Brian Main

 As I write this, Brian is heading home to Toronto.  After his last official trip to Haggar.  

When I had the blessing of being the CMO of Haggar Clothing Co., Brian was our man in Canada.  

Who knows why, but Brian and I met and immediately became friends.  And that friendship grew and developed into a great business relationship and a friendship.

Brian got me.  And I got Brian. 

Brian knows me as well as any male human.  Lea knows me better, but Brian was there for me before Lea.  

We did great business together.  

But, more importantly, we became very close friends.  

Me, a redneck.  He, a hockey-playing hardass.

We've been thru all types of business issues. Sometimes on opposite sides.  

We've been thru family struggles.  We were always open and honest.

O, the good times we've had.  Bistro 999.  Playing golf and George Chee sliding down the fairway doing unintentional 360 slides.  

This man, Brian Main, is the only guy that ever "got me".  Not that I was in charge.  Just that I had a point of view.  

He is a married man with two kids who have been thru the challenges of growing up.  

Brian has been there at every challenge of my life.  

I love Brian Main.  

I am looking forward to seeing what he does in the next chapter of life.  (There is more to life than selling pants.)

Brian, I am so lucky to know you.  I am so proud of how you have managed your life,  

I doubt you know how much you mean to me.  

I would die on a stake for you.  

I love you Brian Main.  

I'll see you on the lake sometime soon.

ab

 

Why we're introducing Realtors for Seniors

If you are over 55, you've likely dealt with one of these scenarios:

-You have a parent that is needing more care and you are wondering what the best living options are for your loved one

-You or your spouse need more care and you are wondering what the best living options are for you

-You are thinking of downsizing, perhaps buying a second home or moving closer to your kids

These real estate decisions can become complex due to the variety of considerations and options.  It can become overwhelming, and there isn't one great place to call in DFW for help.

Until now!

Alan Levy, Lea Burks and Alan Burks are the team. Three experienced realtors at Ebby Halliday that are all certified Senior Real Estate Specialists thru the National Association of Realtors.  We've formed a team that we call Realtors for Seniors.  

Because, that's what we specialize in and as a team with Ebby's resources and our specialized seniors resources we can help guide individuals and families thru any scenario. 

 

Over age 55, a number of issues arise when considering a move.

-My parent(s) need to move, but I don't live in DFW.  Who can help me with all of the "stuff"?  Like, moving companies, estate sale companies, trash haul companies, finding the right kind of care?

-If I or a loved one needs more care, what are my options?

-If I or a loved one needs to move to a facility, what are my options?

-Tax issues such as capital gains and tax-deferred exchanges need to be addressed  

-Legal considerations such as wills and trusts

-If we're healthy and want to move into an active lifestyle adult community, what are my options?  How would that affect me in the sale of my home?

We can advise you on all of these topics.  We can work with your financial advisor, tax planner, attorney, doctor, parents, adults children and more to determine what's best.

Each of us has gone thru this process as individuals.  We've had to help our parents move out of their longtime homes.  We've had to help find the right level and place for care.  We've had to work out tax, financial, legal and emotional issues with our families to get our folks in the right place.  It is complicated and often not a lot of fun. 

 

However, once the right situation is figured out, there is a lot of relief and peace. 

 

That's what Realtors for Seniors can do for you and your family.

If you have any questions, please call us at  214-286-5292. 

If you don't live in the Dallas area, we can still help you find a senior specialist to help you.  

Everett with three e's

 

I met Everett on Tuesday evening in Celina, Texas.

He's my new best friend and he is already a hero.

I was invited to speak at the American Legion in Celina.  Everett's grandpa is a member of that post and an Air Force veteran.

I arrived a few minutes early.   The meeting room wasn't open yet and Everett, his granddad and I were standing in the parking lot.  It was a hot, humid day in Texas.  I decided to go sit in my truck with the air conditioning on until the meeting was ready to start.  I asked Everett if he wanted to join me and he jumped at the chance.  "It's HOT out here."

