MtheGM: back in 1961 when I was a wee thing of 7, our family spent six months in Europe while my father researched a book. Wherever we went, my dad (ever the ancient historian) made sure we spent most of our time exploring Roman and Greek ruins. I have a little chunk of marble he purloined from and lovingly labeled as having come from the Acropolis of Athens, as well as a Roman nail I picked up at Pompeii, pocketed carelessly, and neglected to ask my father about until we were outside the gates. He scolded me for picking it up, but at the same time he kept it and treasured it. I was allowed to reclaim it when he died.

But all I have of Mycenae is a memory of my father and I standing in agamemnon's tomb together, as he explained to me how a corbelled arch is put together and why it is so strong, in this awestruck voice that spoke of his reverence for the place we stood. That is one of my favorite memories of him. Sometimes just a word is a touchstone.