The Burrow

... a post which could also be titled : Why I Like The Things Dead White Men Wrote. My children were raised on myths and legends.  They read the books their mother read and the books their grandmother read.  They knew nursery rhymes.  I may have forgotten to teach Big Cuter the order of the months of the year - an oversight quickly remedied but never excused - but he could explain the Muses to his third grade classmates, including the pretty blonde Thalia in the front row. We read new books, too.  Don't think I was unwilling to open new doors.  Salman Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories  inspired my license plate and added several memorable phrases to our family's shorthand. We learned that bad things do happen to children in books ("Don't worry, Little Cuter.  Beth can't die. This is a kids' book," was one of the only times her brother failed her) and that kids are strong enough to overcome anything (Max roared his terrible roar and gnashed ...

The University of Arizona's Humanities Seminars has reunited me with one of my favorite professors and some of my favorite ancient Greeks this semester.  I'm ever so grateful that Mike Lippman decided to forgo the study of law in favor of swimming in the wine dark sea.  His syllabus included much of what I'd read before, and a few new additions to the mix.  It was turning out to be a wonderful mental adventure. We started with Thucydides and Herodotus and Plutarch, all of whom have pride of place on my bookshelves.  I've two translations for Thucydides, and, of course, the bigger and heavier one is also the most readable.  I probably didn't have to drag the texts to class.... in fact, we never really discussed the facts at all...... but I like to look prepared so I filled my Belvedere-Tiburon Library book bag with the tomes last week, and shlepped into class severely weighted down.  They made for a very efficient footrest. In my next life all chairs ...