Sustainable Sunday : The Dress Up Box (and other colourful stuff).

Get to the right place : At the right time : With the right stuff. A+

Jan 28, 2024

The Story.

The Power of the Dress up Box

Did you have a dress up box when you were a kid? Us too. We had one in the front room at the big house on the beach. It was an old wooden chest from when my Dad was a sailor. Mum and Dad would throw amazing things in there, like an old ball gown, and a seamen’s jacket, and fur hats. Belts. A dusty pink tule layered ballet dress and cotton skirts, boxes of old beads and clip on earrings. Lace shawls and babies nighties and velvet coats and shoes. No high heels because Mum did not want any turned ankles. We even dressed up a lamb one year in the baby’s nighty and took it for a walk round the block in a pram. Tucked in so tight to the mattress it could not move a muscle. How cruel are children when they are having fun.

We have a grand old story of my little brother deciding to be an ‘army man’ and dressed up in an army shirt to his ankles, a wooden rifle slung over his shoulder; worn smooth and shiny by the grubby hands of generations of kids. He wore the brown velvet hat he was never without pulled down to his eyebrows. He had one of Dad’s old belts running diagonally across his 5 year old chest and a whole packet of tampons, unwrapped and firmly tucked by their strings into the belt. They were perfectly placed, descending from his shoulder to his opposing hip. Crisp and white. Gently swaying. Cartridges apparently.

When I had grown up, a solo Mum with kids of my own I taught drama. In a very tough school. In a very challenging neighbourhood. So, of course I brought the dress up box (without the tampons!)

I taught secondary school. Kids ranging in age from 12 - 18. Most of the kids were taller than me, came from families that were third generation unemployed or Dad in jail or Mum working two jobs or on the benefit. Delivering drugs for uncle on the way to school. This was a suburb that was left to itself after 5pm - the police shut up shop and drove out to the highway would not return until morning.

I had a young man come into class one day, one morning before school started - a stunning student, they all were - tall with flashing black eyes, in the first fifteen, which is the top rugby team of the school. Strong. This young man was very upset and in a huddle with his mates in the back corner of the classroom. I went over, one boy offered me his chair and I sat with them, they were all taller and all bigger than me, full grown but still teenagers and they told me that he had beat up his Dad the night before for beating up on his Mum for years and it had taken the boy years to grow big enough to do this but he was overcome with guilt and where was he going to live now.

And there were days when a kid could not focus to save herself. It would have been raining, like this day, I would have had the heaters on high and the doors and windows open. The room would be a fog of breath and unwashed hands and foul mood would zing from her. Like lightning. Electric.

Someone had broken into their house and she had to stay up all night by the broken window on guard in case they came back. She is hungry and tired and throws her bag down and snarls and picks fights so I send her to my desk and tell her it is a terrible mess and can you sort it out for me and can you mark the roll then run this to admin and here is ten dollars and a note pop over to the shops and buy me a pie for lunch and one for you too, if you like.

Close and busy.

I was the Head of the Faculty of the Arts. That was Music, Art and my own personal department Drama. I was also a dean of a House of students. The Headmaster and I were in negotiations as to the budgets of each of my departments and I wanted more money of course. Every student in the school studied all three of the arts in the third form, and the fourth form - three times a week- then could opt in to one or two of the arts for the rest of their high school years. So our classes were huge and busy and roaring along. New Zealand funds the arts very well but the Science department needed new somethings and the Maths department needed new books and you know; money does not grow on trees.

On this day, it was wet and murky, and I find myself running late to class. In my classroom, I keep rules simple; apply respect, apply kindness - and that pretty much covers it all. The mantra is clear: get to the right place at the right time with the right stuff. If I'm running late, the class knows to start without me.

Starting without me is a rule they all love. One of the students takes charge, finds me, and grabs the keys to open the door. They usually kick things off with loud improv games until I make it there. And, if anyone else is late to class, well, they've got to sing three lines of a nursery rhyme. It's drama class, after all.

These kids. The toughness of them. The love in them.

I was late to class because I had a meeting with the Head, dealing having that money talk. I must've been about 5 minutes behind schedule. When I walked into the room, I was greeted by about twenty-five kids, rummaging through my long clothing racks and boxes. To the untrained eye, the room might have looked like chaos, and. a quick scan revealed that it was in fact chaos. But a really happy productive chaos. They were diving in and out of the wardrobe, hauling out cloaks, coats, and suit jackets, dresses, waistcoats, clown wigs along with feathers and scarves. Bird cloaks and wicked masks that we made ourselves.

The students were assigning each other characters, going 3D as we called it.

