March 7th, 2025

    I came across a single mom when I first moved to Riverside. She walked past my building with her two sons every day. She was probably in her late twenties and the boys were probably five and two at the time.

I’d say hello from the balcony like I usually do with anyone that walks by and makes eye contact. We’d run into each other at Riverside Food and occasionally at the library.

Soon, I received a friend request and then the private messages started happening.

I got to know this lady and her struggle raising two sons on her own. The first sob story came right off the bat. An elaborate tale that would have made for a great episode of “Days of Our Lives.”

I loaned her a little money with the promise that I’d get it back on payday. Then another story and another small loan. It happened a couple more times and I finally made the point that the ATM was closed.

Earlier this week, I received a text on messenger. It started with small chat and went into the latest episode of “Guiding Light” that I knew was going to happen.

The story was a mish mosh of tragic circumstances that didn’t make sense, but ended with...

“I just need twenty bucks to fill my gas tank for work”

I sent her thirty through Venmo and told her that was it. I blocked her on Facebook and finally cut off this stranger that I never really knew.

I did feel some Catlick guilt, but I already have a single mother who strains my finances. I don't need another one.

Here is the reason why I sent a couple bucks here and there to this single mom.

My mom was a struggling single parent. Cecilia was always borrowing from Peter to pay Paul.

Every once in a while, my mom would receive an envelope in the mail with a return address from The Holy Spirit.

Just a plain white envelope with a twenty-dollar bill or two stuffed between a couple pieces of blank paper.

Either a family member or a friend, maybe even a neighbor up the street was sending my mom a couple bucks to get by.

Years later when I was standing next to her bed. Sometime during her last sixty days. I asked her if she ever found out who The Holy Spirit was that sent the money to her many years ago.

I was too young at the time to look at the postage stamp and see where it originated from. I would think my mom could have figured it out that way.

She laid in bed and told me that she thought it could have been one of her aunts. She also had an older sister that was a cloistered nun down in Saint Louis. My mom thought it could have been her as well.

That was the only reason that I gave this single mom some cash here and there. Because someone did the same thing for my mommy when I was a kid.

I’m no fucking Holy Ghost, but I did learn a few things about giving when I was growing up.

And I also wanted to make my mom proud of me. I want my mom to look down from heaven and see that she didn’t raise a little jagoff.

I thought today’s quote was appropriate for today's chalkboard. Even when life gets tough, we can’t expect help every time. We gotta learn to help ourselves every now and then.

Faith, Family and Friends will always cover us when we need it, but we shouldn't always expect it.

I’ll never know who that Holy Spirit was during my mom’s time of need.

I’m sure she had a few of them.

After all, isn’t that what we all are?

An extension of kindness working for a spiritual good.

When the day comes when is join my mom in heaven, we can personally thank The Holy Spirit.

It’s going to be a wintry mix of a shitshow today. Find some astonishment and be safe.

And when you figure out the grabber section…..

...Live by that principle

March 6th, 2025

 It was on this day in 2016 when my mom told me she was dying. She didn’t come right out and tell me, but by the tone of the conversation, I knew my Cecilia Marie was fighting a battle.

Sixty days later, she went to heaven.

For the next sixty days, I will take a journey to define how special the last sixty days of life is. How fragile the last sixty days of life is and how much we take it for granted.

Maybe we don’t take it for granted, but we don’t realize that it is someone else’s will that determines everything.

Every day after the market closes, I walk down to my car with my work wife.

He always says, “See you tomorrow Jumbo” and I always reply, “God willing.”

I think my mom knew on this day eight years ago that the kingdom was calling and The Big Chief’s will was being done.

Catlicks love to suffer. Jesus did it for us up on the cross. My mom suffered and so will I.

I don’t think it was the pain of cancer that hurt my Ma the most. I think she was more worried about me and not being there if I needed her. That was what hurt Cecilia the most during the last sixty days.

How am I going to suffer for sixty days?

Take away my booze, my red meat, my desserts, my hotdog, my pizza, my toast and my orgasm. That’s going to put some suffering in my life.

I’m doing it more as a tribute to my mom for all the sacrifice she made raising a little jagoff named John.

I’m going to come closer to my mom and to the faith that she instilled in me through baptism.

The Chalkboard will probably focus more on this sixty-day journey between today and May 6th.

Slap me if I start complaining about missing chocolate eclairs or hotdogs smothered in onions and mustard.

