February 27th, 2023

               I don’t have a favorite day of the week…

… and I say this because Monday is the most popular day to hate.

I don’t hate Mondays, but as I’ve gotten older the Sunday night into Monday morning combo has been the toughest time of the week.

Take for example this last Monday of February. A strange hum woke me up at 1:52am. It got me out of bed to investigate and since I was already up I took a healthy piss.

The early morning hum was coming from outside and along with the ringing in my ears I was awake for the day. One fucking fifty two in the fucking morning.

Yes….. this is the same mouth that I say my prayers with. The tone in my voice during the first “Hail Mary” alerted my support group in heaven that I was not happy.

After the last “Glory be” I grabbed my phone to check where the storm was located. At that point I wasn't falling back to sleep. I’m definitely starting the work week earlier than everyone else.

I was hoping the storm was going to hit Chicagoland after I pulled Betty into the garage at work. Looks like the rain will be here for my walk up the block to Betty’s parking spot in Riverside.

I’m not the only guy in his fifties that experiences this early Monday morning anxiety. I’ve learned many boys born in the 1960’s are dealing with this problem.

It begins with….

….I hope Betty starts this morning. Then It goes into worrying about the adulthood of the Shepkids. The anxiety continues into paying bills, the aches in my shoulders, the ringing in my ears, is there bread for George’s sandwich? … et cetera ,et cetera, et cetera…

Hopefully it will still be raining when I get home. Nothing better than a rainstorm during a Monday afternoon nap. Especially those naps that begin with thoughts of the sweat on the small of Julia Roberts back. That is the best way to start a Monday afternoon nap. Julia Roberts, a rainstorm and my favorite blankey.

So Monday has started and the Morning Chalkboard will be posted just before the alarm goes off. Maybe I should just wipe the sweat off of Julia Robert’s back before I start the day?

Jeez! What am I thinking? I was just saying an “Our Father” a few minutes ago and now I’m thinking about Mystic Pizza and erections…

Just as I typed that last sentence the rain began.

Sorry God…. I’ve had a Julia Robert’s fantasy since the late 80’s….

Have a safe and dry Monday morning and never let your curiosity cost you a quarter for the jukebox!

February 26th, 2023

       I was standing on the ledge of a loading dock next to a fifty five gallon drum. The dock was long, it was dark and it was damp. Dripping sounds were all that came from the eerie silence. The screeching sound of tires on the wet cement suddenly echoed across the docks.

A girl in a plum colored dress was on the other end of the empty row of truck bays. The frightened girl started running towards me. I crouched down behind the oil drum. I didn’t want to get involved in whatever trouble she was in.

Crying as she passed, holding a white kerchief over her mouth she screamed to me…. “Stop them!”

My cover was busted and now I was involved. I thought to myself, “Is that Maria from the Westside?”

The screeching tires began to tear through the abandoned loading zone. The car appeared from the shadows. It looked to be a red Pontiac Fiero with two males in the front seats. Looking at the tone of the skin color and since they were in a hurry after Maria, I figured they were Sharks.

They stopped under the spot I was standing. I stood up from behind my hideaway and fired three shots into the hood of the Pontiac. Three shots made it legal because it meant I was representing good. Three bullets for the Holy Trinity. At least that’s what I thought when I ran inside the nearest truck bay.

What I figured to be a warehouse was actually the deserted side of O’Hare airport. I just remembered I was out getting fresh air before my flight took off.

I walked briskly to my gate. It was getting close to departure and I didn’t want to get caught by the guys who have three bullets in their engine block.

Waiting there for me was an older couple that stayed with me the last week and my mom. My mom asked me if everything was alright. I told her I was finishing up some business for God.

That’s all I had to say to appease her nerves. If it was for God it was okay.

We walked onto the plane and mom and I were directed to the front seats right behind the co pilot. These new jets don’t have a cockpit. I couldn’t understand why this was the case with the threat of a hijacking.

The plane started down the runway sputtering like Betty the Green Blazer on a cold January morning. I turned to my mom and told her that this doesn’t feel right. She assured me that everything was fine, especially since I just finished doing something good for God.

Now I’m more nervous because I wasn’t sure if the encounter back on the loading dock was a good thing or a bad thing. I hope I wasn’t bullshiting my mom.

The plane chipped along the runway and hesitated with takeoff. This wasn’t good…..

