July 31st, 2024

 Waking up on the last day of the month and the first thing that came to mind is…

… this has been the lamest July that I can remember.

Go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad.

I didn’t go to the ballpark one time in July. Why would I, they are 27-83. I didn’t go swimming once during the hot month of July. It’s not cool to go to the pool with dad. We didn’t go to the zoo in July because it’s also becoming uncool to go to the zoo with dad.

Then I thought about July in a little more depth.

It started out at a birthday dinner with Big George. Steak at the Golden Steer with my oldest son is a good beginning to the month.

In the middle of the month I introduced the Chicago hotdog to a friend of mine. She drove all the way up from Indianapolis to visit Parkys.

At the end of the month I took the train into the city for a musical and dinner. The theater, old friends, cocktails and spaghetti with meatballs is a solid showing on a Saturday afternoon and a good finale to a lame month.

So July wasn’t so bad after a little reevaluation. I do have to take Hazel for her eleven year old shots today. If she doesn’t already hate me, this should solidify it.

August?

I am driving down to Indianapolis for my high school reunion. Staying in a nice hotel with two pools and a pond. The pond will be perfect for me. I threw that in for the Chalkheads that are “Caddyshack” fans.

Big George is going to Wyoming with JoJo and starting his new program at Lagrange hospital in August. My roommate also turns eighteen this month.

So August is a new beginning for my first born baby boy.

I’ll try and mix it up in August. Go to work, be a father, go to work, celebrate the Class of ‘84, be a father. Go to work, read more books, be a father, walk to the zoo, go to work, be a father. Go to the pool, be a father, go to work, watch my son become a man, go to work. Witness Antifa destroy Chicago, go to work, be a father.

Snuck the last one in to stir things up. Chicago will be just fine and law and order will prevail.

Let’s go into August with astonishing attitudes and open minds.

And let’s end with another reference to that great golf comedy from 1980…

….Hey everybody, we’re all gonna get laid!”

July 30th, 2024

 I woke up laying on my right side facing my bedroom window. Just at the top of the frame was the crescent moon. Ten minutes later and it would have been higher in the eastern sky and out of my picture.

I’m going to make it up and say that waking to the waning crescent moon is a good omen for a Tuesday. Especially the last Tuesday of the month.

The full moon in August is called the Sturgeon moon and this year it will be a Supermoon.

George came home yesterday from a train ride to Kenosha. It was his third trip up to the Wisconsin city this summer. They have an old streetcar line that he likes to ride and take pictures of.

He immediately plopped down on the sofa when he arrived home. When I asked him how his day went, he told me that he helped the motorman close all the windows on the streetcar when it started to rain heavy. Then reopen them when the rain stopped.

The trainman appreciated George’s help and that was probably all it took to make Big Shep’s day mo ‘betta.

Then he blurted out, “I gave some Chinese kid my phone to call his mom.”

This is where Don Shepley would have replied, “You gotta be shitting me!” Don Shepley’s son calmly asked his son how the fucked that happened.

“The kid dropped his phone and it wasn’t working, so I helped him. You always tell me to help people dad.”

By the grace of the Lord, the kid really did need to call his mom and didn’t try and run off with George’s iPhone.

I do tell the Shepkids to be kind and helpful to the world, but to be careful because the world can be a cruel motherfucker.

Ended up the kid was just like George and enjoyed taking pictures of trains.

“Where was the kid from George?”

and George quickly replied, “Chinatown, he was from Chinatown dad.”

and like any GenX father, I cheerfully sang back to my son, “Chickity China, the Chinese chicken. You have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin’….”

Though not like the Barenaked Ladies, but more like Charlie Chan.

I loved watching Charlie Chan movies on WGN on rainy Sunday afternoons with my Oldman.

That was the Monday night adventure of being a Divorced Dad, just trying to make a living and doing the best I can…

Did I get you?

Are you humming some Allman Brothers right now? Much better than a Canadian rock band from the nineties.

It’s National Cheesecake Day. Last time I had a sliver was on my birthday with a couple plops of chocolate mousse. I still prefer a cannoli.

