On The Fly

In this episode, Father’s Moonlit Walk . . . by: Patrick Ball The moonlit night, a silent scene, A tranquil hour, serene and keen. I sit alone, a cup held tight, Lost in the past, a fading light. November's chill–crisp, cold air, A gentle breeze, a solemn prayer. I think of Dad, a man of grace, A loving heart, and a smiling face. We’d wander the woods, a father's pride, A loyal hound, by our side— the forest's depths, a mystic sight, A starry sky, a beacon bright. Through fields of gold, we’d make our way, A rustic path, a golden ray. The hound would bay, a mournful sound, A treetop chase, on hallowed ground. A simple joy, a treasured sight, A father's love, a guiding light. A memory's warmth, a gentle hand, A timeless bond across the land. . . . Welcome back to On the Fly. This rambling was triggered by a fleeting thought while driving home from work the other night. The sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean as we drove South on the 5 Freeway, just entering the ...

On January 24, 2015, at 1:08 p.m. Donald Lee Ball, my Dad, made the transition to heaven. He was a devoted husband, father of four, grandfather to seven, and yes, a great-grandfather to four healthy babies. He loved his family and nature’s bounty. He was always active, an athlete, and an outdoorsman. A mans-man who taught his children to work hard, be honest, and treasure family values. His spirit (our gift) lives in all the people he touched.  My best memory of my father was his love of baseball. Not spring training or a visit to a major league ballpark, nor was it meeting a famous ballplayer. For me, it was learning to catch lightning and field line drives with my Dad. My attention was not on major league baseball (see, A Budding Cubs Fan ) as a youngster. The game, at that level, was always background noise from an old transistor radio tuned to WGN Chicago. In Cuba, Illinois baseball fans chewed on one another every season over the battle between the Chicago Cubs and the S...