May 10th, 2026

          Here is a sad lady who tried her best to keep it together.

She grew up a middle child in a strict Catholic German family in Indiana. Born as the Depression turned into a World War. Her older sister became a nun. Several of her aunts were nuns.

Instead of pursuing her interests in music, she became a nun. It was a sad decision that affected the rest of her adulthood.

She left the nunnery and moved to Chicago. She got involved in her local parish in Edgewater and met her husband while teaching CCD.

Two lonely people united under their security blanket called the Catholic Church. They divorced after ten years of marriage with an only child to raise.

Like I said, she tried her best to hold things together.

Our moms are meant to be held up on a pedestal. After the Blessed Virgin Mary comes our mom. For my Jewish Brothers and Sisters, think Esther and Ruth.

Once we learn to wash the dirt off our knees and learn to make our own hot dogs, moms start fading from that prestigious stand in our lives.

Once we figure out mom being tired all the time means she was hungover again, we realize that lady that brought us into the world is human.

That lady that is twenty-five to thirty-five years older than us was going through the same shit show that we ended up living.

The same medical bills, the same pressure at work, the same aches and pains and the same flat tire on the Dan Ryan.

Underneath is the struggle with mental health. The battles with regret. The agony of not living to expectation. Throw motherhood on top and the perfect storm for chaos occurs.

There sure as hell isn't a manual for life. There isn’t a playbook for parenting either. Our moms raised us as best as they could with every ounce of love they had.

Add to the stress of worrying about their babies. Moms never stop worrying about their babies.

From the time they ride their bikes to the park and climb trees with their friends. To the times they sneak off to a kegger in the forest preserves. To the time they leave for adulthood. Moms never stop worrying about their babies.

During my mom’s last few weeks of life, she was more worried about my failing marriage and my oldest son’s recent diagnosis of autism. She was worried about me more than her own health.

She died worrying about me.

All moms worry about their children up until their final breath. Then they go to heaven and worry about us, but heaven is closer than our parents’ house growing up.

We mourn our mothers after they leave us. We shouldn’t though. They are with us forever. Becoming an adult son or daughter changes the perspective we have about our mothers.

They tried the best they could, and they never stopped worrying about their children. At one point they might fall off that pedestal. It is our job to place them back on it.

Our mothers placed the first stone in our foundation. Whatever strength we have started with them.

I love you Ma.

Happy Mother's Day to all my mom friends. You are heroes and never forget that.... good days and bad.

May 9th, 2026

 Good morning Chalkheads…

1995 is the Flashback year on XRT this morning. I started digging through the songs from the year I turned twenty-nine. There were a lot of choices, but I had to go with the one that scratched my head the most back then.

“Waterfalls” by TLC.

Funny thing is, thirty-one years later, the song actually makes more sense to me now than it did then.

Back in 1995, all I knew was that we kept hearing it over and over during a blurry bachelor party weekend down in New Orleans. A weekend fueled by bad decisions, too much booze, and the kind of confidence only young idiots from Chicago can carry into the South.

One buddy thought he was having a heart attack, so naturally he tried fixing it with a shrimp po’boy. Another genius dumped a tray of beers onto a table full of bikers. They were not impressed with the dipshits from Chicago.

…. and somewhere in the background, every bar and every cab seemed to be playing “Don’t go chasing waterfalls…”

The older I get, the more I realize that song wasn’t really about waterfalls at all. It was about people running toward chaos thinking they were chasing excitement. Sometimes the rivers and lakes you are used to are there for a reason. Stability doesn’t sound glamorous when you are young, but eventually you learn peace has value too.

Still… 1995 was a hell of a year for music.

My future wife was graduating high school. My old girlfriend was dating a Mormon. My parents still had advice, and I was down at the Chicago Board of Trade thinking I had life figured out in the bond room.

Saturday is a big radio day for me. WGN to WXRT to WDCB. Good radio keeps a guy company better than most people do.