The funny thing about May 6th, 2016…

…I see my Ma more now than I did prior. I realized heaven is much closer than Indianapolis.

It’s going to be a sunny day for a walk. I’m going to find astonishment in how much my shadow has changed in the last week.

March 5th, 2025

 I went over to a place yesterday that I’ve been celebrating Mardi Gras at since the early 1990’s. I was dancing on the bar thirty years ago. The same bar that I was eating my redbeans on yesterday afternoon.

I had a hard time getting my big ass up on the barstool, I sure as hell couldn’t pull off doing the Mardi Gras Mambo on the bar today.

Besides the redbeans and rice, I had some jambalaya and an order of shrimp served over grits. I had a hurricane when I sat down and another one during my meal.

Unlike the year in the late nineties when I had thirteen Shanahan hurricanes. I only had two this year.

I had to order George a cheeseburger to take home. I ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of key lime pie while I waited for my to go order to be completed.

That was it for Mardi Gras 2025.

I got home at four-fifteen in the afternoon. Handed Big George his dinner and walked back to my bedroom.

I hung my Mardi Gras beads up on the hanger in the back of my closet. This year I grabbed my boobie beads and my voodoo doll beads.

I put on some sweats and turned on the news. Four-thirty on Fat Tuesday and I’ve turned into my Oldman.

The last cocktail that I had until May 6th was a Shanahan's hurricane. My beads are hanging up until Tuesday February 17th, 2026.

Time to kick into Lent and “The Sixty Days of Cecilia.”

Today was a boring Chalkboard for a boring Ash Wednesday.

Time may change me, but I can't trace time

March 4th, 2025

      I left you Chalkheads hanging with the Monday Morning Chalkboard. I never picked up the chalk because I didn’t know what I wanted or needed to say.

We had an interesting weekend here in the Divorced Dad District. The Shepkids mom spent the weekend in the hospital.

Hazel sent me a text Friday morning saying that mom was sick and she was worried. There was no school on Friday, so it was a good thing that Hazel was there for her mom. Hazel called 911 and was strong throughout the entire time.

The point of today’s Morning Chalkboard should be the heroic spirit shown by my daughter, but I already knew that I had a tough baby girl.

I’m taking the therapeutic angle this morning. The one that I’ve been formulating for a couple of days.

I thought about that vow that I took and how I ended up breaking it.

…in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.

I wasn’t there Friday morning for Hazel’s mom. The journey of life took me on another path, but the two trails still run parallel.

I often chalk that I just need to get Hazel to eighteen and I will finally have this lady out of my life.

The thing is, I’m never going to have the Shepkids mom out of my life. My Oldman told me on the morning of our divorce,

“Moose, be amicable with this woman and know this…..When the both of you are gone…. You’ll still be together in eternal peace. So get this crap settled honorably.”

My Oldman also told me that when I married this girl, I married her family and he was correct again. To this day I’m still close with my mother-in-law. Hell…I didn’t divorce her, I divorced her daughter.

And she has become a beacon in George’s life. Just like my grandmother was for me.

Back to Hazel’s mom. She’s out of the hospital and hopefully on the road to recovery.

As long as she and I have the three products of love that we created…

…we are together in sickness and in health.

And as much as we don’t like it, we will be doing it ‘til death do we part. We just don’t love and cherish each other anymore.

Though the fucked up thing that I’ve been formulating these last couple days.

As much as I hate her, I realized that I still love her. I don’t cherish her, but the Shepkids do and that is the most important thing.

At one point over the weekend, Hazel blurted out…. “She’s your ex fucking wife!”

“What does that mean Hazelnut?”

She angrily replied, “you don’t need to do any of this for mom. You guys aren’t married…”

That was the line that had me formulating for the last seventy-two hours.

I’m going to have this broad in my life well after Hazel turns eighteen. We don’t sit next to each other at school events, but maybe someday we will dance together at a Shepkid wedding.

We better start getting along now, because she’s going to be everywhere I turn in heaven. Which sounds more like purgatory than eternal happiness.

Speaking of happiness….

Today is The Mardi Gras!

“Laissez les bons temps rouler!”

I’ve got the beads, if you got the boobs.

Get out today and get some gumbo, drink a hurricane and join the second line.

Find astonishment and let the good times roll….

March 3rd, 2025

 

        Charlie Chaplin quote

March 2nd, 2025

 I looked in the mirror this morning and saw my dad when he was in his late fifties.