We are starting a chain of hot and humid days as we change the page on the 2024 calendar.

Make sure to hit your nooks and crannies with a nice dusting of the GoldBond….

….and make sure to hold the door open for senior citizens and help Chinese kids call their ma.

July 29th, 2024

   Have you hired someone to narrate your life story? Morgan Freeman? Samuel L. Jackson? Hal Holbrook?

Actually, I think Hal Holbrook is dead. So he is out of the picture.

I had some insane dreams last night. There is a guy at work, Jack… Jack won’t eat a banana after five o’clock in the evening because he thinks bananas add a higher level of intensity to dreams.

Speaking of dreams… I hate it when I ask someone how they are doing and they sarcastically reply, “I’m living the dream!”

That is right up there with when I say “Thank You” to someone and they respond, “No problem!”

No Problem?

It better not be a problem. I only asked you to make me an Egg MacMuffin, that is your job. If you have a problem with it, you better see if Starbucks is hiring.

Now I’m completely off the subject I started to talk about. The narrator of your life story.

I like the voice of the guy who did “A Christmas Story.” I think he’s dead too, so he is a no go.

Does it even have to be a male narrator? I could go with a female narrator to tell my life story.

I’d like to have Angela Lansbury, but she is at the same place with Hal Holbrook and The “You’ll shoot your eye out kid” Guy.

I could get Whoopi Goldberg. A black woman telling a story is popular right now. That might be the way to go.

I’m going with Whoopi and now I need a director. For me that is easy, David Mamet. He’s a Chicago guy that likes to use curse words.

I’m all set this early Monday morning, the last Monday of July in the year of Christ, 2024.

Let’s finish and begin these summer months this week with passion and hard work….

….and astonishment

July 28th, 2024

 I took the longest leak in my lifetime at the intermission of a musical yesterday. I thought that would be a good opening line for the Sunday Morning Chalkboard…

…and I snuck some alliteration in there to impress my high school English teacher, John Young.

When I finally zipped up my pants and turned around from the urinal, the line was fifty deep.

Do you remember that commercial in the ‘70’s with OJ Simpson running through the airport? That was me getting to the pisser at The Goodman Theater yesterday.

Let's get back to the line of anxious male theater goers in need of a good piss.

It was a smorgasbord of all makes and models.

We had curved back men with canes and walkers. Then there was the snobby North shore Wasp impatiently slumming with the common folks. We had skinny gay guys that loved hanging out in a room full of penises. There were older black gentlemen styled to jump into a set with Dizzy Gillespie. Missouri tourists standing in line sporting their jean shorts, sandals and Saint Louis Blues muscle shirts…

…and then there was the wide size Divorced Dad in his khakis, boat shoes and summer weight lounge shirt.

We had a bathroom full of heterosexuals, homosexuals, liberals, conservatives, pink guys, carmel colored guys, educated and streetwise guys , Christian guys, Jewish guys, Asian guys and Indian guys, dot not feathered.

All there to enjoy the theater on a warm summer afternoon, the Saturday matinee.

Here we have a fifteen minute break in the middle of a theatrical production. In that time, thousands of people take a piss and freshen up their faces and their cocktails. The lights flicker and everyone calmly and politely returns to their seats before the curtain rises.

Why the fuck can’t society work so proficiently?

I never thought an afternoon at the theater could be a chapter in a high school social studies book…

…but it was.

Leave your opinions at the door and come in and escape for three hours of comedy and tragedy.

Shakespeare had it right when he said, “Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.”

We are all reflections off of the sun that live a shorter amount of time than we think. Sometimes we walk around with kindness, sometimes we walk around like jagoffs. Most of the time we are worried and uptight and then we die.

Maybe all it takes is grabbing a piss with a mix of people we don’t usually hang around?

Seeing people of different backgrounds with one common goal…

…. Take a well deserved leak, get a cocktail and get your ass back in seat 4, row H in a timely fashion.

