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I had the most fascinating dreams last night, all about NYC architecture. I mean, not the architecture that's really there, but some peculiar amalgam of dim memories of the one time I was there, pictures of Dubai, memories of Pittsburgh, and a certain predilection towards fountains. I kept seeing these enormous ziggurat-esque cathedrals with a long chain of waterfalls and greenery on stands descending from them, and if I moved slightly to the side, I'd suddenly realize that it was actually several blocks away, and the chain of waterfalls was all a series of block-separated individual cubes on pillars, and...well. I don't know how to describe it. Good dream, anyway.
So there was that. And now I'm continuing to work my way through Athenaze, which is weirdly slavery-apologist in places. I can certainly accept that people from another time period and culture thought very differently than me, and considered normal various things that I consider horrific. Sure. But the book trying to reassure me that slavery was often just fine honest for the slaves, a paragraph after a mention of the silver mines? Nnnnnnno.
Still. It's a good book for review, and I desperately need to do Greek review this summer. Below, you can see my thrilling translation of one of the exercises from chapter 3.B.
Meanwhile, Philip approaches; Philip is the son of Dicaiopolis, a big and brave child; and he carries dinner to his father. And when he walks into the field, he calls his father and says: "Come here, father; look--I'm carrying dinner. So don't work any longer, but sit and eat."
So his father leaves the plow and calls his slave. So they sit together and eat. After dinner Dicaiopolis says, "Stay, child, and help. Take the seed and sow (it) in the ground. But you, Xanthias, dig (up) the rocks and carry them out of the field. For the rocks are many and it is scarcely possible to plow." But Xanthias (says), "But it's not possible to carry out so many rocks." But Dicaiopolis (says), "Don't talk nonsense, Xanthias, but work." So the father and the child and the slave work. And finally the sun sets, and the men no longer work but loosen the oxen, and they leave the plow in the field and slowly walk toward the house.
So there was that. And now I'm continuing to work my way through Athenaze, which is weirdly slavery-apologist in places. I can certainly accept that people from another time period and culture thought very differently than me, and considered normal various things that I consider horrific. Sure. But the book trying to reassure me that slavery was often just fine honest for the slaves, a paragraph after a mention of the silver mines? Nnnnnnno.
Still. It's a good book for review, and I desperately need to do Greek review this summer. Below, you can see my thrilling translation of one of the exercises from chapter 3.B.
Meanwhile, Philip approaches; Philip is the son of Dicaiopolis, a big and brave child; and he carries dinner to his father. And when he walks into the field, he calls his father and says: "Come here, father; look--I'm carrying dinner. So don't work any longer, but sit and eat."
So his father leaves the plow and calls his slave. So they sit together and eat. After dinner Dicaiopolis says, "Stay, child, and help. Take the seed and sow (it) in the ground. But you, Xanthias, dig (up) the rocks and carry them out of the field. For the rocks are many and it is scarcely possible to plow." But Xanthias (says), "But it's not possible to carry out so many rocks." But Dicaiopolis (says), "Don't talk nonsense, Xanthias, but work." So the father and the child and the slave work. And finally the sun sets, and the men no longer work but loosen the oxen, and they leave the plow in the field and slowly walk toward the house.