New Review of Time Stands Still at the Guthrie

The Quote of the Day that inspired my A to Z Blogging Challenge theme -
A Word for the Day that takes on many meanings.

 Quote of the Day: A writer lives in awe of words for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator. John Steinbeck

Word of the Day: New

The word new doesn't vary as much in meaning as it does in its acceptance. Some people resist change. They don't want anything new. They're comfortable with the old, even when it isn't good, because they know what to expect. On the other hand, new clothes are nice. I could use a new car. When you dare to take a risk on something new, then doors, windows, and your mind open. During the discussion after the play, the actor Bill McCallum said "We accept things until we can't accept them anymore, then we make a change."

I am excited and encouraged by the new plays that twin cities (Minneapolis/St. Paul) theaters are producing. The Guthrie Theater is currently playing Time Stands Still by Donald Margulies, through May 7. You can read more about this play, first produced in 2009, at Minneapolis Broadway World.

With photography, it's all about timing. I was able to make time stand still by timing this shot of the scrolling words.

The play opens with photo journalist Sarah Goodwin struggling to re-enter her home in Brooklyn, physically and emotionally. She has been injured in Iraq by a roadside bomb. Her partner, James Dodd, is trying to help her while dealing with his own emotional wounds and guilt of not being with her when she was nearly killed. Sarah is a renowned photo journalist. Her photos bring to light the atrocities that happen around the world, most of them inside war zones. She says that when she looks through the lens of her camera time stands still. Her own mental focus sharpens like the images she's capturing and she works through the rubble, the screaming, and the chaos in order to tell a story and makes a difference.

The characters in Time Stands Still struggle with the question, "Is what I'm doing making a difference?" Sarah says, "We're here to record life, not fix it." She says that she can't go inside each frame and change what's happening, stop the guns, or save the children. But, how long can you keep that emotional distance?

Only four characters tell this story. Sarah Goodwin is a strong female, independent, and driven to do her job of communicating to the world what is happening. The opening scene shows you that she intends to work her way back to the field. Her partner, and almost husband, James, is feeling a change in perspective. Her editor, Richard, has found new life in a new love which Sarah seems to look down on. Then, there's Mandy, the sweet young thing hanging on Richard's arm. Her perspective of the world is quite different from Sarah's. You expect them to really clash. They do, and yet, they have moments of understanding and challenging each other.

In the discussion with the actors after the performance, Valeri Mudek, who played Mandy said that at first glance you think that she's written as a simple girl, kind of a dumb blonde type, but she's not that shallow. She has emotional and spiritual intelligence. I felt that from her in the opening act. And, I thought, Mandy is like more of us than Sarah. I'm like Mandy. I want to feel safe. I cry about the children in those horrific photos. I can't dwell on them, or I feel depressed. I, like Mandy, think, What can I do? I'm grateful that I live in a place where I feel safe, where my children won't be murdered on the street, and I can appreciate beauty and kindness.

This play has strong images and language. It makes you really think about what is happening in the world and how it affects people. I would recommend it to high school age on up. Go to the Guthrie Theater for showtimes and tickets and to see photos from the production. The discussion after the show was a remarkable experience. The actors truly understand their characters. They were able to meet and talk with the playwright, Donald Margulies. They said that he writes a spare script. Much of the acting is action with sparse dialogue, especially at the beginning. I admire the director Joe Dowling for giving us so much through actions and interactions. We're feeling what the characters are feeling.

For tomorrow's O post, I'll write more about the opportunity to write reviews for the Guthrie and the people I meet there. Bring your fork. I'll have more food photos.

Go. Create. Inspire!
And, don't be afraid of something new!

Journaling Prompt:  Have you seen "Time Stands Still" or been to any new productions lately? What about your art? Are people ready for a new artist like you?

N is for Name

Letter of the Day:  N

N is for name and Nancy, my older sister.  I also like calling her my big sister.  She is the closest in age of my siblings.  I'm number four out of six.  She's number three, but tried to call herself number one at Mom and Dad's 50th Anniversary celebration. Our oldest brother Nathan quickly claimed the title.  Here's a picture from our teen years.  We've been arguing since its development who it is.  I say it's me.  Clearly, you can see my eye, the wisp of dark hair that I always had curled.  Plus, that's MY shirt.

