March 31st, 2024

 There is going to be a shit ton of people going to mass today that never go to mass. The dreaded C & E crowd that aren’t there for the Eucharist, but for the photo op.

I’m not going to bullshit you… I rarely go to mass. I’m still the guy in slacks and dress shoes that says “and also with you,” when I do go.

My mom was a choir director at our parish. In the early 1970’s she worked for a company in Chicago that published that red book on every pew, Worship II. Oh yeah, she was also an ex nun. So she knew her liturgy.

My Oldman, the guy who I quote often on the Chalkboard using swear words. He was a permanent deacon at our parish. He knew the liturgy almost as well as my mom did.

They dragged me to every mass possible for the first twelve years of my life. I sat in the pew on Easter with my mom in the choir loft and my dad on the altar.

… and they were watching me the whole Mass!

Back in those days polyester was the material of choice. Itchy, scratchy and stiff pants with little belts attached to the waste.

I had hip hop thighs before hip hop thighs were a thing. That polyester made a distinct noise when they rubbed between my thick trunks. I hated wearing those fucking pants.

If it wasn’t polyester, it was corduroy. Dress pants in the 1970’s are one of the reasons that I wear sweat pants to mass today….

… and mass is at Our Lady of the Couch Cushions parish located in the archdiocese of my living room.

I do have a couple parishes that I go to occasionally. I sneak into the first Mass on Sunday morning, the tee time Mass. Twenty minutes with no fanfare and no whoopie cushions. The Gospel, the Eucharist, a quick homily and go in peace and don’t be a dick this week.

Today I give thanks for the inception of Dockers pants in the mid 1980’s and every kind of Catholic Mass you want on YouTube.

Today isn’t about a scary looking bunny rabbit. It’s about the Lamb, the Lamb of God.

I’m going to watch mass on television. I’m going to watch “Godspell.” I’m going to listen to some Gregorian Chant and all the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus and Agnus Dei. I’m going to listen to Black People Gospel music because they put the Resurrection in “Resurrection Sunday” and I’m going to pray to my parents. Thanking them for the strong foundation of faith they gave me.

And I leave you with an Easter quote from Deacon Don Shepley.

“Jesus got the shit kicked out of him. They nailed him to a GD cross wearing a crown of sharp thorns. You can wear those fucking pants for an hour and a half and give thanks for his sacrifice!”

Thanks Jesus… thanks for my hip hop thighs!

"Hip hop has blown my mind

John Cash has done his time
When you and I
Were in the weeds drinking wine
With that English singer
And your hip hop thighs." Ike Reilly

...and it is Sunday, not Monday!

My editor missed that mistake.

(BONUS WRITING)

My most consistent attendance to Catholic Mass was during the 1990's. My parish was Ascension in Oak Park, Illinois. They had a Young Adults Mass for Catholics in their twenties and thirties. The mass was on Sunday nights and on the third Sunday of the month they had a "Meet and Greet" in the Oak Room in the school.

Sure, I went to receive communion, but I must admit, I also went to get laid. The pews were filled with horny Westside Catholic girls. They will tell you that they were there to find a good Catholic husband, but they were also there to get laid as well!

Don Shepley always said, "All girls screw son, some more than others!"

Many post mass evenings ended up at Lalo's Mexican restaurant around the corner from the church. A bowl of guacamole and a couple pitchers of Margaritas and before you know it, two Catholics end up naked early into Monday morning.

Now I need to find a Sunday mass for older divorced, widowed horny Catholics located near a Mexican restaurant.

March 30th, 2024

    I sat on the couch every night for a week with my mom in January of 1977. We watched a show together that taught me about American history and it also taught me about humanity.

We watched every minute of the groundbreaking mini-series, “Roots.” I cried and wiped my tears on my mom’s robe when “Fiddler” died.

Yesterday the actor who played the older slave that nurtured Kunta Kinte died, Louis Gossett Jr.

Last night I watched another strong performance that Mr. Gossett played in “An Officer and a Gentleman.”

It has been a minute since I watched this movie from 1982. Gunnery Sergeant Foley was the drill instructor that had some famous lines. This movie was definitely made before “MeToo” and the Woke Era.

When I watched this movie for the first time and probably the last, I was still in high school. The best part of the movie back then was seeing Debra Wingers nipples during a sex scene with Richard Gere.