We took off and banked to the left. We were now only a few hundred feet above Roosevelt Road. The plane jerked along as I spotted the U-Haul near 17th. It began to stammer as we barely flew over Loyola hospital. It gained some altitude over the Jewish cemetery in Forest Park, but suddenly crashed into a row of buildings somewhere before Harlem Avenue. That whole time my mom was assuring me that everything was fine.

I instantly woke up to the safety of my bed, the overnight blues program on WDCB still playing in the background.

Wait a minute…. I just survived a plane crash with my mom and two mysterious house guests?

Time to get the dream book out for this one. Maybe it was the chicken and sweet potato I had for dinner. I didn’t have a cocktail. I’m off the hooch until May 6th.

….and no, I didn’t watch “Westside Story” last night.

What the hell was that all about?

Anyway…. It’s going to be a lovely Sunday. Scotland plays France in Paris this morning. Should be a clear sunrise over Chicagoland as we end the shortest month of the year.

Stay clear of Roosevelt Road just west of Harlem. Just incase there was a plane crash….

February 25th, 2023

 I’ve binge watched “Peaky Blinders,” “Ted Lasso,” “Benny Hill,” “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel,” “Stranger Things,” and “Flea Bag.”

This last week I binged “The Chosen.” It just happened to be a coincidence that I did it around Ash Wednesday.

If you aren’t familiar with the show it centers around Jesus and the Apostles. I’m not a big Bible thumper, but I know it fairly well. That is what happens when you go to a Catholic school for thirteen years, your Gramma was a Saint, your Mom was an ex nun and your Dad attended seminary.

I would hear my dad call himself a Judeo/Christian often. My parents incorporated both Judaism from the Old Testament and Christianity from the New Testament into life. We had a Seder and Easter brunch in the same week every Spring.

I reluctantly started watching the Jesus show on a recommendation from a buddy at work. At first I thought it was cheesy, but it grew on me. I started Googling Jesus stuff as I watched it. Right now there is a Bible and a couple old study books sitting next to my chair in the living room.

I’m going to tell you right now that Jesus does not have blue eyes in “The Chosen.” His mother doesn’t wear beautiful light blue and white clothing and all the Apostles display their weaknesses. This is the first Jesus show I’ve watched that portrays everyone as Jewish and not just religious weirdos.

Listen……

…..I drop F bombs when I say my prayers.

I’m not a holy roller and I’m not telling you…. “You must watch this program immediately. It will strengthen your Faith and bring you closer to God.”

I mean it might, but if I picked out one thing from it. It reminded me that Jesus was clumsy, he had doubt, he could cry, he could laugh, but he loved everyone. He healed Jews and Gentiles and that’s what we need today.

The actor that plays Jesus kind of looks like Aaron Rodgers, but don’t let that stop you Bear fans.

It was nice waking up to a light blanket of snow this morning.

“Blessed Father in Heaven, thank you for all the good stuff in life. Give me the strength to deal with all the bullshit. Stand with me when I’m kind to assholes today and melt the F’ing snow quickly…. “

Saturday is rugby Day…..

February 24th, 2023

Do yourself a favor and stop believing and relying on luck. Luck is the biggest crock of shit to mankind. Give yourself a break from the biggest scam out there.

Luck is in the same camp with regret. If you live your life in this tent you’ll lose sleep and waste time.

That brings us to being at the right place at the right time or simply put… good timing.

I prefer believing in good timing or bad timing. The journey of life and the path we take relies on decisions, Faith, integrity and intelligence. Look back at that last sentence and you’ll notice the one word that I left capitalized.

That one word back there is what I’ve replaced luck with. It isn’t Luck that gets me through the week, it’s Faith.

Our religion tells us we must have Faith in God. I don’t think that is possible if we don’t have Faith in ourselves. It’s like that other theory…. It’s hard to love someone if you can’t love yourself.

I’m a strong believer in…. if you don’t love yourself, if you don’t have Faith in yourself….. well….. I guess…. You’re shit out of luck.

Nope…. You’re shit out of love and Faith.

The winner of the Indy 500 sure was lucky to win. AJ Foyt, Rick Mears, Johnny Rutherford, the Unser family.

Again, it wasn’t luck. They all had Faith in themselves and Faith in God.

All the little things fell into place. All the tangibles worked for them. It had nothing to do with their luck. It had everything thing to do with their Faith.

So I’ll leave you with a little John Hiatt earworm….. Have a little Faith in me.

February 23rd, 2023

 February 23rd always sticks out because it was my Gramma’s birthday. My mom’s mom, Loretta Zoellner. My Grandmother falls right behind my father when it comes to who I am as a person.

