$279,000 No Pest Strips

If this photo doesn't get you excited, those of us who do go into heat when seeing this don't understand.

I've liked cars since I was a little kid.  I earned Arrowhead points as a Cub Scout for being able to identify different makes, models, and years of cars.  

The beauty pictured above is a Porsche 911 Turbo S.  

My wife is car-agnostic.  If she sees an SUV in the same color as hers, she'll just as likely get in that car in the parking lot as not.  They all look the same to her.  I've seen her get into a car similar to hers with people in that car!

She doesn't understand the Porsche 911 Turbo S.  It's too small.  It's kinda ugly.  And why would someone buy an expensive car and have No-Pest strips on the wheels?

If you were born after 1980, you may not remember No-Pest strips.  Because they were outlawed for being poisonous, cancer-causing nightmare machines.  

They were a garish yellow strip that hung where there were flying, biting insects. Especially in the un-airconditioned kitchen in the middle of a muggy Southern summer.  

That's what my wife thinks yellow Brembo brake calipers look like.  

Brembo is an Italian company that manufactures high-quality brakes.  In order to stand out, they paint their calipers different colors.  First, red for Formula 1.  Then yellow.  The luring public got hooked.  

It has led to BDS, brake derangement syndrome.  No car is cool unless it has brightly colored brake calipers.  

It has gotten so crazy that you can buy vinyl brake caliper covers if you're ride didn't come equipped properly.  Upgrade dad's (or grandma's or junior's) hooptie today!

So, perhaps my wife is smarter about colorful brake calipers than the average man.  If I could get my hands on some No-Pest strips, I could launch a profitable side hustle.

I'd call it the Oh So Fly No-Fly Zone.  

Dry Wheat Toast

My sweet wife and I like ice cream.  

Here in Dallas, Braum's is one of the leading ice cream purveyors.  Good, solid enterprise based in Oklahoma City.  Vertically integrated, meaning that they own their own dairy cow operation.  It is a unique combination of a fast food/ice cream restaurant.  Each store also has a small market inside offering dairy products,  baked goods, beverages, frozen entrees, meats, and produce.

Very recently, we went through the drive-thru for our evening ice cream treat.  

My wife wasn't supposed to be eating dairy products.  She just wanted a brownie. 

So, knowing that Braum's has brownies that they use in their brownie fudge sundae, I ordered my double-dip cone of cherry limeade and orange sherbet, and a brownie.  

The good folks at Braum's have a rule.  You cannot order "market" items through the drive-thru.  This helps with speedy service.  I was aware of that rule.  

My order was immediately met with the following response: "We don't serve market items through the drive-thru."  

My stupid meter went off and with blood pressure rising, I responded curtly:  "You sell brownie sundaes thru the friggin' drive through.  Give me a brownie, cause I know you can do it!!"

Again, "We don't serve market items through the drive-thru!"

As I began to order a brownie fudge sundae, hold the cherry, hold the whipped cream, hold the fudge sauce, hold the ice cream, my wife patted my arm and said, "I'll just have a cheeseburger."  

She sensed the inevitable battle and took away the issue.  She should be the Swiss Ambassador for World Peace.  

Oh, the opportunity missed.  I might have ended up in The Dallas Morning News if they printed more than 8 pages a day.  Not sure my verbal whipping of the night manager at Braum's would earn space in the tiny area where they print news.  

The next day, I went to Loew's Home Improvement.  I needed a bolt and a nut to repair my beloved but aging Traeger. 

By myself, I found the hardware aisle and the nuts and bolts cabinet.  By myself because there is no help anymore in these warehouses of stuff.  It's why Ace Hardware is still doing well.  They have knowledgeable people who work there.  

I digress.  I found the size bolt and nut I needed.  Went home, inserted the bolt, tried the nut, and discovered it was a lock nut.  Not what I needed. 

So, back to Loew's.  (What's your average number of trips to Lowe's or Home Depot on simple projects?  Mine is three.)

Again, I found the hardware aisle and the nuts and bolts cabinet. I open the drawer with the size I need, and there are zero nuts to be found.  Except for one free-roaming wing nut in the size I needed.  Everything in the drawer was sold packaged in groups of three.

I took my bolt and their wingnut to the front.  First, I asked the cashier who was in charge of the self-service cashier machines.  Impossible to check you out, sir, with no barcode. Please try customer service.  

