonderin' what me pipes made of? Hmm...."<br><i>(examines the whistle, scratchs head, siddles up closer the mark, er I mean the patron, like the patron's being let in on a mystery)</i>.<br><br>"Might be dragon's tooth ... might not. Ya' sees ..... <br><i>(Glance right and left)</i><br>Da' wee leprechan dat give me dis, <br><i>(hold up the whistle with the left hand)</i><br>wouldn't tell me lest I giv'em a piece o' gold for 'is pot.<br><i>(with right hand, rubs thumb back and forth across index and middle fingers)</i>.<br>Course bein' da simple piper, dat I am,<br>I hadn't a farthing to offer... <br><i>(starts to turn away, but stops and turns back saying)</i><br>"Hmm.....<br>"Ya know, lassy, if YOU had a piece-o-gold or two to offer,<br>I'd 'appily hold it 'till the wee fella comes 'round, an' ask 'im agin."<i>(really big smile....)</i><br><br><i>(On being offered money by the patron, silver or paper,<br> holds both hands up, palms facing the patron in a warding gesture,<br>shakes head no and says)</i><br><br>"Sorry mum, gots to be gold,<br>offerin' the wee fella dat silver or paper money for 'is pot,<br> would just insult his inheritance.<br>I've eenuff bad luck as 'tis, <br>without havin' no leprechaun flayling
about cursin' every t'ing in sight. <br>
<i>(Backs away, shakes head impathicly)</i><br>Nope, nope, nope. <br><i>(Points to self)</i>Insulted one o-dem fella's once...<br>when I was da Chief of me clan,<br>ne'er agin, nope ne'er agin,<br>"You've eye to see me state anow<br>A downward fall from dis station in life, <br><i>(right hand points to ground between the feet)</i><br>I could end up bein' a cow or sow or worse,<br>da King of England... <br><i>(Turns away promptly and begins whistling a new tune...)</i></blockquote>

susnfx wrote: Yeah, right.

Right! That, btw, had to be a true story...is it?

susnfx wrote:(and Carol...shouldn't you be working?

You have no idea how far behind I am getting. Personally, I blame Bloomfield, don't you?

C

emmline wrote:

susnfx wrote: Yeah, right.

Right! That, btw, had to be a true story...is it?

Um, actually no, but it could be.

cskinner wrote: Personally, I blame Bloomfield, don't you?

C

Well yeah!

So...

In my always annoying (to others) quest for collaboration, and in the spirit of A Real Reel, I propose a little collaborative writing. A beginning (64 words):

**********
The words, the sad, simple, and haunting melody, wove gently through her mind: Talk to Me of Mendocino, they whispered and hummed and spun, but it wasn’t Mendocino, it was Grand Rapids, and it wasn’t Talk to Me of, it was Take Me Back to, so really it was like a whole different song. But Grand Rapids was on her mind. And no wonder:


***********
(if you decide to add on, please copy this part into your post so we can see the whole unfolding)

Or, if anyone wants to start off better, feel free!

Carol

cskinner wrote:So...

In my always annoying (to others) quest for collaboration, and in the spirit of A Real Reel, I propose a little collaborative writing. A beginning (64 words):

**********
The words, the sad, simple, and haunting melody, wove gently through her mind: Talk to Me of Mendocino, they whispered and hummed and spun, but it wasn’t Mendocino, it was Grand Rapids, and it wasn’t Talk to Me of, it was Take Me Back to, so really it was like a whole different song. But Grand Rapids was on her mind. And no wonder:

She was raising her second pint at the Jot and Tittle, and her melancholy was growing deeper by the sip; the jukebox only added to the muddle with a whining irritation that passed for music. "Bjork", the barkeep said it was. How appropriately onomatopaeic, she thought wryly to herself. Bjork. Enough of these pints and I'll be making that noise myself later on.

total: 151 words

The words, the sad, simple, and haunting melody, wove gently through her mind: Talk to Me of Mendocino, they whispered and hummed and spun, but it wasn’t Mendocino, it was Grand Rapids, and it wasn’t Talk to Me of, it was Take Me Back to, so really it was like a whole different song. But Grand Rapids was on her mind. And no wonder: The rain was pelting against the window, and the jukebox was broken, just as it had been in the Loving Spoonful in Grand Rapids the night before. She noticed with a start that she was biting her nails again. She looked down at her hands. The short, chipped nails, the wrinkles that hadn't been there when she had moved north for him. With a shrug, she started rummaging through her handbag for a lipstick, her forehead still pressed against the glass and the rain pelting against it.

Man! What are the chances of that?? Two nearly simultaneous replies, both using the word jukebox and both with fabulously wonderful "joint" names. Too cool! Somebody sort this out to incorporate 'em both!?!?

C

Let's stick with Bloomie's entry. Much more lyrical and fitting.