Melting my own frozen breath

Today was interesting at Penncrest..  Some of us listened to a professional adventurer talk about his amazing trips to the north and south poles.  The pictures were beautiful, the stories compelling, and let's face it--we each were a bit dumb-struck that you could do this for a living.  And the entire time I listened and watched, I thought about Latin.  Now I admit that I am prone to daydreaming, and Latin forms the stuff of most of my dreams.  But I found the connections between our guide's melting his own frozen breath to get drinking water and learning Latin too obvious to miss.  

What is that, you say?  You don't see the connections?  Let me elaborate:

Just like the south pole, Latin is not some immediate place.  It is not easily accessible, filled with jocular citizens and attractive singers.  You don't get on a plane and fly to Latinium, you don't go to a Latin restaurant, you don't find a Latin station on your radio.  It is far away in about every possible connection.  Time separates us.  Geography and climate separate us.  Culture separates us.  And our own social niceties make seeking it out hard.  I mean, come on:  how many "in" people do you know reading Latin and name-dropping Cicero at lunch or in the movies?  No one simply stumbles into Latin like you might into a good sale at the Gap.  You get there because you set off to go there. 

And the getting there is not easy, either.  Our adventurer-guide spends crazy amounts of time preparing for his various expeditions.  We saw the pictures (or know someone who did):  the physical stamina, the mental focus he required.  Latin requires no less.  Rarely do we get a fellow to speak with, someone to write to.  Our conversations are with long dead writers.  We must overcome the barriers of vocabulary and grammar with hard work.  And though we don't have to run up mountains pulling tires behind us, we do need to return time and again to stories, vocabulary, and sentences.  We need to write notes, paragraphs, little snippets of thoughts as they come.  And we often do this alone.  

More importantly, our guide considered the destination worth the effort.  He arrived in a remote place with a desolate landscape, yet it was beautiful and life-changing.  He considers it so worthwhile he takes others there, repeatedly.  Anything he has to do to get there is worth it--even walking for two days straight, even scraping his frozen breath off the inside of the tent so he could melt it for water.  In Latin we have the last two millennia calling over their shoulders to us, urging us to come see what they have gone on ahead to discover.  They considered the destination worth the effort.  They returned repeatedly, brought others, overcame obstacles for the pleasure of reaching this goal of Latin.  The goal IS worth it.

So as I listened, I connected with his struggles, his disciplines, his goals, his victories.  I saw Latin in every picture.  And I knew how good the water tasted, even though flavored with tent.

Participles like fully-cooked chicken

Participles, as the earlier blog suggested, can be tough cookies.  But a little milk takes care of some of that, so let's go after them like a two-year-old goes after an Oreo.  And who knows?  Maybe we'll even find something tasty in them yet.
Participles belong to that vast, unwashed category of words called verbals.  Sometimes we want to call them something else entirely, but let vocabulary be what may and try to understand it.  Though actually nouns or adjectives,  this ill-mannered gang carry with them certain roles we generally think of as verbs.  First, they usually do/did something (like loving, hitting, jumped, or killed).  We commonly think this makes them verbs, but for the time being you must trust me they are wholly incapable of doing a verb's job as is.    Second, participles show some characteristic of the action.  It either is ongoing--we call that progressive--or it is finished--that's called perfect.  Think of the words I used:  ongoing and finished.  You can see how we express that aspect.  Third, they tell us when this activity happened.  Well, sort of.  Like we tell our parents when we arrived home from the "study session" at our friends house.  Context is everything, right?  And finally, they indicate how that action is viewed--it either goes out (active--loving) or comes back (passive--loved).  Remember our illustration from class:  the killing chicken vs the killed chicken.  Be sure to cook it all the way!
Yes, a dense paragraph, but hopefully it makes some things clear:  participles show an event with some aspect of completion or progression occurring at some relative time while its voice declares whether it did the action or had it done back.
Whew.  That was a lot to bite off at one time.  And what started off like a cookie tastes more like chicken now.  I hope its fully cooked.