Last night I saw the relationship between Gossett Jr and Richard Gere. Mr. Gossett’s performance won an Academy Award for best supporting actor. The first time a black man won the award.

Fiddler was sitting under a tree with Kunta Kinte when he died. Kunta Kinte, who was given the English name “Toby” started to cry when he realized his mentor passed away.

…. and he said, “Fiddler, now you know what it be like to be free, now you know Fiddler.”

Mr. Gossett…. Now YOU know what the freedom of eternal rest means.

Today starts out rainy, but gets warmer and should produce a smile on the sun.

Saturday is rugby day! The Chicago Blaze Rugby Club play out in Lemont today and the Chicago Hounds have a match in Bridgeview tonight.

Play well Gentlemen!

Saturday is also the birthday of a dear friend, George’s Godmother, Amy Weaver.

Happy Birthday Weavy!

Alright you glorious Chalkheads! Go out there and be astonished…. Put your smile on the sun and be kind.

March 29th, 2024

 I bit off more than I can chew by choosing one of the last lines Hamlet muttered before he died. Why am I quoting Billy Shakes on the day Christ died?

Holy Week has all the tragedy similar to a Shakespearean play. The main character comes in at the beginning with fanfare and celebration. He spreads doubt and fear amongst his closest friends. He pisses off the powerful religious leaders and finally is destroyed by Latin Gladiators.

The part of the story that saddens me is his mom’s role. When looking at the painful climax that takes place on the Friday… try and imagine it play out through the eyes of the rebellious preacher’s mother.
This woman, born without sin knew what she was getting into when an angel appeared some thirty years prior. Mary, the mother of the protagonist watches her son get wrongfully accused by intimidated officials. She’s witnesses her son beaten and persecuted and then she watches him die on a cross.
Sure, Papa God asked his only living son to suffer immensely, but think of the sacrifice and pain the mysterious force puts the mom through.
Hamlet said, “The rest is silence” and Jesus said, “It is finished.”
But it isn’t finished and the message isn’t silent.
The message is salvation and the gift is eternal life.
Today is the most powerful day in the Christian Faith. A Faith handed down from our Jewish roots.
“Keep In Mind That Jesus Christ Has Died For Us And Is Risen From The Dead. He Is Our Saving Lord, He Is Joy For All Ages.”
Alright that is the end of our religious and literature lesson for the day. Time to talk about sports. Chicago baseball opened with a dud, but my Illini friends are living for another day. Good luck to my Warrior and Boiler people today.
The smile on the sun is peaking out at you. Be astonished today and take a minute to reflect on the “rest” in your life…..
Let’s get some runs…..

March 28th, 2024

 Opening Day and Holy Thursday

Two of the biggest days in the Chicago Catholic Archdiocese. The pomp, the circumstance, the dogma all coming together for nine men on a diamond and thirteen men at a supper table.

There was an age when I wouldn’t miss opening day. I haven’t been to one since Covid.

I went to an Opening Day in the early nineties that fell on Good Friday. Bo Jackson was playing for the Sox and he hit a homer in his first at bat after hip replacement surgery. It was a magical day in Bridgeport.

The only problem was that Good Friday is a day to abstain from everything. If Jesus sacrificed his life for me, I could at least refrain from a dozen Old Styles and the “Sausage Trifecta.”

I felt like Judas when I took a swig from the first cup of beer. By the third Old Style… I wasn’t feeling any Catholic guilt, so I went ahead and started the Sausage Trifecta. I wasn’t the only Catholic sneaking a hotdog at the ballpark.

There was a guy in front of me in the Polish sausage line that was telling his buddies that Cardinal Bernardin said it was alright to have a beer and a brat.

I went ahead and ate a Polish with grilled onions, a bratwurst with sauerkraut and an Italian sausage with roasted peppers and red sauce… the Sausage Trifecta and NO Sausage Trifecta can begin without a warm up Chicago Dog.

Nineteen inches of encased meat and one hundred and fifty ounces of krausened beer, I was going to hell in a hurry. The Sox ended up losing to the Yankees on that Good Friday, 11-6.

All because I had to break the rules and eat meat and drink beer on a holy day. I was the reason the Sox started 0-1 in 1993.