I work my ass off everyday because of the work ethic I learned from a tiny little German lady. Loretta was also a strong Catholic who attended Mass several times a week. Loretta was 106 when she died in 2012.

On the back of my couch is an Afghan that LoLo made me forty years ago. Whenever I crawl under it she is near.

Oh and one last thing about my Gramma. I listened to basketball games on her transistor radio with her often as a kid. Indiana Pacers basketball on WIBC. That is why I’m the only Pacer fan in Chicago. I’ve been a Pacer fan since the ABA.

When I arrive in heaven Loretta will be waiting. Waiting with a list of chores.

….and her infamous breakfast cinnamon rolls.

March is less than a week away. Baseball scores will start appearing next week. Flowers will start popping up and birds will be singing their morning songs.

….and the Irish will be celebrating.

Today is National Chili Day. I would do anything to jump into my Oldman's car and drive down to 18th and Damen for a bowl of Bishop’s Chili.

Unfortunately it closed and the building was torn down. I’m sure there is a Bishop’s Chili in heaven.

Enjoy a bowl of chili today or better yet…. A chili dog.

February 22nd, 2023

 I was baptized a Roman Catholic on July 16th, 1966 at Saint Ita’s up in Edgewater. I just moved into Edgewater on the first of July. It was a hot summer night, a Friday and the air conditioning was horrible at Cuneo Hospital. That was the night that I met my parents for the first time.

Becoming a Catholic was a big decision for me to make. Probably the first major decision I ever made, but I was very mature at two weeks old. Father Schmidt anointed me and I was off to the races.

I grew up a pretty good Catholic. I was a helluva Altar Boy. From Saint Ita’s on the Northside to Saint Francis de Sales on the Southside. Christ the King in Indianapolis, Ascension in Oak Park and Saint Cletus on the other side of Mannheim.

Ascension had a single adult mass on Sunday nights. On the third Sunday of the month there was a Social after mass in the Oak Room. Sometimes those Socials would move to Lalo’s Mexican restaurant on Oak Park Avenue. On a few occasions after a pitcher of margaritas the party would end up on the mattresses. Oh it was good to be a single guy at Ascension in the 1990’s.

Another experience I had as a young Catholic adult was the Saturday Five o’clock at Oak Park hospital. We would sit in Doc Ryan’s on a Saturday afternoon watching college football or basketball. Around 4:52pm one of the old timers would say, “Time for mass!”

The first time I experienced this I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t a joke… Everyone put a coaster over their unfinished pint, tilted their barstool to the bar and hurried over to the chapel in the hospital.

How great was life?

Boozing in the bar with the guys all day, going to a mass that lasted 24 minutes and being back in the tavern like nothing happened. Oh it was great to be a young Catholic guy…

That brings me to today. Ash Wednesday as a middle aged divorced dad. I’ve lost my religion and haven’t gotten ashes in years.

Probably won’t get them today, but I’ve already prayed this morning. I might have prayed for a couple of you…. Actually I did!

I love praying. I love talking with all the usual suspects up in heaven. Having them to pray with makes life a little Mo Betta’…..

Sometimes I hear heaven say, “Thought that I heard you laughing, I thought that I heard you singing…I think I thought I saw you try.”

Actually that was a song on the radio this morning.

It’s okay to lose your religion, but never lose your faith. FAITH will get you through life and get you up to heaven someday.

… and heaven has a Lalo’s and a Doc Ryans!

I think today will be an REM day, enjoy your earworm and say hello to Lenny Bruce.

February 21st, 2023

 I wouldn’t know where to begin when it comes to telling Mardi Gras stories. Anyone who enjoys food, drink, dancing, music and good times should experience a Mardi Gras in Louisiana at least once in their lifetime.

Because today in the Bayou State is when they let the good times roll.

Though I didn’t have to go down to New Orleans to celebrate Fat Tuesday.

A few years in the mid nineties I’d buy a box of 2,500 Mardi Gras beads and bring them down to the trading floor. I’d stand in the pit and start throwing beads. From runners to traders to the Chairman of the Board. Everyone walked past the five year note pit to catch some beads.

There were even some boobs flashed next to the pit. The guards had to warn me if anymore boobs halted trading that I’d get fined. It’s funny how a pair of tits can stop an entire trading pit from bidding and offering.