Crows feet flaring from the outside of my eyes. Three ruts along my forehead formed by the perplexed thoughts that I had. Pruny skin over my collar that is early onset gobble-gobble chin.

…and I was wearing a white crewneck t-shirt stretched out from a hard night sleep.

My dad was getting tired when he was at this age. Stressed by the threat of forced early retirement in a career that he thrived on.

Having hindsight, I can see my dad was getting warm out by the years of bowing his neck, lowering his shoulders and pushing through life’s hard days.

I didn’t realize that my dad was quickly aging at the time.

Tomorrow, I will see something else when I look into my mirror. I will see the person that I have woken up with since the 1960’s and I kind of like that sweet bastard.

Whatever we see when we look in the mirror is a fanfuckingtastic human being who is worth loving and caring for.

I know I sound like Stuart Smiley on this first Sunday of March, but I’m not bullshitting you.

Look into the mirror when you walk away from the Morning Chalkboard and marvel in who you are.

On a fun note….

Mardi Gras is this week!

Let the Good Times Roll!

Let’s go out and be Bacchus the next couple of days. Bacchus is the Roman god for good times and joyous parties.

I first met Bacchus playing quarters at a high school party many years ago. We don’t hang like we once did, but our memories are golden.

I’m going to hit it hard these next couple of days. It has worked out perfectly that Mardi Gras is right before my “Sixty Days of Celebrating Cecilia.”

One last chocolate eclair, one last hotdog, one last glass of bourbon and pint of beer. No pizza, no steaks, no sliders, no orgasms, no Alpines and not even a grilled cheese.

The biggest thing missing during my sabbatical for my Mama…

… the polish sausage smothered with grilled onions and a swipe of mustard on opening day.

Look into the mirror and be astonished in what you see

March 1st, 2025

 Let’s start off the month of March with some Billy Shakes.

It comes from “12th Night” which is a romantic comedy that involves a shipwreck, a love triangle and cross dressing.

Shakespeare is saying that you don’t find love, but love finds you. My Oldman said something similar in his Grawbowski style, “Son… you get more on accident than you do on purpose.”

He was right again…..

Spring is here and it is time to clean out the closets and pitch unused crap. You never know what you might find jammed in a box in the corner of your garage.

Maybe you’ll find love that was lost or an old watch that reminds you of wasted time.

Today is the first day of meteorological spring. The parade of newborn colorful clutter will soon explode across the fields and forests. Get your chores done early and make time to watch shit do stuff.

We share a National Day today between pigs and peanut butter. I couldn’t think of a better way of starting the month that will soon bring flowers to the corners of the neighborhood.

I mentioned toast on the Chalkboard the other day.

I’m thinking rye toast spread with peanut butter, three pieces of bacon, a mashed banana and a drizzle of honey is the best way to jumpstart March.

I’m on that somabitch right after I tell you to go find astonishment.

Go find astonishment

February 28th, 2025

 The last day of February has finally arrived. Possibly the worst month of the year and my least favorite. I like June and October, followed up by July and November. Thank goodness the worst month of the year is the shortest.

Not much to talk about this morning.

I’m probably going to watch a couple Gene Hackman movies this weekend. Forest Park Irish parade is Saturday and the Chicago Hounds Rugby Club play on Sunday down the block.

If you go to the parade tomorrow, look for me at Shanahans.

On Sunday I’ll be sitting in my regular seat during the first half, section 126, row 3, seat 22. During the second forty minutes, I like to move up to the southeast corner near the bar area.

Look for me…

Time to roll into Friday and balance geopolitics and the agricultural markets. My computer has been chirping throughout the overnight session. Hopefully the month ends will a ton of business.

Let’s roll with astonishment Chalkheads and don’t forget about the planets aligning tonight.

February 27th, 2025

 The planets are all lining up together for a once in a lifetime viewing party at the end of the week.

All we need is a clear sky and an unobstructed view of the southwest sky after sunset.

Last summer we experienced the largest invasion of cicadas in over two hundred years. Small trees and bushes were wrapped in netting to protect them from the cyclical occurrence. The bugs came with a big hoopla and left with little fanfare.

I guess I brought up these two examples to prove a point towards today’s quote.

The wonder in our lives is already there, right in front of us. We are all Luke Skywalkers built with the force. We just need to cultivate it.

I often chalk down the term, “watch shit do stuff.”

Some people are born with a keen eye and some people have to walk around the block a few times.

