Shouts From Down Under

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong; now he's a ghost

A "story" ballad from the late Slim Dusty (Gordon Kirkpatrick)

We were raised on Slim Dusty songs on the farm, and my Uncle knew him as a drinking mate in Sydney.





Our younger son, who has just turned 21 years old, wants to build a fire pit. You know the type? You dig it out in a circular shape, somewhere in the back yard, if you have a property with enough room, and you lay some sort of gravel or pebbles on the floor of the pit, or even pavers, and perhaps provide seating around the outer circumference of the circle.

In the centre, of course, is the location of the fire pit, or a cast iron or steel container that you light a fire in, with fuel of scrap timber, coal, sticks or whatever you can gather from around the place.

The idea behind all this activity, is a place you can sit with other people around the camp fire, and tell stories, play a guitar perhaps, and just talk together under the open sky. If the town or city lights aren't too bright, you can all look up at the stars.

You can connect with the earth, the planets, the stars, and for those who believe, perhaps connect with a greater power than our insignificant human selves.

The youngsters who have gathered with you, there around that warm burning glow, will remember these simple times of story telling, more than any other complex or more expensive entertainment.


The Paris Story




The Picton Story




The motorhome story...

"This is a reluctant, but financially necessary sale to fund our ever increasing attorney fees in our Due Process fight against our local school district. We've listed the RV at a ROCK BOTTOM PRICE to ensure it sells"

http://www.ebay.com/itm/NO-RESERVE-Florida-1996-35-FLEETWOOD-BOUNDER-SLIDE-Ford-...



Using just words, did you ever want to reach out to people everywhere who might be feeling sad, lonely, isolated and in pain?

What about those who don't just feel failures, but are failures? Those who did the wrong thing. Those who look back on life and know that for them, its too late.

Did you ever want to use words like a wand, to put things right, to lift those heart pieces, to stick 'em back together with the glue of human caring, the stitches that come from words grabbing hold, and laying hold, keeping hold of those separated; that as we tighten the laces of those words through the eyelets of editing and writing skills, we could loop a double bow of knots easing people's woes, regrets, taking away the self doubt, the self pity, the selfish decisions and the selfish past, to replace it with warm rays from a forgiving sun, the great impartial giver of energy to everyone without bias?

What happened, instead, was-

Invalid Photo #1039621

The story of Waltzing Matilda

http://www.waltzingmatilda.com.au/

Sparky