I wont be following any Second Lines today. I’ll drive Old Betty out to OakBrook Terrace and go to a quiet trading office. Maybe I’ll force myself over to Shanahans for a hurricane and some redbeans this afternoon.

Enjoy your Fat Tuesday…. Eat, drink and be merry. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. I mean that’s really the true reason for Mardi Gras season.

Isn’t it?

Before I finish today’s Chalkboard I’ll pass along a little trivia that is good to know for today.

The Mardi Gras colors all have a meaning.

Green-Faith

Gold-Power

Purple-Justice

February 20th, 2023

 Today I quote a President not because it’s President’s Day. I quote a President that went into hospice care over the weekend. The oldest living President, Jimmy Carter.

In 1976 my mom came home with a peanut necklace hanging over her blouse and sweater. I didn’t know that it represented a peanut farmer from Georgia. My mom was one of those, a democrat.

I was ten when President Carter was inaugurated. It was that same week I sat on the couch with my mommy and watched “Roots.” For my mom it was a time of hope and change. The fall of Nixon, Watergate and Vietnam left a mark on the country.

Jimmy Carter was going to bring us out from that dark period and bring us all together. Heal all the wounds still bleeding from the loss of Dr. King and the oil crisis and horrific economy.

He failed…. He was the wrong man at the wrong time. The last year of his Presidency was stained by the Iranian Hostage Crisis. Jeez, I was thirteen years old and I knew Carter was horrible. On the day he left the White House the hostages were released from captivity.

Those four years, those four long years…. We had a President that failed.

I think he failed not because he was the wrong man at the time. He failed because he was a good man. He was a good person and in the last forty two years since he left office he has shown that to the world.

Everything Jimmy Carter has done since January of 1981 has made the world a better place.

Good men don’t make great Presidents, but good men make the world a better place. That will be Jimmy Carter’s true legacy.

A little Latin lesson for the old school Catholics in the classroom.

Beati sunt……blessed are.

February 19th, 2023

 Hazel asked me what my step mother was like yesterday. I’m sitting on the couch listening to music and out of the blue, “Dad? What was your stepmom like? How did Grampa Don meet her? Did she like dogs and did she yell?”

The next forty minutes Hazel looked me in the eyes and learned about my stepmother.

Hazel listened and interrupted and listened and interrupted and listened and interrupted. As I finished telling the story of my stepmother Hazel told me a friend of hers at school has a new stepmom.

Now I knew the reason my daughter was so interested in finding out family history. One of her girlfriends has a new stepmom.

Story time was pushing into dinnertime and I needed to get started in the kitchen.

….But Hazel wasn’t done, not even close. It seems Hazel’s classmate really likes her stepmom. They do fun things together. They go shopping together and they get their hair done together and they bake cookies and cupcakes together.

I asked Hazel where her friends real mommy is while she is doing all this fun stuff.

“She lives in Chicago with her boyfriend who is mean.”

…..and then the grenade falls out from under Hazel’s blouse.

“I wouldn’t mind having a cool stepmom and we can do stuff together and she can rub your back too!”

Hazel’s little face was bright with hope as she revealed the true meaning of our Saturday afternoon conversation.

“What kind of stepmom would you like me to find Hazel?”

“Someone who loves me and Fritz and George. Maybe someone who has a daughter my age. Someone who doesn’t smoke cigarettes. Someone who cooks better stuff than you and also she can be a White Sox fan. That would make you happy dad.”

My daughter was full of excitement and positive energy as she sited her demands for my next wife. I was thinking of reopening my Bumble account and letting Hazel write the bio.

“Hazel…. Stepmommies don’t grow on trees. I can’t go to Mariano’s and walk down the Stepmom aisle and find a wife in a can!”

As those words came out of my mouth I pictured my bathroom cluttered with curling irons and make up containers. A “wife in a can” to a nine year old is goofy, but to me I imagine losing my bathroom privileges.

I ended the conversation to start preparing dinner for the Shepkids. The whole time I was making pizzas I wanted to kick the crap out of the dad who has a daughter in Hazel’s class. This Jagoff gets remarried and sends his daughter out with propaganda that infected my baby girl.

I got through the rest of the night without anymore stepmom talk. I woke up this morning and realized Hazel doesn’t care if I have a wife…..She just wants a mom.

I just need to find someone to take Hazel to the beauty salon and won’t clutter up my bathroom.

John, Riverside (56) likes the White Sox, mustard on his hotdogs, thin crust pizza and sometimes farts in bed. You must be willing to take my daughter to get her nails done, make cupcakes and have a dog.