So, we had a few minutes to get to know each other.  He told me his name was Everett.  I asked him how he spells his name.  "It's simple,  Everett with three e's."  He went on to tell me he was eight and just finishing second grade.  He had asked his grandfather if he could attend the meeting because he had read about 2LT Peter Burks and he had two questions for me.

A beautiful child.  Blond hair, blue eyes, big smile and a full, open, happy face.  

We saw folks gathering inside the room and we went in and joined them.  

This American Legion post has been so honoring to Pete.  They renamed their post after four fallen soldiers from Celina.  Stelzer-Stallcup-Hutchins-Burks - Post 145.  One each from World War I, World War II, The Korean War and the War on Terror.

They asked me to tell them Pete's story and to update them on the Unsung Hero Fund.  It was such an honor and such a great release for me.  I love telling Pete's story.  It's how I keep him alive and honor his legacy.  

At the end, I asked if there were any questions.  And Everett raised his hand and had his two questions.  "Did 2LT Burks have on a helmet?  What medals did he earn?"

I answered those for him.  And then to my surprise, he said he had something for me.

Everett had a box weighing about 30 pounds full of care package supplies that we can ship to deployed soldiers.  He had raised most of the money to purchase the items.  If you look at the picture above, you can see the cardboard box.  He wrote his name and phone number on it.  And his little brother signed it as well.  THAT box will never go to recycling.  I have plans for that precious piece of packaging.

Everett gets it at eight years old.  He realizes he lives in a special place called the USA.  He realizes that war is sometimes necessary to protect our freedom.  He understands hard work and giving back.

Who wouldn't want to be his friend?  Who wouldn't want to learn from him?  

I'm buying stock in this young man.  He's already making a difference in this world.  I am excited to see what his future holds.  It will be significant.  

Father Christmas

My dad died at the sweet old age of 94 earlier this year.  Not due to Covid.  He was worn out.  

This marks the first Christmas in my life where he hasn't been part of Christmas.  He was Santa Claus. He put the trains together.  He put the bikes together.  He was the young dad with the blinding camera lights as my brother and sister and I came into the living room to see what Santa had brought. 

In the last twenty years or so, I tried hard to make his Christmas bright for him.  I'd get to Atlanta as often as I could.  I'd send him presents and he was always so thankful.  Haggar pants.  LL Bean slippers.  Comfy sweatshirts and lounge pants.  

It now occurs to me that I'm the head of a family and the oldest person my grandkids will know.  Unless, I live as I hope to live till 125.  I want to see my great-grandkids.  

Pops, I miss you so.  

We figured it out with Mom not being here for the past twenty something years.  

But now that you're gone, holy crap.  I'm it. 

And I don't love it.  And, I love it.  

Age makes us all different.  Just like you and I talked, we both still feel like we're 18.  

To my kids, I hope you feel as loved by me as I felt loved by my dad.  Your PaPa.  

I plan on being Santa Claus until 2050 at least. 

To my grandkids, know that I love you and and and I'm so proud of everything you do.  

To my great grandkids, I hope you can read this back to me.  

To all of you, remember this.  Christmas is awesome.  The lights, the food, the times of gathering.  The presents.  

But, sweet kids.  Christmas signifies something much bigger and more important.  

Our God came to earth in the form of a baby.  He lived a normal life in Israel.  He did it somehow sinless.  

At age 30, he began his ministry.  No man has made an such an impact on the world as did Yeshua in those three years.  

As much as I love you all, I can't love you like Him.

Father Christmas is God and Christmas celebrates His coming to us as a human.  He lived a perfect life and paid for our sins on the Cross. 

In the meantime, I'll be Santa.  And, It's the greatest job on earth.  

Thanks, Pops for teaching me how.  

Merry Christmas.

Pops

 

Dinner at eight

What was dinner like for you when you were eight years old?