Tonight I’m heading to dinner with my ex-wife and my mother-in-law (I didn’t divorce her) for Mother’s Day Eve. Wish me luck. No cocktails for the Oldman though, still on antibiotics. It is going to be a strictly sober performance.

Enjoy your Saturday, Chalkheads.

Go find a little gusto and astonishment out there today…

…just don’t go chasing waterfalls to find it.

May 8th, 2026

  Very few of you Chalkheads are going to know this lyric. It was written by the mailman from Maywood, John Prine.

Bronzed shoes represent keepsakes from our past. A rearview mirror is literally where we look backward while moving forward.

We often glorify the past, but while admiring it, we ignore the regrets attached to it.

Blind spots in life become old relationships we romanticize. Younger days we remember as better than they really were. Mistakes that we tend to polish into shining legends.

Don’t gaze too long at those decorated memories, because they might keep you from creating current moments worth remembering.

The rearview mirror is smaller than the front windshield for a reason.

One memory worth hanging onto is celebrated today. Never let it fade that today we honor the Allied victory over the nazzies in the Second World War, V-E Day.

Freedom isn’t inherited like your grandfather’s pocket watch. Every generation has to protect our freedom, respect it, and remember what it cost.

Let’s finish the week strong. Don’t forget about your momma this weekend.

May 7th, 2026

 The Hemingway quote this morning isn’t about being tough for the sake of looking tough. It is about integrity and not quitting on yourself.

“Forget your personal tragedy. When you get the damned hurt, use it.”

That sounds harsh in today’s world, but men from past generations understood exactly what Hemingway meant. Hell, most of us who grew up under those guys understood it too.

Don’t romanticize your wounds. Don’t use tragedy as an excuse. Don’t become sentimental about suffering. You bow your neck, square your shoulders and plow through pain and tragedy.

That doesn’t mean those men didn’t hurt. Most of them were tormented in ways they never talked about. A lot of the loudest and funniest guys in the room were carrying around enough sadness to sink a battleship. Extroverted on the outside, exhausted and introverted on the inside…

… but they were taught that self-pity was a dangerous drug.

My parents raised me that way. Work hard, be good to people and have fun when you can. Never ask for a handout. Always keep your word and show up when you say you will.

When life caves in on you and eventually it will…

… rely on Faith, Family and friends to hold the foundation together.

The older I get, the more I realize the previous generation wasn’t trying to suppress emotion. They simply believed pain had a purpose. That hurt was supposed to sharpen you, humble you and eventually become useful.

That is probably why Hemingway told Fitzgerald to “use it.”

Use the heartbreak, the failures, the rejection and the loneliness. Turn it into productive work, stronger character, clearer perspective and deeper compassion.

Because eventually every scar either becomes wisdom or bitterness. The choice between the two usually depends on whether a man decides to surrender to tragedy or carry it with dignity.

May 6th, 2026

   I knew when my mom put a bedsheet on the couch, it was going to be a sick day. The living room became a hospital room for a day or two.

My mom would get my pillows and blanko off my bed and bring them downstairs. She would position one of those fold-out TV tables within reach of her sick Pumpkinhead.

The first sick day was usually interrupted by a visit to the doctor’s office. I hated getting shots, but looking back, my mom became even more giving and caring after I got one.

She would usually come out of the drugstore with my antibiotics, then sneak next door to Kresge’s and buy me a treat.

That was back when a pharmacy was for medicine stuff. If you wanted a Wiffle ball bat, a comb, or baseball cards, you went to Kresge’s.

Then Walgreens destroyed the neighborhood with its liquor, hairspray, and pharmacy all in one place.

Even after getting a shot, I would return to my living room triage center with a new word-find book, a comic book, and a baseball magazine as my reward for being a big-boy.

My living room bed was all mine until my dad got home. I could watch Ray Rayner, Bozo’s Circus, and cartoonies all morning.

In the afternoon, I watched Days of Our Lives with my mommy.

As much as I hated watching a soap opera, I would give anything to watch that hourglass show one more time with her.

“Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.”

I can still hear Macdonald Carey’s voice.