February 18th, 2023

 Do you know today is actually Saturdre? Today is Andre Young’s birthday. I might have to put my NWA shirt on today.

Happy Birthday Dr Dre.

I’m glad it’s the weekend and a three day weekend to boot. This last week was a gut check.

It is probably a good thing the Shepkids are in Riverside. If I wasn’t a dad this weekend you’d find me in the back of the club drinking Moët.

This weekend is the last weekend before Lent. So that makes it Mardi Gras weekend.

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

But what if I really didn’t have the kids this weekend? What if I never married there mom?

Would I be waking up hungover in my studio apartment in the French Quarter. Would I be a struggling writer with bad health and a drinking problem?

That was the path I thought about taking at the turn of the century. The buzz at the Board of Trade was that the end was near. The floor might be closed by 2006. It actually closed in 2020.

I started dating a girl from Hinsdale and moved from the futures pit to an option pit. That kept me in Chicago…. gave me three beautiful babies and a career that still thrives.

Probably ended up saving me from a life of debauchery. Instead of making a Bloody Mary and getting ready for a Mardi Gras parade today, I’m going to make pancakes and help Fritz finish his World War II homework.

Enjoy your Mardi Gras weekend. Go over and have Tim Shanahan make you a bowl of gumbo. If you walk by my balcony you’ll see me throwing peanuts to my squirrels. Though I wouldn’t mind throwing beads from a balcony on Bourbon Street today.

I do like those areolas from Alabama and the mounds of Mississippi screaming, “throw me something Mista!”

February 17th, 2023

 Betty the Green Blazer and I just started the drive to work yesterday morning when Donizetti started playing on her radio. A Piece from the opera “Maria Stuarda” that always reminds me of my mom.

I suddenly realized how much I needed my mom at that moment. I’m driving towards a traffic light when my mom’s presence fills Betty’s passenger seat.

I have the green arrow for my left turn, but I’m still fifty yards away. The light turns yellow as I approach and disappears shortly before I turn left in front of traffic. The car driving in the opposite direction beeps at me.

The car behind that car is a police officer that I wasn’t aware of.

I’m juggling an expensive water bill, a son who is having a bad week, a daughter who cried at drop off the night before, an ex wife who sent me another cryptic email and a sudden appearance from Betty’s infamous check my engine light. All of this weighing me down and now I have rollers in the rearview.

My deceased mom is sitting next to me listening to her opera, tears are running down my cheeks and I’m getting pulled over.

It’s just after five o’clock in the morning and I’m on 31st street near the DesPlaines River bridge preparing for the police officer to arrive at my window.

“I shouldn’t have made that turn Officer…. I missed the arrow and I pushed through too late.”

My hands are shaking on the dashboard. My dad taught me if you get pulled over stick your hands through the steering wheel and grab the dashboard. Therefore the patrolman can see your hands and feel safer doing his job.

My hands are shaking, my lip starts to quiver and tears are still noticeable on my face.

The officers asks me if I was alright…. “I’m just having a shitty week Officer and…..”

Well I couldn’t tell him this song made me emotional and my mom is sitting here next to me. He would have given me the breathalyzer right then and there.

“…… and I’m just trying to get to work.”

This poor cop is just trying to finish his shift and now he’s dealing with an emotional divorced dad with a “I Love Hot Mom’s” bumper sticker. Oh and the Reagan/Bush sticker and the “I’m JumboLove sticker. Thank God all of Betty’s lights were working properly.

The police officer returned and when he handed me my driver’s license told me to be careful and know things will get better.

As he walked away I’m sure he heard me say, “Thank you God!”

I drove patiently in the right lane the rest of the way to work.

That traffic stop was a sign from heaven…..

“If not now……when?”

At least that’s what I thought I heard. I couldn’t really hear Pappa God over the yelling and screaming behind him. My dad bitching about driving with my head up my ass. The whole drive over to OakBrook my mom just sat there calmly.

Timing is everything in life and sometimes things happen for a reason. That police officer talked me off the ledge and probably kept me from making another stupid traffic infraction further down the street.

Today when I drive to work I’m listening to XRT…. They don’t play music that reminds me of my Ma.

February 16th, 2023

 Thursday is supposed to be a typical February day. At least that is what the weather girl said on the news last night.

Yesterday I was sitting in the school office before an IEP meeting. I was shooting the shit with the school receptionist while I waited.