Instead of looking at that prick in the Packers hat or that crooked nose guy in a yarmulke or the dark skinned kid in the Knicks hat turned at an angle or the shit kicking redneck in a cowboy hat…

…look for the guy that just needs to take a piss and get back to work. Because he probably has the same problems that you have.

Sunday funday looks a little cloudy and maybe a spot of raindrops.

Go be astonished and like I said to the flamboyant fella standing next to me in the toilet, “it doesn’t matter how you wiggle and dance. The last drop always falls in your pants.”

July 27th, 2024

 Some mornings I wake up with that tinnitus in my ears. It drives me batty.

This morning is one of those batty wake ups.

I was thinking about ranting more about Twitter and the media shitshow. I was going to talk about trying to finally understand Bob Dylan after all these years. I was also trying to put together an essay on a line I thought about during my early morning piss, “Have you ever thought about the trajectory of your life?”

I don’t want to talk about Elon’s platform or a folk music icon or the philosophy of our existence.

I don’t want to chalk about anything of substance this morning.

I like to keep a running total of the days I’ve spent living in a material world. That number in the grabber section is the number for July 27, 2024. All you gotta do is ask Siri how many days it has been since the day you were born and voilà.

21,211 is how many days it’s been since I met my parents in the summer of 1966. My mom took off for heaven on day 18,207 and the Oldman left me on day 19,818.

I went to my first White Sox game, that I can remember on day 1,781. My first Bear game on day 2,298 and my first Blackhawks game a month or so later on day 2,349.

I played my last organized game of baseball on day 5,133 days, lost my virginity on day 6,196 and I walked on the trading floor of the Chicago Board of Trade for the first time on day 7,441.

I’d like to get in another 10,000 days. That would get me close to eighty five years of learning how to play the piano.

I’m going into the city to see a show at the Goodman today with a friend that I met on day 8,467.

If we learned anything today on the Morning Chalkboard, it’s how days pile up quickly as we get older.

Getting older, not growing old!

Have a fanfuckingtastic day and be true to your school, just like you would to your girl or guy.

July 26th, 2024

 I opened up Twitter yesterday and the first thing I saw was the American flag being burned and a replica of the Liberty Bell being desecrated.

I originally got on Twitter because it was another way of finding information on market news. There is very little market news left because most of those people have left Twitter.

All I really enjoy is a guy called “Super 70’s Sports” and a couple music history tweets.

If I open Twitter today and it’s something that pisses me off, I’m quitting.

Speaking of quitting…

I left three chats that I’m in with different groups of friends. Chats that went from being resourceful to being a collection of memes and bad press. Me being just as guilty. So I left a quick communication tool with most of my closest friends.

Yesterday I posted a couple things on Facebook that hinged on politics and it became a soapbox for opinions. It is very seldom that I stray away from the Chalkboard, a Barry Butler Photo or something positive.

Facebook has helped me reunite with old friends. Keep up with what’s going on socially with events that I follow and it has given me a springboard for my blog.

The Chalkboard has been very therapeutic for me these last seven years. It has also become good therapy for many Chalkheads.

Though it has been positive for many people. It has alienated several of my friends that have become standoffish. To a point that I lost a pretty dear friend because of my support for Israel.

This would be where my Oldman would say that it’s good to weed out the pretenders and fakers.

Maybe it’s time to quit Twitter for good? Maybe I should only post Barry Butler pictures of the Sears Tower on Facebook. I could post the link only to the Morning Chalkboard on Facebook. If people want to read it they can hit the link and the rest won’t have to read about the Divorced Dad and Betty the Green Blazer.

I really am an introvert in an extrovert’s body.

This week I’ve quit chats, realized Twitter has very little positive energy and I need to limit Facebook.

Time to get this Friday motivated and pumping with Gusto. A smile on the sun and the perfect summer temperatures today.

Like my Gramma always said, “see you in the funny papers.”

July 25th, 2024

 My dad remarried soon after my mom and I moved from Chicago. I was going to take the train from Indianapolis to be the Best Man.