I believe the answer to that question can help to get to know someone better than any other question.

What was your typical 8 year old dinner like?

Who was at the dinner table?  Just immediate family, or were there cousins, aunts, uncles and others?

Was there a dinner?

Who cooked it?

Was it a time of peace or a time of distress?

Were your parents there?  Or, were only one of your parents there?  Or were neither of your parents there?

Was it harried or calm?  What did you talk about?  Or, were you allowed to talk?  

That dinner scenario likely impacts your personality, beliefs, behavior and world view more than anything I can think of.  Happy or sad.  Positive or negative.  Trusting or cynical.  Love of family or disdain for people.  Teamwork or loner.  Think about it.  Faith or atheist?  

Does it hold true for you?

How about Winston Churchill?  How about Hank Aaron?  How about Anne Frank?  How about Muhamad Ali?  How about Bill Clinton?  How about Hillary Clinton?  How about Barack Obama? How about Adolf Hitler?  How about Gandhi?  How about Tiger Woods?  How about Bill Gates?  

How about your spouse?  How about your next door neighbor?  How about your boss?  How about the people that you manage?  How about your kids?

I can think of many examples to make this point.  I've asked people in interviews.  I've discussed it with fellow workers.  

Here are two examples.

Years ago, I was teaching a class called "Before you say I do", a 10 week lesson plan for couples planning to marry.  (I know it's ironic for me, but it's true.  If only I had studied this when I was in high school.)  

We had individual "counseling" sessions with the couples.  One couple haunts my memories.  Both were attorneys.  Incredibly bright.  Incredibly successful.  Incredibly career focused.  

Thru the session, we learned something unusual.  They both owned homes.  And after they got married, they were going to keep both homes and live separately.  When I asked why, here was her answer.  "He has a huge collection of poisonous snakes.  I hate them.  And, he won't get rid of them for me.  So, I'm not living in his house."

When I asked him about this unusual plan, he responded with a snarl.  It was his life and he was going to do what he darn well wanted to.  He was smart enough to make this weird marriage work.  No one was going to tell him what to do.

I asked him why he carried so much anger.  He immediately responded, "When I was eight years old, my father told me in front of my family that I was stupid."  He then broke down and cried and you could feel the torment in him.  His fiancé had no idea.  I don't know what happened to them, but I pray he's at peace.  

On a totally different note, we had neighbors that moved in two doors down from us when I was a kid.  The Samchok family.  Allan Samchok was my age. 

I'll never forget going to his house to see if he could come out and play.  When I got to their kitchen door, I heard something I'd never heard and haven't since.  Sitting around their dinner table, the parents and the two boys sang opera.  Each would take turns.  It was the weirdest thing in the world to me.  Opera?  But thinking back, how marvelous.  Doing something together.  Music.  Happiness.  Learning history through opera.  Learning Italian and German.  What a gift those parents gave that family.  

Whatever you recall about dinner at 8, if it brings you peace, wallow in that.  Share it with your family.

If what you recall brings sadness or angst or self-doubt, talk to someone and release yourself from the pain.  It's time to get free and get happy.  

 

Words of December

Figgie pudding.  Hosanna.  Yule.  Tinsel.  Ambrosia.  St. Nicholas.  Silent Night.  Hark.  Fall on your knees.  Joyeux Noel.  Elves.  Divinity candy.  Manger.  Candy canes.  Ornaments.  Hanukkah.  North Pole.  Red-nosed.  Wenceslas.  Dreidel.  Nog.  Emmanuel.  Bethlehem.  Three kings.  Carols.  Scotch pine.  Chestnuts.  Shitter’s full.  Over the river and thru the woods.  Sugar plums.  Advent. Excelsis.  Sleigh.  Mulled wine.  Fraser fir.  White fudge Oreos.  Jingle bells.  Let it snow.  Fruit cake.  Out of D batteries.  Reindeer.  Swaddling.  Happy Christmas.  Peace on Earth.  Good will towards men. 