Typical stuff…. Getting close to baseball season, she’s a Yankees fan. The school installed a new fancy camera system to take pictures of guests. That turned the conversation towards another mass shooting. This last one being at Michigan State and how several former students of the school are now students in East Lansing.

The last thing we talked about before I went into my meeting was the weather.

She sighed, “oh my gosh, I don’t know why I still live in Chicagoland with these horrible winters!”

“Why do you live here Mr. Shepley?”

“Well….. the streets are flat and line up perfectly on a grid.”

Then I patted my stomach like Santa does when he says, “Ho,Ho,Ho” and said, “I also love hotdogs and pizza… I stay for the food.”

She laughed and probably thought I was joking, but I wasn’t.

It’s the damn truth!

I know where all the hotdog stands are located throughout Chicagoland. I know where all the pizza joints can be found. I know where you can get a good gyros, a good sub sandwich and I know where the best Italian beefs will drip on my hands. They are all within a twenty mile arc centered off the shores of Lake Michigan.

I also live in Chicagoland because I’m accustomed to where the sunshine falls upon the grid system throughout the year.

I’m sure the Grand Canyon has a beautiful sunset, but I love how the sun reflects off of the Sears Tower just before dusk.

Something many Westsiders take for granted.

So bring on the rush hour snowstorm coming today. It’s going to be in the forties this weekend.

If you want to know what I’m doing this weekend… bet your bottom dollar a hotdog and a pizza are in my plans.

….and there won’t be any ketchup on that son of a bitch!

February 15th, 2023

 I lived one hundred and seventy eight miles away from my father during junior and senior high school. He lived in Oak Park and I lived in Indianapolis with my mom.

This was the late seventies into the early eighties. There wasn’t email, cell phones, GPS or the internet. However my dad knew every move that I made…. 178 miles away.

Whatever stupid thing I did, my dad knew and he usually knew before my mom.

“You have got to be shitting me Moose!!!”

Was the greeting that I heard many times at the beginning of our telephone conversations.

My dad was a Chicago Cardinals fan growing up. He hated Oldman Halas, hated the Bears. He loved the underdog or the teams that nobody else followed. In baseball as a little boy he was a Saint Louis Browns fan and in football, the Chicago Cardinals.

By the 1970’s the Cardinals had been long gone from the Southside of Chicago. They played in Saint Louis, but that didn’t stop my dad from being a Cardinal fan.

They had an offensive lineman named Conrad Dobler. He was a mean and dirty football player.

My dad loved him. He left everything he had on the gridiron. Even spit…. Spit he left on opponent’s faces.

Conrad Dobler had a skill of pissing off his foe. When the defender retaliated he would get the penalty flag and Dobler would walk back to his huddle chuckling.

My dad had this saying, “You just got Dobler’d!”

Meaning….. every time I pulled a stupid stunt I would be the only one who got caught.

So whenever I did something really brainless I’d get the telephone phone call from…. “Your father is on the phone John Stephen.”

First, when my mom used my middle name…. I was fucked!

Second, I was going to get yelled at from 178 miles away…

“You have got to be shitting me son! What the hell were you thinking?…..and you got Conrad Dobler’d!!!!!”

What does this mean? What is my dad talking about? Dobler’d? How does my dad know about the latest stunt that I pulled….. 178 miles away?

Towards the end of my dad’s life I asked him how he knew everything going on down in Indianapolis.

“Moose…. I had the internet before the internet had the internet!!!”

Today, I have the internet and I know all the moves my children make, but it still isn’t as impressive.

Earlier this week Conrad Dobler passed away. Not much fanfare for a troublemaker that played for a mediocre football team. He did make some of those awesome “Miller Lite” commercials with John Madden and Mean Joe Greene after his football career.

I’m sure my dad will find Conrad Dobler next week. He will give him a few days to acclimate to heaven before they go to the diner.

Just remember, if you’re going to do something stupid…. Have an escape plan and don’t get Dobler’d!

February 14th, 2023

 Life has become so much easier since the arrival of the search engine. In the last ten years we’ve come accustomed to “I’ll google it.”

We wasted all that time learning the Dewey Decimal System, microfilm and microfiche. Research today is just seconds away. “Hey Siri……?”

I butchered so many song lyrics as a kid. When I bought a new album I prayed the song lyrics were on the album jacket. I Googled a forty year old song the other day. I finally know the lyrics to a song I first heard in junior high school.

