Sometimes I think of it as a reflex. Sometimes a muscle, badly in need of exercise. Sometimes more of an unwelcome distraction.
Right now, it’s a treasure chest – and I got to open it twice this week.
We did our first read of “Christmas Carol” on Tuesday. We’ll present the play in the form of Readers’ Theatre (described as “Theatre of the Imagination”) in December. . Dickens’ words, John Mortimer’s adaptation (stage directions included), exploded in sounds and images, tastes and textures. And the added gift of this presentation of the age-old story of redemption and rebirth will be the face-to-face experience with the listener/viewer, and the opportunity for each person in the audience to see and feel those things for themselves.
The second lucky dip was our weekly homeschool theatre class, which focuses at the moment on character-work and thinking on your feet. We wrapped up Madeleine L’Engle’s “Journey with Jonah” last week – and looking through our library for what to do next, came across “Our Town.” What was meant to be a quick, reminder read dissolved me. Maybe I’m just loosely hinged this week, but every word got to me. So we read acts one and two in class today – and I think Thornton Wilder’s words started to get to that group of seven teenagers too.
So in gratitude for the shot-in-the-arm I received this week, I’m committing to a regular exercise regime for my beginning-to-atrophy imagination muscle. When I read, or get an idea, or hear something that sparks me, I’m going to follow that movie in my mind, or write down that line, and see what happens next and where it takes me. London, England, Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, Orleans, Massachusetts…