Of swords and stones

Once I had gotten over my shock and dismay at the discovery that the Gwinnett County Public Library system deliberately and as a matter of principle does not carry a wide selection of normal videos (how else to describe the fact that they carry only a limited selection of children's videos, without saying that they don't stock adult videos?), I determined to make the best of a bad situation, relinquished with a sigh my notions of free and easy access to such improving videos as How To Dance the Cha Cha or the complete Gilbert and Sullivan Operettas, and checked out a few kid videos. Not as grand a scope as might be, but at least it's free. We are going to watch A Bug's Life, which Michael has never seen and I have seen only once, from which I principally remember the outtakes ('Do you think I'm stupid? Do I look stupid to you?' 'Yes! Ha, ha, sorry, I couldn't resist.') and the theme song 'It's the time of your life, so live it well.' So true!

Last night we watched The Sword in the Stone, another movie which Michael had amazingly enough never seen. It was one of my favourites growing up, and I calculated that it's been about four and a half years since I've seen it last. (Random footnote: I remember not only the circumstances under which I watched it [checked it out of the Loudoun County Library, watched it for my parents' anniversary], but also the weather of the day [cold and cloudy October] and what I was wearing and doing earlier that afternoon. Michael: 'How do you remember details like that? The last fifteen years of my life are mainly a blur!' Me, kindly: 'Well, maybe when I'm your age I'll feel that way too.') We were both intrigued to note that the story and design were by Bill Peet, a wonderfully talented children's author to whom Michael introduced me last year and whose stories Michael grew up reading. I knew already, of course, that the storyline was inspired by T. H. White's book The Once and Future King (that was my favourite part of watching X-Men II with Michael recently: clutching his arm excitedly when the book was shown and exclaiming, 'I've read that book!' A sensation to rival even the satisfaction of playing chess with him on a neat replica of the glass chess set) and though I've only read it once, I thought it carried some very original ideas on the topic of invisibility. Most memorable exchange:

(Sir Ector is talking about getting a tutor for the boys.)
'How many are there?'
'Two. Counting both of them, that is.'