Today is the day that Hope and Salvation all come together. 1993 is over thirty years ago and there won’t be any Old Styles or Vienna hotdogs today. I’ll be honoring the “Sixty Days of Cecilia” with cottage cheese, avocados, broccoli and water.

I couldn’t abstain for Jesus, but I sure as hell will for my Ma.

Let’s Go Go you White Sox!

Enjoy your Easter Triduum and the opening series against the Detroit Tigers this weekend.

Don’t forget to thank the skinny Jewish kid for his big sacrifice and Mr. Comiskey for building a ballpark in Bridgeport.

March 27th, 2024

 A half a dozen guys were filling potholes with asphalt when suddenly the world collapsed from under their feet.

One minute they were shooting the shit about the Orioles chances to win the division this year… the next minute they’re submerged in dark cold water. Twisted pieces of metal and chunks of concrete crushing down all around.

Anticipating opening day since last fall and two days before the first pitch, they took their last breath.

That is what happened yesterday.

That is how I pictured yesterday’s tragedy in Baltimore. I watched the video three dozen times, but all I could imagine is a Ravens stocking cap floating on top of the murky morning water.

Put on clean underwear, make your bed, sweep the kitchen floor and wipe your counter every morning before you leave. Not because it’s nice to come home to after a long day.

What if you don’t come home from a long day?

That thought is sometimes in the back of my mind.

Then I think…. Who is coming into my home if I’m lying at the morgue.

I know….. I know…… what is wrong with Jumbo?

But I’ve imagined this more times than not!

My mother in law? My ex wife? My cousins? My last remaining Auntie? My landlord? My Priest? My dearest friends? My fatherless children?

Who is going to find my vintage Playboy collection from the 1960’s?

At least my bed will be made, my kitchen floor swept and the counters wiped down.

Everyday could be the last. I’ve been counting down the Sox and Cubs home opener since Thanksgiving. If I stop breathing for some reason today, I’ll miss the starting line up tomorrow.

All of this has crossed my mind this morning because a Baltimore Colts fan is now catching passes in heaven from Johnny Unitas.

I know this has been a morbid Chalkboard this morning and I’ll be here to witness another horrible baseball season on the Southside.

BUTT.....

Things can’t wait until next week. Try to get it done yesterday.

Your candy bar is going to get more expensive this summer.

You better have two today!

March 26th, 2024

 If you ask most people, they’ll tell you that they hate Mondays. I don’t mind Mondays and I’m usually anxious on Sunday nights to get back to work. Yeah…. I know…. sounds crazy.

Tuesdays are the days that I get jammed up on. On Mondays you go back to work and talk about the weekend. Yesterday we talked about the basketball tournament, rugby, our families and our adventures since we left work on Friday.

There won’t be anything to talk about on Tuesday. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Tuesday is perfect to be in a daydream.

Speaking of dreams…. Just ten minutes ago I was back on the old trading floor. I was scooting across the bond room on one of those wooden platforms with small wheels that movers use for larger objects.

One minute I was standing between the bond pit and the trading desks on the north wall. The next minute I was arguing with a store clerk at a perfume counter. The disagreement was over where the pits were once located. Seems I was buying perfume at a store that was housed in the Board of Trade. Perfume and scarves were being sold where the old bond option pit once was.

That’s all I have today. A goofy dream on a Tuesday morning around 2:30. I forgot to mention that Burt Gutterman, John Donatelli, Hank from Index, my ex spouse, my cousin Chuck and Eddie Vrydoliak the Alderman were all in this strange dream.

I had a bowl of cottage cheese with an avocado for dinner last night. Maybe that caused this awkward nightmare?

The clouds jagged us out of seeing the full moon last night. I want to say that the clouds have gotten in the way of the last few full moons. I should listen to Joni and look at it from both sides.

I better end this Chalkboard before I go off on another tangent. I might start yapping about rows and floes of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air.

It’s Two for Tuesday….

.... I can go for a two pack of ZZ Top this morning. Maybe a little Beastie Boys!

I’ll let you Google the Latin in the Grabber section. It’s good advice when dreams have you in doubt.

March 25th, 2024

 George spent the day over at his grandparent’s house on Saturday. He and JoJo were busy going through old family photographs.

They were both excited to show me their collection when I arrived. They found pictures of PopPop. They found pictures of Nana. They found pictures of cousins and uncles and aunts.

