Red Dirt Diary 2 (14 page)

Sunshine rang Dad this morning and said Mrs WP is a corker of a sheila!

This just proves that there's no explaining love.

Told Mat about Sunshine at Mass. She wouldn't believe me and said I should be ashamed of myself, lying in church.

Miss McKenzie has changed so much. She spent the afternoon working quietly beside Mrs WP in the garden, planting pink roses and tiny hedges. Miss McKenzie never used to be quiet. She used to talk all the time in her lovely Scottish lilt. Even when she had nothing much to say.

This afternoon Wes and Fez asked if she wanted a race in the pig chariots and she said no thank you. Miss McKenzie used to
love
racing through the dust in the pig chariots and didn't mind if she crashed or tipped over.

Then, when Macka appeared from nowhere and spat in her hair, she ran inside to clean up. The old Miss McKenzie would have rolled around on the grass laughing like a hyena.

She doesn't laugh out loud much any more, she just giggles, and when she smiles her eyes don't wrinkle and smile with her mouth. Her hair is always pulled back in a bun and she hasn't worn anything orange or purple or tie-dyed for ages. I haven't even
seen
the bagpipes. I thought she might start playing again once she moved back to Hillrose Poo, but she hasn't.

Talked to Mum about it this evening. Mum said love means give and take. Sometimes we
have to change our lives to get along with the person we love. Like her and Dad. Dad takes off his dirty work boots before he comes inside, and tries not to curse too much, because he loves her. Mum gave up her job as a librarian to come and live on the farm because she loves Dad.

I pointed out that neither Mum nor Dad want to change the deep-down guts of who the other is. Boots and curses are just on the surface — same as whether you're in a library or in an ancient farmhouse. Mum is still a bookworm and Dad is still a grotty farmer.

James is still a fancy city lawyer who talks with a plum in his mouth. But Miss McKenzie is no longer a noisy, happy, laughing, colourful, bagpipe-playing girl. She is a quiet lady who has forgotten how to smile using her whole head.

I said that seemed more like take and take. James has
given
nothing and he has
taken
the real Miss McKenzie away.

No give and take.

No real love.

Mum didn't say anything.

She just sighed and became very focused on rinsing the soapsuds down the kitchen sink.

Monday, 12 March

Sam Wotherspoon has the most amazing giant golden squash I have ever seen. He has been picking off every new squash so that the plant puts all its energy into growing the one mega-squash. It's as big as a basketball. Sam is incredibly proud.

Mrs WP was painting the sign at the front gate when we got off the school bus this afternoon.

Our farm used to be called Hillrose Park, but it's been Hillrose POO for over a year now, thanks to Wes and Fez. They changed the sign after a mishap with a flying dead rat and a can of brown paint. Hillrose Poo is a fantastic name for our property. We've never actually had a
park
, but we do have loads of poo — pig poo, chook poo and heaps and heaps of sheep poo.

But today, Clarissa Welsh-Pearson has ruined all that. She's painted the background of the sign totally cream — not a brown blob in sight — and it says Hillrose PARK once again.

Wes and Fez are devastated.

‘That was the coolest farm sign in the district, Blue,' Wes cried.

‘No-one else had a poo on their sign,' said Fez.

Tonight when Mrs WP complained about Festering Punks screaming out across the plains, Wes and Fez asked if she'd like to listen to Mum's new Beethoven CD. She said yes thank you. So they sent her out to sit on the veranda and played Beethoven.

It took Gertrude about three seconds to leap off Mrs Whittington's veranda at Magpie's Rest, bolt across the driveway, sprint around the corner of the house and head-butt Mrs WP off her chair. Macka appeared from nowhere and gurgled merrily.

Wes and Fez hid in their bedroom and gurgled merrily.

Tuesday, 13 March

Gabby Woodhouse brought her mum's curlers to school today. By home time, every girl in the junior class looked like a poodle. Except for Dora Wilson. You can't curl a crew cut.

Gabby is getting really excited about the wedding and has given Miss McKenzie a folder full of her own hairstyle designs. She still has this mad idea that she will be doing Miss McKenzie's hair on the day!

Mat and Lynette came home with us so we could practise the bridal waltz, ready for the wedding. It was torture. You have to dance with your feet going in this pattern of three beats, but I reckon the odd number just gets everything tangled up.

No matter
how
loudly Mrs WP shouts ONE — TWO — THREE!!! at me, I just can't get it right. Mat and Lynette were dancing like angels drifting around on wispy clouds of joy, while I clomped around like a hippo with a hernia. Petal
flew up onto the window sill and pooped in fright.