A Cold Glass of Milk

Our review now ended and the year stretching out ahead, we find ourselves in an uncomfortable place confronting participles on the page.
I confess, I enjoyed writing that last sentence.  I snuck in a few participles.  Can you find them?
Participles are often difficult to recognize--both in English and Latin.  In English, as we discussed in class, they mirror the forms found in some verbs.  This is particularly troubling since in such verbs the participle contains the action of the idea, and we mistakenly think the action must be the verb.  Right?  And in Latin we struggle to keep them separate from the verb since our translation moves us to the dreaded verb-as-understanding, especially when we see we use dependent clauses for much that Latin expresses as participles (Magister, you lost me at "dependent").
So what are we to do?
Well, first, let's take a breath and admit there may be some rough sailing ahead.  Weakness in vocabulary and struggles with the role of the cases will make participles difficult to understand.  The best responses are to double down on our commitment to Latin, slow down our reading rate to fewer words per minute, and work with the reading towards comprehension.  Anxiety or unrealistic expectations will not help here.
Second, let's look at what participles are presenting to see how we can understand what they are saying--preferably keeping it in Latin--and gain a measure of confidence with them.
In the next several posts I will try to simplify participles for us.  Not make them simple--this is not a panacea--but reduce the grammar noise and narrowly consider what they do and how they do it.  While I do that, why don't you go get a cold glass of milk, a couple of cookies, and settle in.  This is going to take a while.

Mascara, armpit farts, and French films

We're making progress in our conversation about Latin, nouns, and irresponsible sample sentences.  Let me recap what we know so far:  the idea of case explains how nouns have different possible roles in a sentence and those roles are called by the (so far) specific names nominative (subject) and accusative (direct object).  We've been reading a lot, writing some, and are willing to talk about it in polite company.
As we've read we noticed that nouns seem to hang about together like friends at a dance, whispering to each other and giving knowing looks.  Via, mensa, villam, and Metella are huddled up talking about shoes and eyeliner.  Every so often they giggle and look across the dance floor.  They see servus, hortus, venalicius, the the shifty Caecilius engaged in armpit farts and lots of sports talk.   Atrium, cubiculum, and triclinium are close by the boys, though the girls can't quite figure out why.  And walking into the cafeteria come canis, mercator, pictor, their jolly leader Grumio talking loudly about art and cuisine, literature and French films.
So what is going on here?  Our readings reveal that nouns group together and their groups fall in line with how they express their cases.  Nouns like via--let's call them the sisters--all share -am when made direct objects.  And those like servus--the brothers--likewise share -um as direct objects (as do those oddballs like cubiculum, but they definitely aren't quite the same).  Finally, Grumio and his crew--we'll call them something clever later--use -em.
Now Latin calls these three groups something much more boring--the first, second, and third declensions respectively.  Yet we are wise to note what is going on here.  The change is not random, and if you know ahead of time the group--the declension--a noun belongs with, you will not struggle to catch what the Latin is telling you.  This is because every noun in its group uses the same endings to get across its roles.
So as we read, pay attention to the nouns.  Mark who they hang with.  You will begin to see the cliques.  If you're lucky, you may even be asked to slow-dance.