“I've had the blues

The reds and the pinks

One thing for sure

(Love stinks)”

So many things drive us crazy and when we finally figure it out. When we finally “Get it” we scratch our head in even more disgust.

Today is another day that I can’t explain. When we were kids today was Saint Valentine’s Day. The first card I received was from a nun.

“All right children, it is time for us to exchange our Saint Valentine’s Day cards.”

Five minutes later we are reading about Zacchaeus the tax collector in Jericho.

That was my first experience with love. A card from Sister Mary Joseph with the Holy Spirit over a heart. A “Josie and the Pussicats” card from Ruthie and a Ferguson Jenkins baseball card from Kevin. Let’s not forget the stale cookies from last weekend’s parish bingo and then suddenly….. “get back to your desks.”

I didn’t get a chance to express my love for Karen with the ponytail before we were back reading The Gospel according to Luke.

The last Valentine I received was handed to me by someone heading out the door. A box of peppermint patties from Walgreens and a card with a guy in a sombrero shooting Cupid’s bow and arrow.

If someone wishes me a Happy Valentine’s Day I always reply with a Happy “Saint” Valentine’s Day and hope I don’t get a stale cookie from bingo.

I was so distraught at the Eighth grade/Freshman dance when I heard that she alright likes someone. All the girls at the dance already liked someone else. I walked home from the gymnasium broken hearted. Give me that Hottub Time Machine to go back and tell thirteen year old John Shepley that J Geils wrote that song for a reason.

At my age I’ll be lucky if I have 27 or 28 February fourteenth’s remaining. All of them worrying that I don’t get a stale cookie from last weekend’s parish bingo.

The mystery of Love has disappeared through the years. Loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things.

I learned about love from three different periods in my life. The chore of exchanging cards at a parochial grade school. Standing under a basketball hoop while everyone else danced to “Babe” by Styx and the final kicker…..

Getting a Walgreens box of candy from your wife before she heads up to Lake Geneva with her girlfriends. The girlfriend was a dude.

Happy Saint Valentine’s Day….

Hallmark and the florist say thank you.

Pitchers and Catchers report this week.

February 13th, 2023

I’m not going to have anything to talk about at work today. When the guys talk about everything involving the big football game last night I won’t have a clue what they are talking about.

I went back to the future and watched a Superbowl that was played in January of 1986. A game played 13,582 days ago. The film was grainy, the play by play was monotone and the offense was archaic.

…..and I loved the whole damn thing.

I sat at home with George eating spaghetti and watching a thirty seven year old football game.

“Is this from the eighties dad?”

“1986 son…..”

and with a snotty reply, “I can tell by the poor quality that this is really old.”

I can tell you who won the first twenty five SuperBowls, but can’t remember the last five winners.

I’ve become a SuperBowl snob. I’m not sure if the big game outgrew me or I outgrew the big game. I was in bed at 8:30 listening to a George Gershwin show on WFMT. It ended with “Rhapsody in Blue” which was far better than Rashinda’s halftime show.

I told George last night that I will make it a tradition to watch this old tired football game every year. A game played two days before the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. Super Bowl eighty seven could be a Bears versus Browns matchup, but I’ll be watching the Bears versus the Patriots.

I’m going to be screaming at a game played sixty seven years ago listening to my grandchildren complain about the horrible quality of film back in the 1980’s…

So while the guys are talking about the Eagles and Chiefs today, I’ll be daydreaming about Walter Payton, the 46 defense and a 46-10 victory.

Sometimes it’s good to live in the past. It’s called nostalgia.

Pitchers and Catchers report this week.

February 12th, 2023

 No matter what you are doing right now. No matter where you are right now. No matter where you live, what you do for a living, what kind of car you own, what kind of clothes you wear or what you look like.

It doesn’t matter!

Because someone is envious……

The money might be running low, medical bills and taxes piling up, check engine lights popping on, belt loops running out….

It doesn’t matter. Someone that knows you would switch places in a heartbeat.

The person who wrote today’s quote probably wouldn’t have liked me. The author was a black woman who lived when blacks and women had very little rights.

She was a single mother when she was seventeen. She was a prostitute, a stripper and a waitress. She became the first black person to work as a conductor on the San Francisco streetcars. She ended up becoming a well known writer, an activist and an actress.

I wonder if she ever felt sorry for herself?

Shit…. I feel sorry for myself quite often. Not as much as I did in days gone by. Probably because each day I get closer to a day when I won’t worry about money and bills and health or anything that forms a hurdle in life.