The Kudzu Cocoon

I love Texas.  

But if I drive 2 and half hours east, I'm home.  In the kudzu cocoon.  

I grew up in it, and whenever I get back, I get that peaceful easy feeling.  

If you don't know what kudzu is or have never seen it, it's a glorious thing.  It was brought to the U.S. as a plant to help with erosion on farms in the South.  It was thought it could also be a food crop for livestock.

What folks didn't know was how invasive and fast growing this plant could be.  In the humid, hot summers kudzu can grow a foot a day.   It got a bit out of hand with the farmers, and now it covers the Southeast.  

Here's where kudzu grows.  Pretty much the same map as the SEC.  (Somewhat explains why the heck Mizzou is in THE conference.)

You can see kudzu on the interstate.  But to really appreciate kudzu and the sweet, sweet South, you need to get on a highway outside city limits.  SR 141, SH 157, Highway 441, Great River Road. 

Driving down these roads you'll not only see miles of vines, but you'll see, hear, smell and taste what makes the South so special.

You'll drive thru small towns and across rivers, many named by Native Americans.  Tishimongo, Solgohachia, Withlacoochee, Dahlonega, Opelousas, Natchez, Kiawah and Ooltewah.  

You'll see so many churches so close together that if you drive slowly with your windows down on a Wednesday evening during prayer meeting you could hear Amazing Grace sung non-stop for an hour.

You'll discover the largest industry in the South.  Used cars.  Hundreds and thousands of them parked in grass lots.  In every little town.  Out in the county outside town limits.   If you can't find a good used F-150 in a mile or so, you're too darn picky.  

If a meat and three kind of cafe makes sense to you, this is where the best are hiding.  H&H Soul Food, Ramsey's Diner, Bully's, Franke's Cafeteria, The Busy Bee Cafe (that was once destroyed by a tornado so powerful that someone found one of their menus 70 miles away), Arnold's Country Kitchen or Earley's Kitchen.

You'll find some delightful and unusual attractions to visit along the way.  The National Bird Dog Museum, the Double Decker Arts Festival, Christ of the Ozarks, Bourbon Manor, Front Street and the Gatlinburg Space Needle.  And if you find yourself wandering around Jackson, Mississippi during late March, don't miss Hal's St. Paddy's Parade starring the Sweet Potato Queens.  

Speaking of tasty things, the South invented barbecue.  Which means slow smoked meat as opposed to grilling over charcoal.  There's lots of hot debate about which is the best, so ideally you'd try them all.  Different techniques.  Different meats.  Different sauces.  All served with pride and love.  At places like Fresh Air, Scott's, Moonlite Inn, The Ridgewood, Jenkins, Archibald's or Shiver's.  

Best of all will be the people you'll meet along the way.  Some with sun-stained necks from working on their farm when they get off from their job at the factory.  State troopers, bank tellers, cashiers at the local convenience store who knows everyone in town and acts as the visitors bureau if their town of 136 could afford such a thing, high school kids in loud pickups, the waitress at the local cafe who won't let your iced tea glass get below half full.  Sweet people who are friendly and welcoming by nature and are happy to help anyone who needs it.  

The people have their own way of talking.  Listen carefully and you can hear the precious local accents that are as different from Southern Louisiana to South Georgia as they can be.  But, it's all the same language just expressed differently.  And, they might say things that strike you as odd if you didn't grow up there.  "How's your mama and them?"  "Bless your heart." "I'm full as a tick."  "Like a cow pissing on a flat rock."  "I'm worn slap out."  "Well, I'll swanee."   

Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco.   Stephen Vincent Benet wrote, "Bury my heart at Wounded Knee".  Joe Diffie sang "Prop Me Up Against the Jukebox When I Die".  

As for me, let me spend as many days as I can with my people.  My food.  My music.  My land.

In the kudzu cocoon.