We can use the logical side of our brains too

Ok, those sample sentences were over the top.  But I bet you will not soon confuse your subjects and possessives.  However I want to go a bit further in our discussion about case.  When we say case is the role a noun has in the sentence, and when we note that Latin tips her hand to these roles with specific forms for each noun, we are left to ask a not-so-obvious question:  how do we deal with these forms?  You see, we are not used to this many-forms-for-one-noun idea in English.  What are we to do?  Let me suggest two possibilities as we move along.
First, we must commit to a lot of practice using nouns in all sorts of uses.  We meet this practice in reading sentences and stories where we have the basics of the vocabulary down pat.  Reading over and over again.  Reading to friends, former friends, neighbors, pets, you name it.  Just read.  And writing, too--writing sentences, stories, cartoons--you name it.  But above all, read and write!  And as we do these activities, we must be open to correction and think about why we are corrected.  With time and practice
But second, we can use the logical side of our brains and note that these forms fall into groups.  Words like ancilla, cibus, and canis are used when we make subjects whereas ancillam, cibum, and canem are used when we make direct objects.   We can name the groups--which language does--with the specific case names nominative (for when a noun is a subject) and accusative (for when a noun is a direct object).  Knowing these names is not a substitute for knowing what the words are doing--in fact they are often a hinderance--yet being able to talk about what the words are doing can help us focus on what is going on.
So let's do both.  Read much.  Write often.  And talk about how we do it by describing the words we use.

Bob's dog did what?

What is a case?  We meet this word early on in our Latin studies and need to grasp at least the idea behind it.  As Judah aptly said in class today, a case sets out a role a noun plays in a sentence.  I like that word--role--and I hope you take some time to think about what it means.

Nouns get to do one thing (and one thing only) each time they are used.  They are subjects, direct objects, possessives, and a host of other possible roles.  But they do each one at a time.  No word gets to be two at once.  And case is how we talk about this property nouns have.

But case, when observed in Latin, takes on one more role which we don't see often in English:  specific forms (found in the endings on a noun).  Most nouns in English have only two forms which change their role--the basic form of the noun, which we use for just about everything, and the possessive form we use for, well, possessing things.  As an example, remember our sample sentences from class today:  BOB is dead.  BOB'S dog ate the body.  Both sentences involve Bob, but we can't switch the forms and keep any sense of meaning:  BOB'S is dead.  BOB dog ate the body.  See?  No sense.

We rarely think about this aspect of nouns when we speak or write in English.  We say (or write) a word and are unconcerned if we just spoke a subject or object, possessive or instrumental.  We just say words and move on to the next.  Latin necessarily slows us down and makes us consider the role.  

So as you read your Latin (and say it aloud, right?), slow down.  Think about what you are reading and what the endings are telling you.  The more you do this, the less you will have to think about it.  

Oh, and watch out for Bob's dog.

Tempus Fugit!

Wow!  Time sure flees.  I sat down to write many times and, sure as can be, some other event took me from my computer.  Since classes have passed beyond the initial discussion of the future perfect tense, I am going to hit the fast-forward button and move up to the present.
A couple of quick notes, though, about what I have been thinking about for future Latin teaching.   I have met with students over the past couple of weeks to discuss Latin grammar, and, without exception, we all have left the conversations disappointed.  My old tools--explain the grammar in English, ask for examples in French or Spanish, illustrate the grammar with creative sentences (usually using the word "kill")--are no longer up to the task of breaking through a student's lack of understanding.  Some teachers would say that students just don't have the explicit grammar knowledge they used to.  And that is true.  Others would say that the old approach actually did not work, even when it did.  And that is probably true, too.  I would say that, whatever the problems, continuing to forge ahead as if they weren't there is not an option.  And since so many of the background issues are out of my control, I must make changes.  And boy am I!
I am convinced that I must move to a viva voce model of teaching.  Involve more, as they say, comprehensible input in my teaching.  Ditch the English and connect the Latin to the concept without an intermediary. This is a big change, way outside my comfort zone.  But the longer I teach, the more convinced I am that, while goals do not change, often the route to the goal will. 
My goal is to produce students able to communicate with the ancients in their own tongue.  Not necessarily Latin speakers, but adults able to interact in Latin and Roman culture with the classics.  And think about it--anything less is unacceptable.  There are too many quotes from former Latin students (from the 1800s till now) who readily admit they cannot read three connected sentences of authentic Latin.  I am sure the benefit to English is great--but most of my English vocab knowledge came from a better source:  extensive reading IN ENGLISH. 
So, look for changes next year.  [TBC]