We’ve seen our grandparents generation die. We are watching our parent’s generation die and someday sooner than we think…. Our generation will be the one dropping like flies.

Just think of what we’ve seen leave us through the years?

The last living slave died. The last living Civil War Veteran, the last World War One Veteran, pretty soon the last World War Two Veteran will be gone. Right now Vietnam Veterans are in the twilight of life.

I never went through anything like the above mentioned people. No shackles, no bullets. Just an ex wife and a big butt weigh me down on occasion.

It’s the middle of February already. Just know the street person on the corner of LaSalle and Adams or the commodity trader on the other end of the phone are both envious of something.

February 12th might be one day closer to the tax deadline or the due date for the water bill.

It’s also one day closer to the day we grab the railing on the stairs that lead to heaven.

Today is game day. England versus Italy. One team is fighting and clawing from the bottom. The other team has fallen from graces.

Sounds like they both symbolize periods of our own lives.

That is the only game I’m watching today. I’m not wasting time on the game determined by “BetDaddyRiverCeasarDotCom.”

A game played with passion starts at 8:15 this morning. A game that starts with men singing their National Anthems as tears run down their cheeks.

I won’t be watching the game at 5:30 tonight. A game fixed by money lines and the over/under. A game that has a high priced contract and expensive potato chip commercials.

Today I’m going to watch rugby, tell the Shepkids who Maya Angelou is and make spaghetti.

Enjoy the middle of the month and keep on moving and grooving….

February 11th, 2023

 I was about eighteen or nineteen sitting in my dads car in the parking lot of a 7-11. It was a late Saturday morning and we were finishing up our errands.

Usually on this stop the Oldman gets the Sunday Tribune, a lottery ticket, a gallon of milk and a box of Entemann’s. Either a coffee cake or chocolate donuts.…. Oh yeah and a can of Kay-O often landed on my lap when he got into the car.

On this Saturday morning a family was parked next to us. The dad had a map unfolded over his steering wheel. My dad leaned over to the opened window and asked if they were lost.

The wife sitting between my dad and the map gazer snapped off, “yes we are, yes we are! My husband can’t find the Brookfield Zoo!”

The 7-11 we were at is the one on the northeast corner of DesPlaines and Roosevelt Road.

“Follow me…. I’ll take you to the zoo.” my dad replied to the aggravated lady and her befuddled husband.

The zoo wasn’t far from the 7-11, but it was in the opposite direction from our house. My Oldman put the groceries on the back seat, got into the car and told me we were going to the zoo.

We pulled out into traffic with the lost family in tow. The zoo was only five to ten minutes away. This won’t take long. We drive past the parking lot, my dad will point to the parking lot and we will drive away.

….That’s not how it worked though.

My dad pulls out his wallet as we get close to the zoo and he asks me to find the zoo pass. I’m thinking the zoo pass? We have a gallon of milk in the backseat, it’s a warm June day and the Oldman wants to go to the zoo?

We pull into the line for the zoo and the family is right behind us. My dad motioned to them to continue to follow.

We pull to the gate… my dad hands the zoo pass to the guard. Now you have to know Don Shepley. If he goes somewhere regularly people know him and love him. Well, he went to Brookfield Zoo regularly. It was his place to unwind…. The guard and my dad were familiar with each other.

My dad tells the guard, “see this poor bastard behind us? He’s lost, his wife is aggravated with him and his kids are all worked up.”

The guard leans out and looks at the minivan with out of state plates.

My dad continues, “I’d like to get them in and then Moose and I are going to pull right out.”

The guard realized my dad was being a Good Samaritan and waved the car in. He didn’t take my dad’s money or zoo passes. My dad pulled a quick u-turn, waved to the family and we pulled out of the zoo.

We just spent thirty minutes of our day to make a strangers day better.

“Son, someday you might be in that guys seat and you’ll need a helping hand.” Those words stuck with me from that day on.

An off course family from Iowa was sitting in a 7-11 parking lot feeling miserable one minute and then twenty minutes later a bearded guy in a Cadillac takes them to the zoo.

That was Don Shepley… that was an afternoon my dad planted a seed.

One of many he planted through the years.

You just never know how simple it is to make the world a little better. Take the extra twenty minutes to make the world better.

It’s week two of Six Nations. First match is at 8:15 and the second one at 10:45. Ireland and France are number one and number two in the world. So today’s game is bigger than anything the Chiefs and Eagles will do tomorrow. Go Ireland....