I did.  The nice lady at customer service had no idea what to do.  An elderly man, who I believe is one of those folks who is supposed to help you, looked at the situation and told the nice lady to tell me, "It is impossible to help you."

The customer service lady then paged the manager.  Several responded over the walkie-talkie, each saying they had no solution.  "Could you come back another day, sir?"

I was about to give them the dry wheat toast speech made by Jack Nicholson's character in Five Easy Pieces.  

I offered to pay a dollar for the wingnut that retailed for about 13 cents.  That was impossible to run through their system as well.  

Finally, another manager was located.  I explained the problem.  He said, "Just take the wingnut.  I don't believe it will crash our profit margin."

Problem solved.  

Corporate America has its head so far up its butt and is so ruled by IT systems and rules that providing customer service is impossible. 

Unless you have one sane person who knows how to say yes. 

O holy night

Last evening, my wife and I went to a birthday party for a friend.  Drove home in a steady rain anxious to get inside to a dry, safe house.  

I have put up Christmas lights around our front trees.  They are lovely, except when it gets wet.  They short out and trip the GFCI outdoor plugs.  Which includes the plug for our garage door opener. 

We pulled into the driveway and quickly figured out the garage door wasn't operating and was locked.  We cannot get in through the back of the house because the fence gate is locked.  Looking at each other with desperation, we said, "We don't have a front door key on us, do we?"  And we didn't and that's when the adventure began.  

I thought I could scale and jump the back fence.  It is 8 feet tall.  It is very wet, still raining.  I am very out of shape.  It is cold and dark.  So, I attempted it and got close to the top of the fence but realized something very painful was about to happen to me.  

So I got back into the car and announced, "I cannot believe I'm this stupid to not have a house key hidden somewhere around.  Just because I deserve it, I'm going to drive this car through the back fence and I'll just have to pay to get it all fixed."  Steam was coming out of my ears.  

Lea just quietly said, "Can't we drive up to the fire station and see if they can help?"  Such an angel.

So we drove the the station house.  Knocked on the door, and three young heroes came to see what the commotion was.  I explain the dilemma.  They say, "We'll meet you in front of your house."

And in no time, they were there.  Three young men, none yet to reach 30, were all ready to help in whatever way they could.  

Since October 7, we have also flown an Israeli flag on the front of our house to show our support and solidarity with the people of Israel.  As Christians, we are called to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem."

One of the young men asked if we were Jewish.  I said no.  He said, "I am. Why do you fly the Israeli flag?"  I tried to provide him some history and scripture to put it into context for him.  

"Sir, I can't tell you how good it makes me feel to see that flag.  Being a Jew in the fire department, it can get a bit lonely sometimes.  Lots of people just don't understand or care about our connection to Israel.  Thank you for standing with me and us.  It makes me feel less lonely already."

With that, we go to the back of the house.  Before I can say boo, one young man has scaled the fence and is asking me for the combination of the lock on the gate.  

Boom.  We were in.  

We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night.  

Happy Christmas.  

Thrilled to have made someone who makes me feel safe feel safer himself.  

P.S.  I'll be smoking racks and racks of ribs for my new heroes on Tuesday.

Adulting is not fun

Headstone for Betty and Haskell Burks 

My dad died three years ago.  

My brother, sister, and I buried his ashes two weeks ago in Westview Cemetery.  

Honestly, I still don't get it.  Meaning, it is hard for me to believe and accept that he is not here.  That he is in another plane, another reality, and not my reality.  

Pops didn't die due to COVID.  But, he passed during the COVID craziness.  

My dad was known as Mr. Dependable.  He was a residential real estate agent and broker on the Southside of Atlanta for over 50 years.  It's amazing how many people know him and his legacy in East Point, College Park, Fayetteville, and beyond.  

He was a volunteer at the Chambers of Commerce, the Methodist Church, and more Realtor Boards than I can name.  

He was a good man.  Loyal to his wife, Betty Burks.  He was loyal to his children:  Michael, Alan, and Laurie.  

He never made a lot of money, but he provided.  Us kids thought we were rich.  

He joined the Navy at age 17 when WWII was roiling, after being the leader of the ROTC at Russell High School.  He wanted to be a gunner in a B-52.  But the fact that he wore glasses ruled him out of that.  