“You be a ring master. You are fucked off because someone found your stash you are looking for an axe”.

“You be a no good shit hood living in a car, listening to the radio and eating cold pizza”.

“Oh Hi”. Miss C.

“We started without you, Miss C,” another calls out.

“We are going to have a procession”. Comes a deep voice in a cupboard.

“A procession? We are going to process through the long corridors of the abbey? Past the corridors of power?” I say, as I kick off my shoes.

One of the senior students is at my desk, holding my attendance book and marking everyone with three As using my red pen. "In the right place - A. At the right time - A. With the right stuff - A," she chants, ticking off students as she calls out their names. In my classes, every student begins their lesson with three As. Then I add a plus during the course of the 90 minutes. Instead of having to earn a top grade, they retain the A and build on it. This shift changes the entire dynamic of a classroom. Every single kid gets an A for merely walking through that door with the right stuff at the right time.

Have you ever seen a kid who never received an A ever in all her school days see me adding a plus to that A. Magic.

My book carriers stand behind me at the door taking off their shoes. I point them to my desk. They walk over to the attendance student in socks, and she adds their names to the list, dutifully awarding them their three As. She explains that they now have As and need to keep them.

The two 3rd formers are with me as my book carriers for the day. They have been in more trouble than a classroom can manage, so they're assisting me. As the Dean of a house of students, any naughty kids from my House are sent to me. I've arranged this system so teachers can focus on teaching without getting involved in confrontations. I've trained all my teachers to avoid confrontation, to talk a kid out of a problem before it escalates. Often, this means gently removing a student and their books and sending them to find me.

I am easy to find and once they finished their work of the day I would give them a job. The naughties always sat at my desk or close to it. Right at the front of the class - right in the middle of the action.

“Inky Pinky Ponky!” another senior called out, “Ah yes I am late”, so I sung for being late.

Inky pinky ponky,
Daddy bought a donkey,
Donkey died, Daddy cried,
Inky pinky ponky.

It is a poem really. A playground chant. I have no idea where it came from. But it fit my ‘Ah Well’ mood that day. We get the money or we don’t we will be ok. Worse things happen at sea. Donkey died - get over it. Everything is wet and soggy and the kids have been locked into their class-rooms for days. We would have a procession. It was a good idea.

The students dressed. Their costumes wrapped around or worn over their uniforms. I saw that we had sailors and teachers and clowns and funny hats and veiled royalty and pirates and priests even a few nuns. There were no police officers. Birds. Black cloaks and red cloaks. Spears. Swords. Massive hats. A white russian fox hat paired with a long gentleman’s overcoat. Gender was ignored. Everyone cross dressed and no-one took any notice. Three noble ladies. Armed guards. They lined each other up in a snake around the room. It was decided they would walk in twos. We discussed using a chant or total silence. I chose silence. Chants are hard.

And we only had forty minutes left.

First we worked on character - how does your character walk. What part of your body are you aware of. What is your prevailing emotion that is really a collection of emotions. Does anything hurt. Are you sober. Are you a bird. Are you hungry. Are you bored. Did you have breakfast. What are you afraid of. How do you hold your chin. Who do you love.

Then we practiced walking around the room in character. Then we played a flocking game which is one of my favourite games in the world. These kids had been doing drama for three years now. They were good. The naughties watched on in awe. Suddenly the rabble melted into one. Totally focused. We moved as a flock around the room. After a bit I snap my fingers and they go totally still then I move my head sideways and ever so slowly, in full character, they move only their heads until they were all looking directly at what I was looking at. The naughties. Full face. Total focus. Mean. No-one broke character. We were ready.

Flocking is where a group of students walk the room together as a flock. In sync. In tandem. As they walk, they use their wits, eyes, ears, and peripheral vision to watch for any change in another student in the group; then they copy it. Everything is in slow motion. Controlled. All the movements are easy, bold and full. And anyone can change the stance or the speed or the level. Everyone is equal. Your offer will always be accepted. In a flock all birds are part of the flock.

I might raise my hand as we walk and they all raise their hands. Then someone brings it down and we all lower our hands. The movements have to be natural, like a slow wave from one action to another. Then someone will lean to the left. Then someone will lean to the right, like a flock of starlings wheeling and playing in the air, but anyone can take the lead at any time. It builds awareness and emotional strength as a team. Confidence.

Be careful though: If you check behind you for your friend, you'll find the whole group slowly looking behind. If you scratch your ear everyone will do this.

Then we practice the bow or curtsey or nod that our character will own. A king would bow differently from a circus ring master. A noble lady differently from a teacher or a clown.