This next one is of Nancy.  I know, because I took it just this past September, and she's wearing her own darn shirt!

As you can see, we have a complicated, yet loving relationship.  When I went to Germany in college, Nancy said to her friends, "Your friends come and go, but you always wait for your sister to come home from Germany."  And, when I talked to her about this guest post she said she liked this challenge because she could read my blog every morning while drinking her coffee.  I told that to Joy, the little sister, and she said she felt the same way.  When I wasn't posting very often, she'd keep checking.  Well, enough about me. Here's Nancy...

After reading Mary’s first blog post in her A-Z challenge, I was the one who suggested she write about names. A few days ago she asked if I would be a guest writer on the Day of N (I decided to capitalize it to make it more significant). So in keeping with the spirit of the challenge, I decided to write about my name, Nancy.



My name is Nancy Caroline Aalgaard Hanson, but I think if I had been named by description, my name would likely be Nancy Dead Horse or Nancy Working Horse, neither of which I would appreciate very much. There’s a story in our family about how dismayed my grandmother was to find out I was named Nancy. As the story goes, when my dad was just a boy, his mother had an old work horse named Nancy. I imagine her to be a sad old mare, hump-backed, broken with the weight of work. Back in those days, they didn't keep horses as pets, or even just as a means of transportation. The Nancy horse was surely a working animal, and I imagine her life wasn't a terribly happy existence. So when Grandma found out I was to be called Nancy, I guess she wasn't very pleased about my unfortunate name. She reminded my dad of the used-to-be horse she had, but it didn't make any difference. My parents liked Nancy, and so Nancy it was, even over my paternal grandmother’s objections.


I didn’t hear the story about the dead horse until I was ten or eleven years old, and at that time, I was toying with calling myself Jean anyway, and dreaming my real father was Howard Hughes, and one day he would reclaim me as his own and make me fabulously rich. I never did extend this fantasy to its logical conclusion, never did wonder how it happened that a small grain farmer and his wife could end up with the lost child of one of the richest men in the world. Billionaire. Two times over. The word didn’t mean a thing to me, other than it would mean I could do pretty much whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. There’s no coincidence, really, that my Howard-Hughes-is-my-real-father-and-is-someday-going-to-make-me-fabulously-rich-scenario coincided exactly with feeling like I had landed in the wrong family. I mean really, who on earth would name a beloved daughter after someone’s dead horse?

(I'd like to interject here, again, to point out that Nancy used to tell me that I was the one adopted.  I used to fantasize that my real dad was Captain Kirk from the Starship Enterprise.)


I spent a lot of time thinking about that horse and asking questions, but no one could remember anything specific about it. Figures. I doubt very much the Nancy horse was a beautiful thing, and apparently not a favorite. Life on the prairie was pretty tough, and my namesake, like my own family, probably had to scrounge for food, and probably made do with very little. There might be a picture of my namesake, however, no one could confirm that the horse depicted in it was the actual Nancy horse—it could have been anyone, really. This picture shows my grandma, back in 1936, standing next to a single chisel plow that was hooked up to what can only be described as a reluctant beast of burden. I suppose that sad horse was my namesake: Nancy of the endless work, Nancy of the dirt and mud, Nancy of the sad existence.

(Grandma, Dad, and Nancy's backside)

It didn’t take me long to figure out that my name singled me out from my siblings. There were six of us in all, three boys and three girls—like the Brady Bunch. My brothers’ names are Nathan, Philip, and James. Nathan, after the Old Testament prophet who rebuked the mighty King David for his bad behavior with Bathsheba; Philip and James, after two apostles to Christ. My sisters are Mary and Joy. If you haven’t picked up on the theme yet, you probably haven’t been paying attention. By the time you get to Mary, you should be associating something about these names with other words, like “holy” and “Bible” and “religious.” Even Joy, who isn’t a character in the good book will probably make you think of something Christian-related—the result of Grace, for instance, or Faith. Those are my siblings. And then there’s me—Nancy. I wonder now why my parents didn’t consider naming me Naomi, or Rachel, or even Miriam, I would have liked that name. Instead they settled on honoring my great-grandma with my middle name, Caroline, and my grandma’s dead horse with my first.

Journaling Prompt:  Write the story of your name.