They found pictures of JoJo and PopPop as well. Pictures from family parties, holidays and vacations. All of them full of hugs and smiles. I think it was good therapy for both George and his JoJo to go through the memories.

George has been showing more signs of missing his PopPop, so he’s clinging tighter to his JoJo. This makes me happy because I know how important this time together will be someday.

I wrote about 6130 Indianola on Saturday’s Chalkboard. This is George’s 6130 Indianola.

What hit me hard Saturday afternoon was the number of pictures they found from the Shepley era. I was in a lot of those family pictures taken at parties, holidays and vacations.

George and JoJo found pictures of my dad and mom when they were still around. They found pictures of smiles and hugs that I forgot we once had.

Nana, PopPop, Cecilia, Aunt Jeanne and Don are all in heaven. Cousins, Aunts and Uncles live in Wyoming, California, Ohio and New York. The hardest pictures to view that can no longer be taken are the ones of George’s parents when they were happy and in love.

Today’s quote is from Andy Warhol and is perfect for a Saturday afternoon filled with looking through old photographs. It ended up being therapy for not only George and JoJo, but for me as well.

Eating Alpine subs and looking through family photos will be a good memory for George someday.

It is already the last Monday of March and the moon will be full tonight.

Go make some memories that will last a lifetime.

March 24th, 2024

About thirty years ago my dad picked me up on a Saturday morning and we went to breakfast. Something was wrong with the Oldman; he wasn’t his jovial self.

I got in the Dadillac and the radio was off and the cabin wasn’t filled with Marlboro smoke. Usually, I’d get into the car with a greeting…

“Good morning you silly son of a bitch! Is Rachel Welch still asleep in your bed?” Or something just as goofy and stupid.

That morning, I was greeted with a ho hum…. “Good morning son.”

As the morning turned into the afternoon and we went from breakfast to errands to a ride into the city for lunch, I realized something I never knew about my dad.

He was scared.

He was in his fifties and some of his colleagues and older friends were passing away at a faster clip. He was scared of his own mortality and he was scared he’d be all alone when he died.

My dad told me that the next weekend when we get together, we were going to visit Mr. Dove after breakfast.

Mr. Dove was a mentor to my dad in the railroad industry. My dad said that Bill Dove was the best draftsman and engineer he ever met. I met Mr. Dove when I was a little boy and I’d visit my dad at work.

He was taller than my dad and always had a three-piece suit on with a watch chain hanging across his vest. Mr. Dove was a Canadian, but had a slight British accent. Hanging over his desk and draft table was a picture of him and several other Canuck soldiers holding a nazi flag. They all had victorious smiles on their faces.

“How many nazis did you kill Mr. Dove?”

“Well Master Shepley, I don’t look at it as killing nazis, I just put the poor bastards out of their misery.”

From that day on, Bill Dove was my hero.

My dad would often invite his railroad buddies and their wives over for cocktails and dinner. When I was in high school, Mr. Dove felt it was time for me to learn how to be the bartender for the railroad men.

I told you that Mr. Dove wore a three-piece suit at the office. When he walked into 220 South Lombard, he looked completely different. Pressed slacks, freshly shined penny loafers, a flamboyant sportscoat, a turtleneck that matched one of the colors in his flashy jacket and a medallion that hung several inches lower than his neck. He never wore the same chain or suit jacket when he visited, never.

Upon entry and after greeting the usual crowd, he would elegantly bark out, “Where is the younger Shepley with my gin martini?”

Did I mention Mr. Dove was my hero? My dad worked with James Fucking Bond.

Back to the next weekend and our visit to the nursing home to see Mr. Dove. Again that Saturday morning, my dad was very quiet. We finished breakfast and drove down to Tinley Park. Laying in an unkept bed with his hair askew was my hero.

“Well Don… you brought the younger Shepley this week as promised, but I don’t see a cocktail shaker in his grip…”

That was the last time that I saw Mr. Dove. No fancy threads, no war stories, no arguments over clean drawings and blueprints and no gin martinis. When we left the nursing home, my Oldman handed me the keys to the Dadillac…

“You’ve got to drive us home Moose!”

My dad cried several times on the way home. My dad was going through a sad period in his life. All of “his people” were going to heaven and he was full of fear.

That day I saw my hero like I never saw him before, helpless and lackadaisical. That day I saw my other hero, my dad, in a different light. It was the first time that I ever saw the mountain of a man scared.