My dad wasn't overly demonstrative.  He was a quiet man.  Strong and quiet.  Much like his dad, my Big Papa, Jesse Kirby Burks.  

Pops, you were such a leader in your own way.  People respected you in the communities where we lived.  

I believe your strong silent leadership was passed down.  Maybe skipped a generation.  Mike is kinda hot (brother you are free to disagree) and no doubt Laurie has Mom's fire.  I honestly believe Ali, Pete, and Zac got your genes.  And, Oliver may well have them.  

Dad, I can't believe you are gone.  I don't know how Heaven works, but I hope you are reunited with Mom and all of your friends.  

Please know that I hope to honor your legacy by being a good human.  I've got a lot of Mom in me.  And that's a good thing.  But Pops, you were the coolest dude in the midst of many storms.  

Rest easy.  You worked so hard to get to this place.  

We thank you for your quiet strength and guidance.  

I know you are in Heaven because you had faith in Jesus.  

I wish we could go to one more Braves game together.  

I love you and miss you, but you are not buried in Westview Cemetery.  You are in Heaven with Mom, Woody, Marylou, Gene, The Garcias, and so many more.  

I'll see you soon.

ab

An Open Letter to President Biden

Dear President Biden,

President Joe Biden speaks before designating the first national monument of his administration at Camp Hale, a World War II era training site, Wednesday, Oct. 12, 2022, near Leadville, Colo. (Chris Dillmann/Vail Daily via AP)

On October 12, you stated at Camp Hale that your son Beau "lost his life in Iraq".

Sir, Beau served honorably in Iraq. But he did not lose his life there.

My son did along with over 4000 other patriots.

In the almost two weeks since these erroneous words came out of your mouth, not you nor anyone in your administration has taken the time to correct this.

President Biden, you are either addled or a liar.

You have embarrassed your family. You have besmirched the reputation of Beau. You have spit in the faces of Gold Star families across this country of which you are Commander in Chief.

A simple apology and explanation would suffice.

Over 4000 families will be waiting as well as the one million brave men and women who wear the Cloth of our Nation.


Sincerely,

Alan Burks
Gold Star Father
2LT Peter H. Burks
KIA Baghdad, Iraq
11/14/07

The meanest sumbitch in Texas

There are lots of great things in Texas.  Unfortunately, the interstate highway system isn't one of them.  And I-35 is the worst of them all.  

I-35 runs from Laredo, Texas to Duluth, Minnesota.  1568 miles.  And 503.9 of those miles are in Texas.  

I think Texas has a secret population control plan.  Which is probably right-minded given all of the people moving here. What else would explain this stretch of concrete mayhem?  It is the 5th most deadly road per mile in the nation.  For every 100 miles of the highway to hell, I-35 in Texas averages 12.56 deaths per year.  This road averages over 22,000 crashes per year.  

Why?  Why is it such a mess?  

Reason 1:  The road isn't large enough to handle all of the traffic.  Or, there's too many dam vehicles on the road.  You pick. 

Depending on which part of this ballbuster you are driving, it might be four lanes wide and it might be two lanes.  And sometimes just for fun, they'll dial it down to one lane (at night) during construction.  This for the de facto route North and South route for 18 wheelers and the jillion other people driving their cars, motorcycles, pickup trucks, RVs, and other contraptions, at speeds not meant to be driven by a human on a public highway. 

Reason 2:  The formerly mentioned construction.  The endless construction.  I don't know which government entity manages this stupidity, but they must be paying by the hour for the work that's sorta getting done.  Construction everywhere on this slab.  Those median barriers that you need a Formula 1 car to navigate thru.  (You can tell by all of the tire marks on those concrete death traps.)  

Reason 3:  Waco.  It's sometimes pronounced Whacko, which is fitting but not the correct pronunciation.  WAY-CO.  Waco is an old Indian word for shithole.  I-35 thru Waco has been under construction, reconstruction, updating, widening, etc. for 35 years.  And it isn't going to end anytime soon.  And I don't mean to disparage the fine educational institution there.  Why, Midway High School is an excellent school.

Reason 4:  Rubbernecking.  Sometimes it's to peer at the carnage across the median in the lane going the opposite direction.  But many times, it's to ponder the amazing roadside oddities that are a never-ending source of debate, tall tales and rear-end crashes.  

For instance, there is the Monolithic Institute.  What on God's green earth is that you ask?  Well, here's what it looks like.  It's next to the Northbound side of the Grim Reaper Highway near Italy, Texas.  (More about Italy, Texas to come.)