I’m the guy that must walk around the block. Walking around the block and watching shit do stuff can be an amazing experience.

Curiosity and awareness can make us see the world differently, if we develop how to use them.

My dad was a big advocate of watching shit do stuff.

We jumped on the Eisenhower on Memorial Day in the early eighties to get a closer look at the guy climbing the Sears Tower. He heard about it on WGN, so we got in the Dadillac and drove into the city to watch a guy wearing a Spider-Man costume ascend 110 stories.

Another time my Oldman told me to get in the car. He heard that the Polk Brothers up on North Avenue was on fire. We got so close to the inferno that our clothes smelled like soot when we got home.

My Oldman loved grabbing a sack of sliders and parking at the edge of the runway at O’Hare. He had a spot so damn close, we could see the pilot's name tag. You can’t do that anymore. That area has all been secured since 9/11.

The Oldman would pack a cooler full of sandwiches and pop on a Friday night. He’d wake me up before dawn on Saturday morning and drive us to the middle of nowhere just to watch a steam locomotive.

In the late nineties we went down to the lakefront to watch four CHA buildings get destroyed. It was the first time in Chicago history that explosives were used to take down a structure. The buildings were all around fourteen to seventeen stories tall. At about eight-thirty on a cold Saturday morning in December, we sat on the hood of the Dadillac eating donuts from the Oak Park Bakery.

Within two and a half minutes we watched the appearance of rubble.

Watching shit do stuff…

… and I haven’t even gotten to the natural beauty of watching shit do stuff. We can save that for a future Morning Chalkboard.

I will tease that story though.

For me the grandest magical moment was watching the birth of my three Shep kids. I can quote the late Roberta Flack on this one.

“The first time ever I saw your face,

I thought the sun rose in your eyes

And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave.”

One last magical gift that makes life mo betta’.

Toast

The simplicity of making a piece of bread crispy and wiping it with butter. Then personalizing it with your favorite spread.

Jelly, apple butter, sugar and cinnamon, peanut butter…..

The list goes on.

I bet half of you Chalkheads want some toast right now.

Everything that can astonish us is right there in front of our eyes. We just need to unfocus and focus

February 26th, 2025

     Today’s quote reminds me of those memes that tell you to dance like nobody is watching and sing like nobody is listening.

I’ve been doing that for years!

What I’ve picked up lately is talking to myself. It is easy to pull off nowadays because everyone is talking on their earbuds. So, when I’m talking to myself, people think I’m on the phone.

The other day I got into an elevator right behind a couple millennial kids. Maybe they were the next generation, I don’t know what the hell that one is called, Generation Zevon or Zero.

Two girls and a guy with dumbfounded looks on their faces.

I stepped on the elevator and scooted to the back corner.

I started telling myself out loud, “We were done making love and man did I have to fart really bad.”

The guy looked my way and then quickly made eye contact with the little elevator television that was flashing hockey scores and temperatures from across the country.

The two girls looked at each other nervously and immediately joined their guy friend in watching highlights of the Winnipeg Jets game.

Then I told myself, “I’m lying next to this lady, I think her name was Katarina or maybe Katalina, something Russian…

…she asked me ‘what are you thinking about Big Boy?’ and I replied simply, pizza puff.”

At this point I need to finish talking to myself before these kids get off the elevator.

I quickly mutter…

“I’m thinking about putting a couple pizza puffs in the toaster oven. Do you want one?”

As I’m asking myself if the Russian lady wants to have a pizza puff after having sex, the doors open and the kids born during the Clinton Administration debark the elevator.

Just as the doors close, I can hear the one girl say to her friends, “I really like pizza puffs!”

Do you see what I did here? I taught these kids a lesson. If you are getting some strange love and you need to fart, go make a pizza puff.

Women love pizza puffs and it gives you a chance to sneak out onto the balcony and lay out a fart. Just make sure your neighbor isn’t down on the sidewalk walking her dog.

Though… that is where I also learned a lesson. Not only can I talk to myself at my age and not give two shits, but I can fart in public and just smile and wave.

The numbers in the Grabber Section?

The number of days since January 1st 2000 and the amount of days until January 1st, 2050. We are closer to 2050 than we are to 2000.

It’s Humpday…

…Go dance, sing, fart or eat a pizza puff. Just find joy in what you do.

And no, I didn’t pick up a former KGB agent, but I did put a pizza puff in the air fryer!