Then the Oldman would get home from work and commandeer the television. He would turn on Fahey Flynn, Joel Daly, and John Drury. They would talk about boring things like Watergate, Vietnam, Mayor Daley, and gas shortages.

My mom preferred Bill Kurtis and Walter Jacobson on Channel 2. They were less old-school than the guys on Channel 7.

Once my fever went away, the sheet was removed from the sofa. The TV stand was returned to the rack. My bed stuff was brought back upstairs.

These last few days, I’ve been lying on my couch with a high-grade fever and a sore throat. I’ve been watching baseball games and movies. Yesterday, I watched my favorite movie, Casablanca, on the sofa with my pillow and blanko from my bed.

I sure wish my mommy was here to fix my pillow and put a straw in my ginger ale glass.

My bout with sickness came at the end of my annual Sixty Days of Celebrating Cecilia, the time I reflect on my mom. Today is her tenth anniversary up in heaven.

It was fitting to be sick as I reflected on Cecilia Marie. It reminded me even more how special my mom’s love was.

This year I gave up Chicago food, cigars, and sweets. I won’t have a stogie anytime soon, but I will have a chocolate éclair from Oak Park Bakery on Saturday, followed by an Italian beef and a pizza puff on Sunday.

The Morning Chalkboard should be back up and going as the living room triage center gets packed up.

May 2nd, 2026

 Last night I picked up a line from a goofy romcom: Ci devi provare, which is Italian for You need to try.

Try this. Try that.

Try it… you might like it.

Funny thing, somewhere along the line, I stopped trying as much as I used to, but I still tell the Shepkids to try everything.

Truth is…

You don’t know if you like something unless you try it.

You don’t know if it works unless you are willing to fail at it.

In rugby, when you cross the goal line, it is called a try.

You score because you tried…

Today is one of those days.

Spring Fling in Riverside… good music, good people, and all the proceeds go to Lurie Children’s.

The Chicago Blaze have a tournament down in Lemont.

And later on, the Derby runs for the roses.

It is a full day

So I’m going to try to be part of it. Try to show up. Try to bring a little cheer along the way.

Because that’s where the good stuff lives, in the trying.

There is a smile on the sun this morning…

go smile back.

If you have a minute before sunrise, step outside and dance under the last of that Flower Moon…

I did….

May 1st, 2026

 Here I go pulling from Billy Shakes for a second time this week. This morning we have a line out of Hamlet.

In life, just like a Shakespearean drama, trouble rarely shows up one at a time. Most often, it piles on.

I’m not turning this Chalkboard into a pity party. Tragedy shows up when it wants, not when it is convenient, and when it does, it doesn’t nibble… it feasts.

What matters is how we handle the grief and the sorrow. We can’t bullshit ourselves, but we can take steps to keep it from swallowing us whole.

Ice cream helps for me. So does prayer and an old episode of Benny Hill. Nothing better than a bowl of pralines and cream, a Hail Mary, and a British comedy that centers around boobs.

Today is May 1st. Looking at that temperature, it feels more like March than May. It is also Silver Star Day, a day to honor those who have been recognized for real courage. The kind most of us will never be asked to show.

So let’s finish the week strong.

Get yourself a bowl of ice cream. Say a couple Our Fathers. Jewish friends, you are off the hook here, Shabbat Shalom.

Close out your Friday with something that makes you laugh and reminds you of younger memories that have grown old with you.

Gusto and astonishment.

April 30th, 2026

 Today’s Morning Chalkboard has me between a rock and a hard place.

The quote from Billy Shakes has a skeptical view on two important things in life, friendship and love.

It pretty much says that some friendships are a polite self-serving facade. Like the play it comes from, people play the role of a friend to get into the second act of the show.

As for love… love makes people irrational. Love takes a risk that looks foolish and ignores logic.

As for the Latin in the grabber section, live life fully. Live your life to the fullest and go out and find friendship and love. Just like I say almost every morning, go out and find gusto and astonishment.

