The third grade students have been studying Greek myths. Actually, study is perhaps the wrong vibe. There were no late nights hunched over text books, or flash cards. Rather, the children became the gods and goddesses, mortals and even a goose. They sang catchy songs that conveyed the plots with whimsy and rhyme. The stories they portrayed are as ancient as Mount Olympus, and yet feel applicable today. 

 

One fable was about the bond between Ceres and her daughter Persephone. As the goddess of nature, Ceres provided the energy for flowers to wake up in the spring, and apples to ripen in September. But when Persephone was pulled by Pluto into the underworld against her will, her mother was too absorbed by grief to do the work of making the world beautiful. 

 

They came to an agreement in which Persephone could live above ground for six months, and in the underworld for the other months. Just this week, I listened to someone who is trying to navigate where to lay her head. Her husband loves one country, and she longs for another. 

 

A second story was about helping the stranger. I ached for the pertinence of this centuries old question, knowing that I have not always done my part. Today, I passed a woman stranded on the side of the road, assuming that someone else will stop. Why didn't I? Baucis and Philemon offered shelter and food to Jupiter and Mercury, who were disguised as homeless people. They shared the little they had, which pleased the gods. Their reward was the granting of one request. They asked to be able to die together, rather than be separated by death. Which it turns out is something I have put on my wish list to God. 

 

The last story was about boasting. Arachne flaunted her skill as a weaver, even claiming that she made more exquisite weavings than Minerva. Not that we mortals still wrangle with that beast.