Mr. Dove died a month later. He had a burgundy sportscoat and a burnt orange turtleneck on at the wake. Rosary in his hand, medallion on his sternum and a war metal pinned to his lapel.

I know how to make a proper gin martini because of Mr. Dove.

I’m at the age where my father was when he started to fear mortality. I’m not quite there yet, but I am starting to lose mentors, older friends and relatives. Though I don’t fear my mortality. I just want to get Hazel to eighteen and move to the forest or Edgewater Beach.

I will end today’s Morning Chalkboard with a fitting earworm.

“All our times have come

Here but now they're gone

Seasons don't fear the reaper

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain

We can be like they are

Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper)

Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper)

We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper)….”

Have a glorious Sunday and a strong work week. If you are somewhere nice for spring break, blow me!

I’ll be at work balancing corn, soybeans and feeder cattle upon my shoulders…

March 23rd, 2024

    Spring comes every year at the right time. It brings flowers, rainstorms and baseball. I’m sure there is a study about people and the season they love the most. My favorite season is Autumn. It brings colorful leaves, rainstorms and football.

As I’ve gotten older the seasons come around quickly. They bring their own personalities and fragrances and then they roll into the next cycle.

Every year the seasons bring their holidays and their sports. They bring their unique angle from the sun and they make us accommodate their demands.

Spring has brought a warmer breeze that will seem cold come May. Flowers have started to pop up and trees will soon bud. The smell of hotdogs covered with onions will soon fill the caves surrounding the diamonds.

I may be an Autumn guy, but how can I not enjoy what lurks these next several weeks.

I miss one thing about spring, but at the time I dreaded it.

My grandmother had a small house in Broad Ripple. It was a one-story brick two-bedroom home on Indianola Avenue. There were about ten or twelve windows that had storm windows in the winter and screens in the summer. They were made with solid wood frames and each window and screen had a brass tag with a number on it. Each window frame had a matching brass tag to correspond.

Gramma had hooks in the garage to store the screens in the winter and the windows in the summer. Each hook had a number as well and they were in order from the back of the house to the front.

When my mom moved me away from Chicago and into the same neighborhood as my Gramma, this became my biannual chore as well. Gramma gained a new helper that had a deeze and doze accent.

The windows were still heavy in seventh grade, but became light as a feather by senior year. My junior year, I carried two at a time and Loretta Zoellner became unglued.

If my dad caught me doing this he would have said, “Son! You gotta be shitting me!” When my Gramma caught me carrying two out of the garage she gave me her stern, “For Heaven’s Sake Johnny!”

These words coming from a petite elderly lady carried the same weight as those from a mountain of a man.

Now Gramma didn’t just replace screen one with window one and so on and so on. We had to wash each set before we hung them on the house and back in the garage. Not only do they get dirty on the house, but they got dusty in the garage as well.

This small little house in a working-class neighborhood on the northside of Indianapolis seemed like a mansion for two days out of the year.

I’ll tell you what though. I ate a good breakfast, lunch and dinner that day. I didn’t get much money, but I always received something homemade baked fresh just for me. I also was given the wisdom from the smartest woman that I ever met.

Spring still comes and goes and I will never take out another window and replace it with a screen ever again. That’s what I miss more than anything when the rebirth of April and May come along each year.

I don’t do anything as meticulous in my life as my Gramma’s chores, but I do get up every morning and write to you, pray to God and work my ass off because of those windows.

I’m sure the new owner put triple tracks in every window soon after they bought it. I would have!

I can’t wait to go to heaven and help my Gramma put her windows up in autumn and have a piece of zucchini bread or her famous cinnamon breakfast rolls.

I’m going to pack up the typewriter and go watch the sunrise. The lions are roaring and the air is crisp. Thirty-two teams are left and most brackets are in shambles….

… Be kind, be astonished and enjoy the smile on the sun.

And it is National Tamale Day. In Chicago we have two kinds, TomTom and Supreme.

“Utah get me two!”

March 22nd, 2024

 perseverance

[ pur-suh-veer-uhns ]

noun - : continued effort to do or achieve something despite difficulties, failure, or opposition : the action or condition or an instance of persevering : STEADFASTNESS

Everyday is a triumph in my book. Unless you were born with a silverspoon up your ass… surviving each day and dealing with humanity in any form is an incredible test.