April 29th, 2026

 I would have gotten farther in life if I learned consistency at an earlier point in time.

Just because I didn’t put a smile on the sun today doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I’m not bullshitting you Chalkheads when I tell you how important it is to find gusto and astonishment every single day.

Because we don’t have one more day, we have one less day. Another theory that I would have liked grasping until just recently.

Full moon on Friday is the Flower Moon. The bonus in May is the blue moon at the end of the month. Try not to be standing alone.

April 28th, 2026

 There is a saying floating around that if toxic people don’t like you, you’re winning.

That sounds all fine and dandy. It rolls off the tongue and makes you feel like you are on the right side of things.

Here is the problem… not everyone who disagrees with you is toxic and not everyone who likes you is good for you.

When I was younger, if someone didn’t like me, I had two choices, blame them… or look in the mirror.

Most of the time, it was easier to blame them.

My Oldman didn’t play that game. If someone had a problem with you, he would ask one question… “Did you earn it?”

That stuck with me.

Because there is a difference between being disliked for standing your ground…

and being disliked because you don’t listen, don’t bend, and don’t respect the room.

Toxic people exist, no doubt about it, but so does ego. So does stubbornness. So does thinking you are right when you are dead wrong.

Winning in life isn’t about who dislikes you.

It’s about who trusts you… who counts on you… who wants you in the room when it matters.

If the wrong people don’t like you, that’s fine. Just make damn sure the right people still do.

Blueberry pie day. Grab a slice with someone who disagrees with you.

April 27th, 2026

 Years ago, when I was a summer runner in the grain room, I came home a little buzzed on a Friday night.

My Oldman was sitting in his chair waiting up. Cigarette in his mouth watching reruns on WGN wearing just his white undershirt and plaid boxers. You could still see the rings from his dress socks pressed into his calves.

I swung the door open with a big grin and said,

“Hello Dad, I’m home.”

He looked at me and asked why the hell I was so happy.

I told him, “It’s Friday.”

He didn’t miss a beat.

“Friday? Friday! Just remember, Moose…Monday is two days away.”

That line never left me.

Every Friday night since, I have heard it. The reminder that the weekend doesn’t last. The celebration is already on the clock.

The glory of Friday night becomes the commitment of Monday morning real quick.

A couple years later, when I got going in the business, John Mellencamp had a line that stuck with me:

“The winter days, they last forever, but the weekends went by so quick.”

That is about as honest as it gets.

It was a good lesson to learn young, don’t take time for granted.

Still… I wouldn’t mind one more night tapping a keg in somebody’s backyard with The Loop playing classic rock on the boombox.

The grabber section keeps ticking. Summer is coming and the race is getting closer and before you know it, we will be standing shoulder to shoulder celebrating the Fourth.

Happy Monday, Chalkheads.

This Friday… it’s May.

April 26th, 2026

 Half the country woke up upset this morning. The other half is ecstatic.

Not because the Bears signed undrafted free agent Caden Barnett out of Wyoming Saturday evening.

No… they are fired up over something a whole lot louder.

A California Teacher of the Year, Cole Thomas Allen, tried to shoot the current President of the United States last night. That is the kind of headline that splits a country clean in two before the coffee even hits the cup.

The Morning Chalkboard doesn’t get into politics, unless Father Bobby from the South Side is catching potshots.

What matters here is football. I am more interested in a six-foot-four, versatile lineman out of Laramie who just got his shot to become a Chicago Bear.

They call him the Vanilla Gorilla. He wore 72 for the Pokes. If things break right, he might be the best Bear to wear that number since another lineman with a nickname, William “The Fridge” Perry.

When I got in trouble as a kid, my Oldman used to tell me I got Conrad Doblered. That meant somebody baited me into the penalty and I was the one who got caught.

Conrad Dobler played for the St. Louis Cardinals. Mean, nasty, and proud of it. He was famous for nudging his nemesis into retaliation, just in time for the referee to see. I liked Dobler just to get under my dad’s skin.