I nodded. “You are good”, I said and they relaxed. “I will lead”, I said. I was probably wearing a black pencil skirt and a white shirt with black stockings and heels. I always maintained that a well dressed teacher showed respect for her class and they would show respect for her too.

One kid handed me a big book. She knew I liked a book as a prop. They draped me in a black cloak with a purple lining so long that it dragged out on the ground behind me like a train and gave me one of those pointy cone hats, someone else pinned a piece of net to it.

We double checked each other making sure that the costumes were snug and fitted. There can be no adjustments as we walk, no falling out of character.

We lined up in the classroom with me in front. I told my book carriers the naughties they could take their books into the field and watch from there. And with a big calming breath the flock and I moved out into the school.

First we processed past the music room. All in character, silent and unsmiling. I moved my head to the left and without breaking everyone looked to the left. I raised my eyes to the Art teacher and said gently but clearly “Miss Benson”. I curtsied deeply to her. The entire group made their bow to Miss Benson. Down and up then back into stillness. Then we moved forward.

Most New Zealand schools are built with the mild weather in mind. Big windows and concertina doors opening to the air. In this school the classrooms are in groups of four joined with corridors between the classrooms, and covered board walk corridors between each pod. All the corridors radiated out from the admin building where my deans office was, where the staff dining room was, various meeting rooms, the front desk and most importantly the Headmasters office. Everything on one level.

I had an idea.

We processed down the corridors between the classrooms. In silence. In pairs. In character. As a flock. In step. Total harmony. Total Silence. Some with their hands in their pockets. Some with hands up sleeves. Some with hands behind their backs. Some with hands together in prayer. Some carrying signs - I can’t remember what they had written. Freedom for Birds or something, who knows. Class was in, so we did not meet too many people. But there were a lot of faces turned to the windows. A lot of disgruntled teachers trying to turn them back. We stood aside if someone was in a hurry. Named and bowed and smiled to each student we saw. If we saw a teacher we would stop. I would name them and we would all bow or curtsey or nod then wait for the teacher to do the same - most give us a nod and a slightly disapproving smile. We smile slightly back then move off as one.

Outside the staff room windows we stop and the students follow my head as I slowly turn to see who was in there. It is empty as I had hoped. Then I turn to look at the students who all turn to look at other students. Then back to me. Then I raise my eyebrows. And nod. They raise their eyebrows and nod back, I opened the door and we process absolutely silently, all in character, haughty and confident, eyes ahead, chins leading, straight into the inner sanctum.

They follow me down the corridors of power, smoothly moving to the left every time a teacher or staff member hurries along. There are cries of "Hello" or "Oh my goodness" or "Come see, Miss C has a procession." We bow, nod, and curtsy in theatrical slow motion. The hats and their feathers bob, the silk of long skirts rustle, and the feather cloaks shimmer. Not a word is spoken. Not one student breaks character. We move all the way to the end of the hall and greet the ladies at the front desk. They play along, bowing and curtsying back. One goes to open the door, expecting I would move the students out. I wink at her. Then, I freeze. The students all freeze. I turn right, and they all turn right. Peeling back into their line, we process down the headmaster's corridor and down around the corner. We're now deep into enemy territory. Just the march of our footsteps, absolute silence, and a heightened awareness as they trust me not to lead them into trouble.

Because, I was indeed going to be in trouble.

The headmaster's name is Mr. Schumacher, a tall, clear-thinking white man. He's one of those truly clever intellectuals with the ability to see the ground he walks on. We like him. He famously said, "If Miss C speaks, I listen because she does not speak often." He shared this with some important person, though I can't remember who, boasting about our drama department. We had beaten every other school in New Zealand in the national Shakespeare competition, even those schools with sprung floors, stages, and windows with tinted glass. We had none of that, of course and beat them all!

We pass his administrator's door, and it's open. We pass Mr. Schumacher's door, and it's wide open. There he is at his desk, hand on his phone, looking up and smiling, questioning. He has no idea that lined up behind me are twenty-five clowns, drummers, ring leaders, wizards, thieves, soldiers, moas, and horses. He looks at my long black cloak and funny hat, getting that "Oh, something's about to happen" look.

I pause, my procession pauses. I take a deep breath. We all do. Lifting my head, I very gracefully walk into his office, where no one ever goes without an invitation or an appointment, I curtsy deeply at his desk. "Mr. Schumacher," I say. "Miss Buys-Wheeler," he replies, mystified but playing along. I tilt my head to the side like a noble lady, arching my eyebrow as a warning, then turn to stand before the adjoining door to the administrator's office.