I was recently sitting in the diner eating my breakfast near two older gentlemen. These men looked warn with what looked to be eighty years of perseverance.

They were talking about how they continue to take on the mysteries of life. One of the men has decided to accept the challenges that life brings. The other man is still trying to “figure things out.”

The first guy wasn’t necessarily throwing in the towel. He just wanted to declutter the complexities that have warn him down throughout his lifetime. The second guy didn’t want anything to do with that. He wanted to be full of “piss and vinegar” until the morning of his last breath.

I have two daydreams about the end of my life. One has me sitting in a cabin in the woods with a creek babbling near by. I’m wearing bulky sweaters and comfortable slippers. I’m either sitting in the rocking chair on the porch reading Keats and Shelley…. Or… I’m sitting in front of my typewriter at a desk in the loft that has a picture window looking at pines and that babbling creek.

The next daydream has me living in a mid century decorated apartment overlooking Lake Michigan up in Edgewater. I never leave home without a sport coat, a hat, a cigar and a smile. No matter if I’m going to mass every morning at Saint Ita’s or to the Green Mill in the evening for a set of jazz.

I could live in the woods and read romantic poetry and write stories about the past.

Or

I could live on the Chicago grid and dance to Ellington, pray with the Catholics and sip martinis with other aging Gen X members.

They are both great endings to this wonderful life. I’d be satisfied just sitting at the diner with a dear old friend. Talking about the 1977 White Sox, Superbowl XX and the Great Flood of Chicago in ‘92.

March continues to be colder on the backend. Next week is Holy Week for us Catlicks. No more Lake Michigan square fish from McDonald’s and egg and pepper sandwich’s from Mr Beef.

Sunday brings the full moon of March, the Worm Moon. The eclipse is a couple weeks away and don’t forget opening day somewhere in between.

Persevere and be astonished today.

March 21st, 2024

 We read “The Stranger” during our senior year in high school. When I think about it, that was a bit progressive for a Catholic school in the 1980’s. The same school that fired a teacher for being gay just a few years ago.

Around the same time, my dad asked me if I was reading anything interesting. I told him that we were reading a book by an existentialist author. He asked me who and I told him Albert Camus…. then he suddenly quoted the words on today’s Morning Chalkboard.

Forty years later, I can proudly say that I have never experienced a broken heart. Bruised up, but never broken.

It’s tourney time and that means there are broken hearts hanging on every brackets.

Good luck to all of your teams and may we all win the office pool.

March 20th, 2024

   We all know how much joy I experience when I am able to throw a smile on the sun. Within the last several months a smiley face has appeared on my dining room table.

This recent addition is no larger than a nickel. The little smirk is done in black Sharpie and smiles at me whenever I sit down at the table.

I tried alcohol swabs to remove the goofy little grin, but it’s permanently embossed into the grain of the wood.

I know who the guilty doodler is that left this happy face for generations to come. The artist currently takes fifth grade classes and stands about chest level to her father. The person always sits at that seat because it faces the television in the living room.

Whenever the grade school graffiti artist isn’t around… that smiley face is still there. It’s there when I’m having my breakfast. It’s there when I’m paying bills at the table and it’s there at supper time when I’m watching “The Wheel.”

I didn’t lose my cool when the cheerful emoji first beamed on my table. It was obvious my mysterious fourth child was responsible for this stunt. “Itwasntme” Shepley is clearly the culprit who grabbed a permanent marker out of the junk drawer and doodled away.

Patience and love…..

I will be long gone, but my dining room table will be in a basement rec room of one of my offsprings. That smiley face will still beam at a future Shepley. It will be a reminder of how patient and loving Grampa John once was. Great Grampa Don would have shit and come unglued.

Simple things like a smiley face can bring joy for years to come.

Humpday is here and with it comes the first full day of spring. I put a smile on the sun today. So go be astonished and kind.

March 19th, 2024

 My precautions of middle age are the red flags that I missed in my youth. Anything that resembles a red flag from yesterday will keep Betty the Green Blazer parked in spot twenty one.

Along with parenthood, I have taken safeguards that have made life in my fifties somewhat boring. I’ve been bubble wrapped these last several years.

The hindsight that I will gain down the road will define the current years. If my history teacher asked me to give clarity to the mid twenty twenties, I’d say we are in an isolationist position.