Then of course is the Milford Tower.  Near Milford, Texas.  Where you can skydive if driving I-35 is too tame for you.  Here's a pic.  

Oh, the guesses, the theories, the stories, the myths.  "They use that thing to catch the skydivers if their chute don't open."  "It's the world's biggest lightening rod."  "It's the latest project of the Branch Davidians."  

The truth is actually stranger than fiction.  This lonesome tower in this pitiful pasture is owned by Viziv Technologies.  It is designed to mimic Nikola Tesla's Wardenclyffe Tower.  Tesla built his tower on Long Island in the early 1900's.  It was to send messages, telephone, facsimiles images and wireless power transmission.  (So Tesla was way ahead of Lily from AT&T).

The good folks at Viziv plan to use their tower in Milford for exactly what Tesla built his to do.  Good luck to them.  In the meantime, now you know the rest of the story.

Then, there is Quarry Row.  It looks like the movie set for the next Transformers movie.  Massive in scale.  Machines the size of Jeff Bezos' ego.  Thirty miles of eleven rock-mining operations just south of New Braunfels.  You can't miss it.  It's just behind the Snake Zoo.  

Reason 4:  Getting lost.  It seems impossible to get lost on a major North-South Interstate Highway.  But, it happens.  Primarily because folks have an issue with their vehicle, call for help, and can't get help because they can't pronounce the name of the town they are in.

If your boat trailer breaks loose in Buda, do not call and say you need help in Buddha.  You are in "BYOO-duh".  

If your RV runs out of gas in Italy ()and there are a killion RVs on I-35, you are not in Italy as in the country where Sophia Loren originated.  You are in "It-ly".  

If you run out of gas in Bexar County, you are not in Bex-are County.  It's "Bear" County.

If your pontoon boat (please God shoot me if I'm ever the captain of a pontoon boat wearing white New Balance shoes and a Come and Take It t-shirt), gets blown off of its trailer by the constant winds, and you are in Gruene, please know it is pronounced "Green".  

And then, there is Waxahacie.  I've misprounced this town most of my time in Texas.  It is another town with an American Native name.  'WAKS-uh-HATCH-ee."  Beware Waxahacie.  It's a lovely town.  But I-35 running thru there is a killer.  

Reason 5:  Ft. Worth.  Pronounced Fote Worth.  If you take I-35W thru that town, God Bless you.  The construction is nuts and the opportunity for a wreck is over the top.  Last year during a light ice-storm, 6 people were killed and there were over 130 related wrecks.  

Reason 6:  Idiots. Pickup trucks the size of a large earth-moving machine driven by 16 year old lucky sperm club wanna be cowboys.  Mexican tourist buses.  Pickup trucks with a slew of ladders and pvc pipe in the back.  Hoop-dees.    

Here's a link to previous insight on this issue: http://burkslaw.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-roads-of-madness.html

In summary, be careful on I-35.  And, don't worry about Texas.  It might thin the herd, but we will survive the widowmaker. 

We always do.  We survived Santa Anna.  We survived Bonnie and Clyde.  Heck, we even survived Janet Reno.

 

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.

All I ever wanted

I grew up in East Point, Georgia.  A suburb south of Atlanta.

It was a "Leave it to Beaver" kind of place.

Families living together.  Kids playing together.  Very little turnover in houses sold.

It was home.  And, it was safe and happy.


All I ever wanted to was to repeat that upbringing for the family I dreamed of.

Chasing lightning bugs.  A family dog.  Neighbors we loved and trusted.


All I wanted was to do what I grew up with a little better.

I had no grandiose dreams.


All I wanted was to be married to someone I loved.  Have kids that we cherished.  And, have a picket fence around the yard to keep the kids and the dog in.


I've finally got as close to that as possible.

I'm married to a beautiful woman inside and out.  She loves family as much as me.

We live in a fenced house, but in Dallas, picket fences aren't the norm.  We have two greyhounds.


The sweetest thing I ever heard was from one of my daughters.  "Your house feels like love to me."


That's not as much about the house as it is the fact everyone in the family is welcome to come here and just be.  No judgement.  No drama.  Lea and I are very much in love with each other and with all of our family.

We have lots of mixed race kids and grand kids.