Within seconds and in their pairs, my beautiful tall students walk to his desk, heads up, eyes forward, regal and strong in their characters. They nod, bow, or act haughty, catching his eye for the greeting. He speaks their names, getting them all right (rather brave, I thought, as he really had no idea how many kids there were). The procession walks past me through the admin's office and back out into the hall, down the hall and through the door still being held by the shocked front desk lady. Once they have all processed away, I widen my eyes to the Headmaster and grinning, whirl out in my black cloak and holding on to book I walk briskly after my class.

We all stop as a group at the bottom of the steps. I'm already out of character and tell them they were all marvelous. They all fall out of character, then fall over each other, and we laugh loudly and fully for no reason at all. Then, like a real flock, they lift and soar back to the drama room, rounding the corners at speed, down the corridors, past the field, gathering the naughties as they go, their cloaks, coats, and silk veils flying out behind them, disrupting every class they fly past.

They roar up the steps of the drama room, laughing and talking loudly, and remove all their dress-up clothes, throwing them into the boxes. Then, seeing me come in, they grab them back out and hang them up on hangers. I look at the clock; it's almost time for the bell. They pull on their shoes, grab their bags, and straighten their uniforms. The bell rings, and they stand still, grinning at me. When I say, "Off you go, now," they race at speed back out the door to their next class.

I sent one of the naughties with a note of thanks to the ladies in the office. She returned with chocolate. My next class was filing in and someone was pulling out the attendance book and someone else handing out the torches and pulling the curtains so we could continue to experiment with stage light.

Later I received a note to pop in and see The Head ofter fifth period and I smiled at that too.

🎥 TKG Take Ten

Your favorite this week was TKG Take Ten : Quacker takes an icy bath.

The ice has now melted! Yay!

🦋 The Kitchen’s Garden (The blog)

The Most Read Blog Post of the Week: When there are no eggs three days running.

The chickens are staying indoors for a while until they relearn where their laying boxes are!

🐞The Sustainable Sunday Tips

🐞 Unplug. Literally. Phone chargers don’t use a lot but they are still pulling electricity when you leave them plugged in. Anything that is telling you the time is using electricity. Choose one time piece and turn off the rest. Your remote only turns off the screen. The machine is still pulling power. These little lights are Vampires. There are estimates that seven percent of your electricity bill comes from idle appliances.

But unplugging and plugging stuff in and out is hard right, often the actual outlet is inaccessible. So I plug my vampires into a multi-plug with a bright red light that sits somewhere accessible and I can turn it on and off easily when I use the microwave, or washing machine, or extra screen.

🐞Clear those old messages and notifications from your email inbox.

1In 2021, it was roughly estimated that 319.6 billion emails were sent and received each day. And, nearly 47% of them are spam emails, so nearly 150.2 billion emails are spam. Delete them. Holding them in storage takes energy. Not much but 319 billion of them adds up!

🐞 Plant ten trees. Preferably at birth. The average American adult has produced around 10 tons of carbon dioxide by the time they are 40. An average hardwood tree can absorb 50 pounds of carbon a year. So by the time it reaches 40 (the tree) (if it is reasonably fast growing tree in a lovely rich humid forest) it will have sequestered a ton of carbon dioxide. So by the time the tree reaches 40.

Plant ten trees. Yeah?

🐞Once a Week Recipe.

Muesli

You will save money and stay healthy by prepping meals for the week. Lets not forget breakfast!

Today’s recipe is (as usual) simple and healthy. Muesli. Granola. I make muesli once a week.

5 cups rolled oats
3 cups nuts and seeds
2 cups dried fruit
2 tablespoons local honey
drizzle of local olive oil

In a large roasting dish cover the bottom of the roasting dish with the oats. Sprinkle on the oil. Toss. Add nuts and seeds. Toss.

Bake at 250 for an hour or until crunchy.

Add dried fruit and a drIzzle with honey. Drizzle the honey all over the hot oats then toss. The honey will clump the oats up a little which I love. Turn oven up to 350 and bake for 8 minutes.

Rest the roasting dish on a rack to cool. Store in large glass jars.

I eat a cup of muesli every day for my lunch with bananas and unsweetened yoghurt. In a cup as it happens!

The Opinion.

If you are a caregiver (and I am too) don’t take it to heart if the old person you are looking after gets cranky. For my elder; it is her dementia showing itself as aggression which is totally out of character. So I have chosen to choose to put my life jacket on first. Then I can properly help her. I think caregiving is hard.

I hope you enjoyed Sustainable Sunday.

Leave me a comment. I LOVE comments.

Celi