The Japs got us on December 7th. Muslim terrorists on September 11th. Domestic terrorists on April 19th. Hamas guerrillas on October 7th and the sad eyes of three children on July 8th.

I’m still haunted by the looks on the faces of my children when I packed up and left their mother.

Since that day I’ve made pancakes, gone to work, made supper, sat in front of a television and gone to bed.

No trips to New Orleans to visit my happy place. No trips to Indianapolis to see family and friends. No fourth dates with remarkable people. No shows or upcoming events, festivals, pool parties or rugby tournaments.

Why take the chance to encounter the dangers of another red flag? The twenty twenties have become my age of isolation.

I have this phrase, “I’m going to do it when Hazel turns eighteen.”

She turns eleven this summer. That means my period of being an isolated country lasts until 2031.

I’m jammed up in the western part of Chicagoland until the next decade?

I think not!

The Latin words in the Grabber section this morning means “Not without danger.”

It’s time to make reservations at The Hotel Monteleone. It’s time to see if Betty can make it past Tippecanoe County. It’s time to ask the girl out and see if there is a fifth date. It’s time to go to Marcus King at the Salt Shed. It’s time to drive out to Lemont and get the boots soggy.

My daughter will be eighteen before I know it. My roommate turns eighteen in a couple months. I need to ditch the bubble wrap leisure suit. It’s not fashionable…..

....Does anyone fancy a sazarac and a ride on the streetcar?

March 18th, 2024

 These recent generations will never go through the struggle of confusing lyrics to a song.

Back when I was a kid it was hard to find the words to the hits playing on the radio. It was a bonus when you bought a new album and the lyrics were on the sleeve.

Today you can just Google a song and figure out what the singer is mumbling.

These young punks today will never go through the embarrassment of butchering a song in front of their friends.

I’m still traumatized from the day I butchered “Bohemian Rhapsody” in front of Trish Drew, Angela Webler, Bobby Grilliot and his older sister Chrissy.

I’m sure many of you Chalkheads have similar memories.

Let’s move on…. It’s Monday and the office will be buzzing with NCAA bracket conversations. Several good teams are not invited this year. Several Cinderella scenarios are set to play out.

The 2024 baseball season is just two weeks away and excitement is building on both sides of town.

It’s going to be chilly today, but your shadow is shorter and the day is longer. It’s a joy for me to be able to go to the grocery store at five o’clock in daylight.

Let’s kick the shit out of this third week of March.

Be astonished…

March 17th, 2024

    Today’s quote comes from one of my father’s favorite poets, William Butler Yeats.

The first thing we think after reading it… wouldn’t it be more fitting to change the words “tragedy” and “joy” around, but that wasn’t Yeats style.

He is trying to get the point across that life has more down days which makes us appreciate the good days.

Most of us Chalkheads have a pretty good thing going on, but unfortunately we encounter a darker stretch of time. It is during those days when we have pain or are grieving that we must rely on the glimmer of happiness.

Where the fuck am I going with this?

I’m supposed to honor the Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day with the best Irish poet and I’m getting sidetracked…..

Bottom line.... if anyone gets straight F’s in life, it’s the Irish. You can never tell when a mick is having a bad day because they always have a positive story, a good limerick and a bright smile. If anyone has built a strong foundation on Faith, Family and Friends…. It’s the Irish.

So Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to all my Irish brothers and sisters.

…and congratulations on winning the 2024 Six Nations rugby championship yesterday.

This weekend has been hard for me. Not being able to have meat, sweets, booze and intimacy is near impossible on a Saint Patrick’s Day weekend. Oh I long for a pint of stout, a plate of corned beef, a warm buttered slice of soda bread and a warm and buttered slice of an Irish lass.

We are sliding into the back half of March. It looks like it will be colder than the first half. Don’t be surprised if you are scrapping ice off the windshield on Easter Sunday.

Today is going to be cloudy and brisk, but the daylight is twelve hours long. Tonight’s sunset is at 7 o’clock and we won’t have another sunset this early until September 15th.

I think that will bring a temporary period of joy in this tragic life we don’t live.

Be astonished today… Watch shit do stuff and put the smile on the sun. Slàinte!

March 16th Flashback

                                                                             2023

I was sound asleep early on a Saturday morning the summer that I turned nineteen. I was woken up by my dad yelling from the first floor.

