New Hobbies

So, my dad died over a year ago and one of the items I inherited was a 1983 Fender Stratocaster. I had initially planned to have it encased in a box with some of his other items and make a glass coffee table or something, but I had a tugging feeling not to. A guitar, especially a 1983 Fender Strat, isn't meant to be stared at behind a pane of tempered glass.

Over the Independence weekend of 2009, we had a family reunion from his side. One particular detail about the reunion that had a major impact on the decision I'm about to let you in on was the full-blown family band that played every night. This wasn't singing songs around the campfire. There were microphones, guitars everywhere, stacks of speakers and amps, keyboards, as well as a box full of other miscellaneous instruments, like tambourines, maracas, and a bunch of stuff I've seen but never heard the name of. Everyone was musically gifted it seemed. One person was missing though, obviously, both literally and metaphorically.

That was the weekend I decided to take up guitar. To honor my Dad, and hopefully, I can be come as gifted a guitar player as he was.

So, I've also recently purchased a not-so-used Ibanez acoustic guitar. Now I have two guitars and no skill. I can at least say I know the main chords. I'm still waiting for that epiphany where suddenly, it all comes together.

Eulogy - Rex Henry Ballard Jr.

It requires a special person to write a eulogy. A eulogy, is something that praises someone and their life after they've died. You have to take everything that person ever was and ever did, and carefully put it down so that, when people hear it, they can all nod, smile and say, "Yeah, he sure was."

But to take all that my Dad was, would take another lifetime to read because he was so much to so many people in so many different ways. He created so many memories through all of us. We all formally knew him as Rex Henry Ballard ... Jr. and you remember him as the talented musician who always had music with him wherever he went. It was in his walk, his style and the rhythm of his whole life. One might venture to say that music was his only true love. He would pour it out for you, like some potion that would cure whatever ales you, giving it freely, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile in his heart.

Some of my most cherished memories as a child were on Sunday mornings. I never knew how early my Dad started, but I do remember waking up to guitar chords and licks from some melody I've never bothered to learn and hearing his poor attempt at singing them reminded me of why. But in those moments, when it was just him and his guitar, you could see happiness and love radiate from him. It filled the whole house. At times, it seemed like the whole universe sang with him on Sunday morning. Today, whenever I hear the original artists of those songs, I'll always remember that my Dad sang them to me first.

Even though he was a bad singer, he was a good song writer. He was a poet and a lover of life. Many of you will know him as a friend, who willingly and quickly did whatever he was capable, to help anyone who really needed it. He was a Buddhist who believed in Karma and the rippling effect the good will mankind can have on the universe. So, he did his part, whatever it was, whenever he could.

He was a mountain man, an amazing camper, a teacher and a fisherman who never caught anything because he was too busy teaching everyone else how to. In between the snags, the tangled lines and his crying children's cold feet, I always wondered why he liked it so much. Later, I realized the magic. It was those moments of quiet, and peace he had, when he was finally able to talk with the river, and the trees and the sky. He was a lover of nature and surrounded himself within it, whenever he could. But, never without his guitar.

He was a brother, an uncle, and to his four kids, a father and mentor who's lessons will be echoed throughout our lives and the lives of everyone we're in contact with, like ripples in a pond or the current in the river, it's unstoppable. He was a hard worker who would commute to different states for weeks to put food in his families stomachs, a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs.

He was a role model, a guardian, and if you've ever heard of McGurk at the Roadhouse, he was also a comedian with a split personality. His humor was ceaseless and sometimes, pretty dry. But, there was always an optimism in his attitude, in spite of the darkness people face, everyday.

Each of us has our own version of Rex. We each have our own title that we've given him. If you can, write it down and read it aloud to anyone who will listen, so that everyone can hear his story, who he was, and remember him as the person he always strived to be, of the struggles he fought to get there and the pains he endured for his, his family's and his friend's happiness's.

We're here to honor the life of our father, mentor, brother, friend, husband, companion, lover, poet, singer/songwriter, musician, comedian, painter, illustrator, guardian, artist, chef, fisherman, teacher, ... Cubs fan, the list can continue until tomorrow, but most of all, to me ... my Dad, was the Greatest man I'll ever know.

In writing his eulogy, I hope that all of you will remember something good about him and say, "Yeah, he sure was."

Harder than I thought

It's been a crazy, crazy few months, so busy. My wife and I went to Wendover and ended up winning a bunch of money, over $3,000. We were so excited. We finally had the downpayment to buy a house. Our San Diego vacation was a nice break from life, though. We got tattoos. Thank you Carlos at Ink Spot on Mission Beach, 728 Ventura Place.

But, when my Dad died, we found out he didn't have insurance to handle the funeral costs and we had to use our winnings to pay for it. It's bittersweet. Now, we have to go back to slowly saving.

Now, I'm struggling to deal with all his stuff. Everybody wants the same things and arguments are breaking out. It turns out, much of his stuff isn't his and people want it all back. This is stuff that the kids grew up with, as being part of the family's, intertwined with our childhood memories are now gone. We were prepared to devide it all up, as fairly as possible. But, now we can't and we're left with scraps of memories to hold on to. It's gotten so bad, I give up. Let them have it. I don't want my memories tainted by fights over them.

Then, finding lawyers to handle the "probate." It seems that these lawyers always want to make an appointment. They don't seem to want to answer any questions over the phone. I don't have that kind of time. They should find time for me, I'm the customer, right? I can't meet with them before 5 pm and they're not available on the weekends.

How much does probate cost? The deceased and his accounts are out-of-state, is that a problem? Do I need an out-of-state attorney? What kind of paper work do I need to collect to make sure his paperwork is in order (i.e. birth certificates, bank statements, death records, etc.) Is it just paperwork?

Frustrating.

So, My Father Died

Yeah, so my dad died last week and today, I celebrate my birthday without him. I'll get through my day not wondering, but knowing that he's not going to call and wish me a good day. Despite my most wonderful friends wishing me a "happy" day, it's been a bad birthday and will go down in tha annals of my life as the worst birthday of my life.

On the otherhand, I should be rejoicing and enbracing it. For I am 29 years old today and my 28th year was a complete and total shit stain on my life. My father's heart attack, my mother's disease, two car accidents, a cancer scare and a partridge shits on my pear tree. So long, 28. Hello 29!

Some time in the near future, when I can gather all the necessary resources and content, I'll make a webpage dedicated to him.

It Falls in Clumps

It just doesn't seem to stop, now, does it?  My wife found a bump in her breast last week.  She had it checked by a doctor, who was concerned and ordered an ultrasound, which caused more concern so they ordered a biopsy.  It was benign (which is good), but caused enough concern to have the doctor say, lets take it out.  So an operation is now scheduled a few weeks from now.

Yesterday, my wife's step-father passed away.  He was a serious alcoholic.  Realizing he needed serious help, he turned to his ex-wife (my mother-in-law).  She doesn't keep any alcohol in the house and they thought it'd be a good idea for him to find stability there.  The rule was, he could stay there as long as he didn't drink.  He did great for a couple weeks.  Three days ago, he started sneaking it and she found out.  He broke the rule and had to go.  She said she didn't want to watch him die.  That night, he did.  His alarm was going off in the morning, she went in to turn it off and found him on the floor.

911 was called and he was rushed to the hospital where they were able to revive his heart, but it was too late.  His step-son performed a final blessing and they unplugged the machines.

This spring will remain in my memory in infamy.  What a horrible season.  It's been stabbed, it's dying and I hope it doesn't bleed into the next.