It's a simple little house.  But, the best part is the fireplace.  It's in the sunken living room (circa 1970).

There have been more good family chats around that fireplace than I can count.

It's a tacky 1970's design.  But, it has produced.


It's not a picket fenced house on a mountain in the Smokies as I might have dreamed.

We have 8 kids between us, and I think 14 grand-kids if my current count is correct.


Life is a marathon.  Keep running.  Finish.  It's worth the pain. 

The Good Lord knows what you need more than what you want.

Love is all you need

Dear Antifa, BLM, KKK, Boogaloo Boys, and like-minded folks,

We hear you.

We might not understand, but we hear you.

You are asking for something.  You want the world to be as you see it.

Bad news is, this world wasn't designed for your particular view.


So here is the answer.


None of you get it.  Far left.  Far right.  Racist.  Anti-racist.


The answer to your problems is very simple.


Love.


You can't get what you want without love.


Love means caring about another person before they respond positively to you.


I know this will be antithetical, but it is immutable.


Love conquers all.


And, God is love.


Yep, there is a being that created us all.  As screwed up as we can be.


You folks in the street are't the first.  Or, the last.

People have railed against injustice throughout history.

You are our current decade's proof.


Get this in your hard heads.  God is love.

Love means caring for another person before they even acknowledge you.  Love means you matter.  Love means you are worth it.

I'm a Christian man.  That means, I love you.  I care for you.  I hope the best for you.  I hope you see Heaven.  I hope you will understand that Yeshua hated.  But, what he hated was those against love. 

Yeshua came to make all of us equal.  Poor, rich, black, white, brown, Jew, Gentile, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and on and on.

Yeshua came for all of us.

For all you want to do, you are powerless.  For all you want to hate, you will lose.  For all you want to control, you have no chance.


God is love.  And His Son, Yeshua is the answer.


You can take it or leave it.


But, you've been offered the opportunity of a lifetime to surrender your hatred for love.

Please, take his offer and your world will be a better place.

Amen

I Can't Breathe

June 4, 2009.

I was asleep.

It was about 8 pm.

I was living in Manhattan Beach, California. In the same apartment as my sweet daughter and my soon to be ex.

In the midst of a divorce.

To gain leverage, my ex called the cops.

She lied to them.  Said I was a drunkard, an abuser and violent.  None of that was true.


I heard an unusual knock on the door.

I woke up and walked into the hallway.  It was a trap.

There were at least 10 policeman in this tiny apartment.  My ex had claimed I was an abuser and a violent man.

I walked in to the hallway.

They asked me to sit down.  I explained that our 7 year old daughter was asleep in the bedroom where I had read her stories.

They then asked me to put my hands behind my back.  I did.


They then started to handcuff me.


I am claustrophobic and have anxiety attacks when I'm trapped in an enclosed space.


I tried to explain to the officers.


They took my resistance as aggresion.


Immediately, they took me to the ground. Or, the carpet of the apartment.

Six cops on top of me.  One had his knee on my neck.   Two had my legs.  One punched me repeatedly on my right jaw.  Broke my glasses, gave me a gash on the cheek and dislocated my jaw.

I was Tased three times.

When you have anxiety attacks and you can't breathe, you will do whatever you can to get air.

"I can't breathe".  I'm not trying to fight you.  I can't breathe".

I fought for my life.

I often wonder how close it was to them shooting me.


For some reason, they hogtied me and let me up.


The Sargent in charge explained to me that my soon to be ex had called them to the apartment because of my "violent behavior."   He then said to me that he understood what was going on.  He said this was a common tactic in Los Angeles divorce cases.


I ended up in jail.  Had to bail out.

The jail Sargent said to me, "Mr. Burks, I am so sorry you are in here.  You are not a violent man.  You are in here because of a nasty divorce lawyer and your soon to be ex wife.  You are a good man caught in a bad situation."

I can't know for sure what happened in George Floyd's situation.  If George had anxiety issues, it might explain some of his actions.

I can know that anxiety can cause a resistance against force with not pleasant responses.


To those that police us, I understand your concerns for safety.  Including your own.


I was choked down in the whitest of white suburbs of Los Angeles.


To the Floyd family, I think from what I see on video that George was wronged.  I think I was within seconds of that happening to me.

To those in blue, there has to be a better way.  White, black, brown, yellow or any combination.


Let's all get better.

Grace and Peace.

ab