“You have ten minutes to get ready and be in the car…. We’ve got things to do, people to meet, breakfast to eat.”

I rolled over and smashed the pillow over my head. The pillow wasn’t thick enough to absorb the following attempt to get me out of bed.

Six thirty in the morning and a British Military Band started marching through the living room. Led by my father through the dining room and down the basement steps to my bedroom.

The bedroom door flew open and standing in the frame was my dad repeating what he previously said as the blankets are ripped off of my bed.

The Coldstream and Grenadier Guard continued to march through the speakers of my dads stereo in the living room. Luckily my dad marched back up the stairs without noticing the Old Style bottle on my nightstand.

Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the front seat of my dad’s Cadillac filled with cigarette smoke and WGN on the radio. Not good for a nineteen year old with a hangover.

Our first stop was Oak Park Bank on the corner of Marion and Lake street. Then we walked up the street to the travel agent. My dad had long conversations with both the bank teller and the travel agent. Everyone loved talking with Don Shepley. I just wanted breakfast.

We finally walked into the diner across the street from the bank. The hostess sat us down, handed us our menus and poured our coffee.

A few minutes later the waitress came to take our order. She was a knockout. I could barely stammer my order to her because I was so taken back by her beauty. My Dad smirked at me and shook his head....

“My son has a hard time with the English language and seems to be enthralled in your beauty.”

Don Shepley always took the opportunity to embarrass his son. The waitress smiled at me as she took our menus. After she walked away my dad continued to grill me about my awkward breakfast order.

He asked me what I was attracted to the most about our waitress. That summer was the time in our relationship when my dad treated me less as a boy and more like a man. The conversations were more about politics, current events, historic events and women.

I was always nervous talking about the last subject with my dad, but that didn’t stop me that summer morning.

“I like her cleavage through the buttons of her shirt dad and I like her legs.”

My dad sat across the table and shook his head. He took a long sip of his coffee and started telling me his philosophy on female anatomy.

“Son, it’s not about tits and ass. There are so many other things about a woman’s appearance.”

Now I’m in for a sex education lesson from my dear old father before my omelet arrives.

"Come on Moose, she has a gorgeous mouth. Her lips are full and her smile is heavenly. That is the first thing you should have noticed.”

I’m sitting there listening to my dad tell me the waitress has a beautiful mouth. I just want to eat breakfast and get out before my dad gets another chance at embarrassing me.

That was the day I learned that there is more about women than just boobs and booty. One of many things I learned at a breakfast table from my dad.

Today is Lips Appreciation Day. If you have someone that lets you lock lips, take advantage!

2022

“Get up off your big ass Moose! Let’s go!”

I often say that I don’t have many regrets, but I do regret the dance floors that I didn’t take advantage of through the years.

From here on out I will leave no dance floor undanced!

I grew up a SoulTrain kid so I know how to glide like a 747.

Get up! Make Your Bed and look at that number on the top right hand side of the Chalkboard!

The world is in turmoil. Our country confused and tired, but Daylight Savings Time is getting voted out!

Personally I can deal with dark nights for two months in December and January. Remember, I’m a morning guy… I dig the promise of a sunrise.

Enjoy those 9:00am sunrises for two months. Enjoy Christmas morning in the dark. Enjoy sending the kids To school in the dark.

While we all argue about the pros and cons of Standard or Daylight shit is hitting the fan.

It’s Erik Estrada Day! I’m not sure it’s a real thing to celebrate Officer Francis Poncherello’s Birthday, but what the hell!

Happy Birthday PONCH!

2021

The path we take and the people we meet along the way isn’t always our choice. As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized neither is our destination.

Sure I can plan a long weekend to New Orleans or jump in the car and drive to the Southside to shop for a new hat.

I never wanted to move past Mannheim road and I didn’t plan on living in Riverside, but that’s where the path led me.

The point is I have few regrets on the way. Sure I regret not making a trip to London that was offered to me, but I’m glad I’m not living in Alsip...

Like a car we have mileage... let’s just hope a new muffler and some break pads gets us to 300,000 miles.

2020

Street football and baseball was occasionally stopped with the warning of “headlights” when we were kids!

Maybe the daily routine needs to run to the curb and let the cars drive past?

Good Luck and stay safe!