Dobler was also a Wyoming offensive lineman. So maybe this Barnett kid means life is coming full circle.

This Bears draft might end up being the best class since 1983. The year they brought in the backbone of a team that went on to win Super Bowl XX.

The other day my brother-in-law out in Laramie called, asking if the Shepkids needed to freshen up their Wyoming gear. I will be calling him back Monday morning to tell him to grab a Barnett jersey for me. Because right now, my new favorite Chicago Bear is the Vanilla Gorilla.

It looks like a dreary Sunday morning and next week looks more like mid March than late April.

But the shadows are getting shorter and the afternoons are getting longer.

Today is a good day to pick up the phone. Call ten people…. friends, colleagues, classmates.

Check in and let them know you were thinking about them.

That is the kind of thing that still matters in the world. Getting an unexpected telephone call from an old voice.

Gusto and astonishment are out there Chalkheads…. Find it!

April 25th, 2026

 I was reading my Facebook memories this morning instead of doing a Morning Chalkboard.

I came across this memory from 10 years ago. I was standing at my trading desk near the grain pits. A commotion was occurring on the financial side of the trading floor. A Merc trader was having a heart attack and they couldn't save him.

At the time, I was going through the last few weeks of my mom's life and my marriage was crumbling quickly when Dave Grant passed away.

I didn't know Dave. He was a Merc guy from another part of Chicagoland. I have been thinking about what has happened after Dave went to heaven. He left his wife Ann and their two sons Ryan and Samuel to go on without him.

Dave loved to golf, loved to cook and was a huge Bear fan. Sounds like a guy many of us hangout with...

Dave was 53 when he died on the trading floor. Just a few years older than me at the time, born in 1962. He missed out on Covid, two Trump Presidency's, the Biden Administration, the destruction of Chicago and several shitty head coaches in Halas Hall.

He also missed out on seeing Ryan and Samuel grow up. He missed out on growing more in love with Ann and he missed out on turning sixty and getting close to retirement.

Our time together isn't that long.

Don't let the Dave Grant in YOUR life go to work and not come home without letting them know that you love them.

Today is Dave Grant Day.....

Call ten Dave Grants and catch up with them. Ask them what they think of the Bears draft picks. Ask them what they are cooking for dinner tonight. Ask them if they got out on the golf course this spring.

Many of Dave's friends didn't get a chance to do that ten years ago and wish they did..........

David Bruce Grant Obituary

David Bruce Grant, 53, of Batavia died April 25, 2016, of an unexpected heart attack. He was born in Danville, IL the son of John and Marie (Theriault) Grant. He was united in marriage to Ann Koebel.
David will be remembered as "A True Warrior"; a thirty-two-year veteran employee of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. He was an avid golfer, chef, and Chicago Bears fan. David enjoyed discussing the greatest mysteries of life with anyone who cared to listen. May David find peace on his new unexpected journey he is about to begin.
He is survived by his wife Ann Grant "H.B.", two sons Ryan and Samuel; and numerous siblings.
He is preceded in death by his parents.
A visitation to celebrate his life will be held 3:00 P.M. until 7:00 P.M. Saturday, April 30, 2016 at Moss Family Funeral Home 209 South Batavia Ave. Batavia, IL.

April 24th, 2026

 Heavy on your mind?

That is not a throwaway question. It is the one question that shows up before the coffee is ready…

…before the phone starts ringing…

…before the world tells you who you are supposed to be today.

What is heavy usually doesn’t make noise during the day. It waits for the quiet and calm.

It’s money.

It’s family.

It’s time.

It’s the things you wish you handled differently.

It is the things you are not sure how to handle.

Most of us try to outrun it or stay busy. We try to keep moving or just flip the channel.

The heavy doesn’t leave just because you ignore it. It just rides along with you, scraping its knuckles on the cement.

So try this instead, just for today….

…Don’t fix everything. Don’t solve your whole life.

Just name it, that one thing. The one thing that is sitting on your chest right now.

Because once you say it out loud or even just admit it to yourself, it loses a little bit of its weight.