Dad walked past on his way in for dinner and said, ‘Like father, like daughter.'

The last time Dad danced was at the CWA Winter Ball three years ago. In one night, he broke Mum's little toe, knocked over a table full of sandwiches and, somehow, ended up on the floor with Mrs Murphy on top of him.

Wednesday, 14 March

Worms lost his appetite today. He ate half of Lucy Ferris's birthday cake, two egg sandwiches, a muffin and a banana. Then he peeled his orange, looked at it and said, ‘I'm full.'

The whole playground went silent.

Everyone was amazed.

Mrs WP tried giving me a private dance lesson this evening. By the time we'd finished, I hadn't improved one bit, and
Mrs WP
was waltzing like a hippo with a hernia.

I thought she'd freak, but when she saw herself in the wardrobe mirror, she burst out laughing.

She laughs like a donkey — really loud and showing lots of teeth. It suits her.

Maybe that's what Sunshine has seen in her — a glimpse of something free.

Mrs WP might be Sunshine's wild donkey.

Uuurk!

Thursday, 15 March

Dreamt that I was being chased by a hippopotamus with a hernia last night. When she finally cornered me, she yelled ONE — TWO — THREE!!! ONE — TWO — THREE!!! ONE — TWO — THREE!!! over and over again. I burst out crying and the hippo sighed heavily and frowned. I woke up in a cold sweat and couldn't go back to sleep.

Mrs WP came to school this morning. She said she wanted to share in some of the charm of Miss McKenzie's country school. Lynette and Matilda Jane greeted her with little squeals and air kisses. Gabby offered her a free hair cut and showed her how cool Dora's hair looks.

Worms greeted Mrs WP by throwing up his entire breakfast at her feet — I'm not sure exactly what he'd eaten, but there was lots of it
and there were definitely Rice Bubbles and canned peaches involved.

Mrs WP decided that was enough charm for one day. She ran towards the front gate so quickly that she nearly collided with Wes and Fez as they galloped by with tea cosies on their heads, chasing Gary Hartley with a bucket full of compost.

Mr Cluff had a smile from ear to ear. It's the happiest he's looked in ages. He promised to buy Worms a custard tart from the shop at lunch time.

Mrs Whittington was asleep in the grass with Macka, Gunther and the bunnies when we got home. She was hugging a photo of Harold. There was an empty pudding bowl beside Gunther. Darn it! I missed out again!

Friday, 16 March

Mrs WP has gone back to Hathaway Homestead. Mum and Mrs Sweeney took her as far as the Dubbo hospital, where she got a tetanus injection and five stitches in her leg. Mrs WP drove herself the rest of the way home.

Serves her right for trying to kick Gunther and his baby bunnies out of the way just to plant some silly topiary bushes. Topiary is when you trim bushes into perfect shapes instead of letting them do
the natural, wild thing. (A bit like stuffing Miss McKenzie's hair into a bun instead of letting it frizz out all over the place.) We now have shrubs shaped like balls, cones, swans and love hearts along the edges of the paved garden paths at Hillrose Poo.

It's a shame Mrs WP's gone, because she might have been interested in the Love Mechanic's letter this week.

The reply was:

Nice.

Saturday, 17 March

Gertrude has been snorting at the swan-shaped shrubs all day.

Wes and Fez reckon the cone topiary bushes look like Christmas trees and have decorated them with red and white baubles, silver tinsel, little white snowmen and strings of rabbit poo. Just like our tree at Christmas time!

Mrs Whittington is quite upset. She doesn't know how she will organise her wedding to Harold
and
get the Christmas shopping done in time. Miss McKenzie and I spent the afternoon wrapping boxes of tissues and cereal so that Mrs W would have some presents ready. Mum brought a plum pudding and an Advent wreath over to Magpie's Rest at five o'clock and Mrs Whittington finally calmed down. She's out on
her front veranda now, listening to ‘Angry Orphans in My Attic' by Festering Punks while Gerty, Doris and Mildred eat Christmas dinner by candlelight.

Miss McKenzie is trying on her wedding dress with Mum. I heard her telling Mum about Worms vomiting the other day and they both burst out laughing. It was so good to hear her sparkly laughter again.

Maybe everything will be okay after all.

Sunday, 18 March

Gunther pulled one of the topiary bushes out and offered it to his baby bunnies for lunch. They didn't seem to like it so he pulled out more and more until he realised they preferred grass.

Gerty spent half the day staring at a topiary swan, the hair on her back standing on end. That pig is nuts.