The ED and partner were out today, bringing us a varied and delicious lunch and, as well, doing a bit of housework and shovelling. The ED went for a shot snowshoe but found it hard going – no trail – and bitterly cold with the high wind that we still had. She said she worried a bit about frostbite. I had to laugh, because the year that she and her sister got their own snowshoes for Christmas, the Boxing Day weather was a match for today’s in cold and wind, but it was sunny and the girls had to try their new freedom and so we went out for a walk. And I watched their small rosy faces like a hawk, looking for white patches that would signal a problem. I guess I make a point, because the daughter, today, said she was checking. And she will be 60 on her birthday in two month’s time.
How does this
happen? a small voice in my head is babbling. How do small rosy girls in so
short a time turn into highly accomplished adults with stellar careers behind
them, life choices worked out (well, sort of), capable senior women who arrive
to look after their aged parents. Wasn’t that Boxing Day walk just a few years
ago? There’s a Latin tag that says it all. Provided you were squashed through high
school Latin, that is. Otherwise, it is almost always translated. “The
most common Latin phrase for "fleeting time" is Tempus
fugit, which literally translates to "time
flees" or, more commonly, "time flies".“
In fact, what I was thinking of was Horace, not Vergil. “Eheu fugaces labuntur anni is a famous Latin phrase from the Roman poet Horace meaning "Alas, the fleeting years slip by," a poignant reflection on the swift passage of time and the transient nature of life, often used to encourage living in the moment, much like the modern "YOLO" (You Only Live Once). It comes from Horace's Odes (Book 2, Ode 14) and serves as a reminder that life is short, urging us to appreciate it before it's gone.
If I were to be honest, and I made a pact with myself to be honest here, I liked Latin. Or, I did until I got in over my head. High school Latin was finite, memorizable, and I got fine marks and thought highly of myself. And so, I selected it as a minor in my university course, a teachable second subject for a Type A teaching certificate. And I ended up, because the subject was very specialized, in small classes with the Classics majors. Who were much better at it than I was. Where the breadth of the course was too wide to allow of my memorizing the translations. And I struggled. Got bare passing grades. But I still loved it by times, especially a course in Latin drama where we got to read aloud. Pure fun. Of course, I never taught it because it was almost out of fashion by the time I was teaching.
Very occasionally I get to
mention that I studied Latin in university for four years and the amusement in
watching the face of my listener is worth a lot.
Anyone want to take a selfie? But , come on, you always knew I was a bit weird.

I feel somewhat cheated because I didn’t study Latin. Your post resonated because I am feeling old today, and I am aware that my brain is not working as well as I would like.
ReplyDeleteAC, I feel like that every day. Mornings are worse. But I guess we should be grateful that the brain works at all.
DeleteTempus Fugit is inscribed on my sundial out back. As if I need that reminder! Right now, however, I cannot see that hardware, for it is buried in snow-covered tall grasses that were not cut back in time. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteI never took Latin, but while teaching vocabulary, taught Latin roots. It amazed my students--and me!--how incredibly useful they were in decoding the meaning of unfamiliar words. I use them all the time, especially during nightly "Jeopardy" episodes.
Like you, I'm constantly grateful for the ease with which the Internet can satisfy my Knowledge Quests. Sometimes, however, I forcibly put my brain on Sort and try to come up with the answer myself, even if it takes the rest of the day. The triumph is always worth it.
If you taught yourself Latin roots, I am impressed. But then, I am often impressed with your acumen. My worst bugbear is losing proper nouns while I am conversing with someone. Embarrassing to a high degree, as the 'Sort' button seems to stick.
DeleteI took two years of Latin in high school. The first one was enjoyable, but I really struggled the second year.
ReplyDeleteI think it depends on how fast the course shoved Latin poetry at you, whether you liked it or not. Dear old Caesar, now, that was doable.
DeleteYesterday, my husband and I went with our daughter to a band concert which included our eldest daughter. Amazing.
ReplyDeleteLater we all went for ice cream and as I waited for the others at the table, I watched grandparents at another table with a grandchild about one year old.
Oh the memories that flooded back. Our girl will be fifteen this year but not that long ago, that was us with her. Tempus fugit indeed.
I did two years of Latin in high school too. Over the years, it has helped me know what some English words mean.
Marie, my little one is now twenty-two. Frightening, truly. And aren't daughters wonderful.
DeleteYou outdid me as well with your Latin studies, Mary. Like several previous folks who commented, I studied Latin in a Catholic high school and only 2 years. I remember that part of our studies focused on the Aeneid but today I can't recall anything about it without looking it up.
ReplyDeleteWe slogged through Book 2 for a whole year at my high school. The highlight, for me, was Aeneas filling up his 'pateras' with unmixed wine and me mistranslating the word as 'father' instead of 'drinking cup'.
DeleteI cannot remember one bit of my Latin studies from school. That said, I do recognize and remember Latin roots studying plants and bugs.
ReplyDeleteAnd useful. I think that it is a shame that we have stopped exposing our teens to Latin; it is, as you describe, a help.
DeleteI learned Latin for 4 years at High School in England, never liked it and was never good at it, and I am convinced that our Latin teacher, Miss Raymont, was actually an ancient Roman.
ReplyDeleteWe were convinced our Latin teacher had a glass eye. The compassionate one. yeah. So sorry it was not fun for you. It can be.
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