Then you can do something about it.

One call.

One decision.

One small step forward.

That is how you move heavy things.

The Chicago Hounds are out in Seattle tonight. A long trip in a tough environment. It isn’t easy winning on the road, but that is the heavy they need to move.

You don’t wait for things to get lighter. You show up and carry it anyway.

April 23rd, 2026

     Most people spend their whole lives chasing something out in front of them… “finding themselves,” reinventing, rebranding, starting over.

Today’s quote flips it the right way. It says the real work isn’t out there, it’s back there like the wizard behind the curtain.

You are not building a new person.

You are peeling off what the world piled on top of the original one.

April 22nd, 2026

 I just erased several paragraphs.

I was going to tell you that my circle is tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep fixes. I mean worn down, worn thin. The kind of tired that comes from too much noise and not enough meaning.

Cable television, the home computer, the cell phone and streaming everything all the time. Somewhere along the way, convenience turned into clutter, and clutter turned into decay.

We used to have edges to the day.

You got the final edition of the Chicago Tribune. You watched the local news at 7:00 AM. If you missed it, that was on you. The day moved on without you. Soap operas filled the afternoon until the five o’clock news brought you back to center. Followed by network news, game shows and prime time on three networks. You closed it out with the 10 o’clock news and maybe a rerun of The Honeymooners before bed.

There was structure, there was rhythm and there was always a finish line and a closing bell.

Now it’s just… endless.

Harry Truman took a train home after his presidency. Think about that. He didn’t have a motorcade. There wasn’t a book deal waiting or grotesque libraries being built. No empire was built on the back of the office. He came in as a man and left as a man.

We have drifted a long way from that.

Radios should come back, get rid of Spotify, Sirius and iHeart. So should movie theaters where people sit shoulder to shoulder and actually watch the same thing at the same time. Diners that never close should bring a neon glow back. Newspaper stands on the corner. Horse tracks that smell like cigar smoke and bad decisions. Taverns within walking distance where the bartender knows your name and your business, but keeps one to himself.

Streetcars, not buses. Neighborhoods with identity known by names and the local Catholic parish.

Black neighborhoods. Puerto Rican neighborhoods. Irish, Polish, Mexican, German, Jewish, Italian neighborhoods.

Not to divide, but to belong. Keep to yourself if you want. Just be decent and courteous.

And every one of those neighborhoods should have good schools, clean grocery stores, steady jobs, and a place for the old folks to sit and play bingo.

That isn’t nostalgia, that is dignity.

This summer we turn 250 years old. That number doesn’t mean a damn thing unless we act on it. Not as a country pointing fingers, but as individuals deciding to be better where we stand.

Because the truth is, these politicians aren’t going anywhere. Some months the paycheck will be light. Some months the bills will stack higher than you would like.

And still… life moves.

What I learned when my parents went to heaven is this: everything they worried about is gone.

Not solved, not fixed. Just… gone.

Most of it disappeared faster than the grief it created.

What is left of their lives fits into a couple boxes in the back of my bedroom closet.

You want to know what isn’t in those boxes?

The bills.

The overtime.

The missed deadlines.

The broken cars.

The loose toilet handles.

The spilled turkey gravy from Thanksgiving 1975.

None of that crap made the cut.

What made the cut were the things that mattered, and even those are just fragments now.

So no, I’m not worried about the economy or the government. I’m worried about the people I love. The ones grinding every day. The ones trying to get ahead and feeling like they’re falling behind. The ones who are too damn tired to enjoy what they’ve already earned.

Take care of what you can touch. Let go of what you can’t.

Because none of the noise, none of the stress, none of the worry is going to be there when the boxes get packed.

The dance ends quicker than you think. Don’t walk off the floor and go home disappointed. Grab your crush, pull them close and slow dance while the music is still playing.

I ended up erasing and chalking more than I thought this morning. I need to take the erasers out to the playground and beat them on the concrete.

Stress less Chalkheads, stay hydrated and unbothered…