My mom canceled the trip in the middle of the week before the wedding. Blizzard conditions were in the forecast for the Midwest when I was scheduled to travel. The only weatherman that predicted that great snowstorm lived in my mother’s head.

I called my dad and told him that I wasn’t coming up. I was twelve years old. I could tell he was pissed off, but all he said was…

…”I’m going to miss you Moose. I was counting on having you as my Best Man.”

The next time I visited my dad was during spring break. On the wall in the dining room was a picture of my father and his new wife, surrounded by her three sons.

I hated that fucking picture. It still was hanging in the nursing home the last time I visited my dying dad.

I never forgave my mom for canceling that trip and I never forgave my dad for taking that picture without me.

Yesterday was my daughter’s birthday. I bought a fancy cake that looked like the one she picked from a picture in a magazine or nowadays, the Google search.

I was pumped that her birthday fell on a Wednesday, my visitation day. When I went to pick the Shepkids up West of Mannheim, only my middle son got into Betty the Green Blazer.

My daughter decided that she wanted to stay home at mom’s to celebrate her birthday.

But could I leave the cake?

I spent a shit load of shekels on that gorgeous cake. It wasn’t staying West of Mannheim. No way was I going to reward someone who used my daughter as a pawn to hurt me.

After my middle son left for the evening, Big George and I sang Happy Birthday to his absent sister and cut into the cake.

“This is really good dad! Do you think this lady can make me a Black forest cake for my birthday?”

That picture of my Oldman and my step family is probably in a box in one of his stepson’s closets. Something that pissed me off for all of those years is packed away in a container full of lifetime mementos. Seems pretty petty now that I let that photograph fester that whole time.

I won’t see my daughter this weekend and she will never get to taste the cake I had made for her birthday.

…. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da Life goes on, brah; La, la, how the life goes on.

Thursday brings a smile on the sun and some pleasant temperatures….

…. Go be astonished and if you want some fun, take Ob-la-di-bla-da.

July 24th, 2024

 I’m not sure why I chalked this quote? I’m not up for the challenge of talking about hearts today.

It’s Humpday and many of us are exhausted from the events these last two weeks. The dog days of summer are getting heavy. I think we all need an ice cream cone and an uneventful weekend.

Go find some Gusto and spread some love today…

July 23rd, 2024

 This quote is real easy to live by if you’re Pablo Picasso. He’s the guy who supposedly made this statement.

You could say Pablo was a man of his word. Mayor Daley offered him $100,000 for the Picasso statue that stands in Daley Plaza. Picasso refused the money and said it was a gift for Chicago.

I didn’t steal today’s quote from Picasso, but from a guy who posted it on Facebook over the weekend.

This guy is part of a story I’ve chalked about in the past. He is the husband of my high school classmate that is going through cancer recovery.

I’ve touched on the agony this guy’s wife is going through. Her struggles to defeat cancer and get back to the normal routine of life.

How about the story of the spouse of a cancer patient? It’s gotta be tough to see someone that you love go through the fight of their life.

I’m not going to say much more about this guy, but I’ll make sure he knows I’m praying for him.

And if I lived on the Ohio River rather than the DesPlaines, I’d be over there with a Jumbo hug and my flask of bourbon quite often.

Love has its ups and downs. Some days you are walking along a river holding hands. Other days you’re waiting for the doctor to come down to the visiting room and tell you how the person you love is doing.

I think what this guy down on the Ohio River has taught me is…

… the biggest thing in life is to be grateful to have it. When you learn gratitude, you have to spread it to the world.

Don’t take that morning cup of coffee for granted. Don’t even take an argument over the cable bill for granted.

Just be grateful for love and the support of Faith, Family and Friends.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”

It’s going to be a warm day out over by here. I’ve got to decide if I’m dusting my nooks and crannies or if I’m going to chance chafing my hip hop thighs.

When in doubt…. Dust them!

July 22nd, 2024

   This week my daughter turns eleven. Yesterday she asked me if I remembered what I did on my eleventh birthday. She also gave me a disclaimer that it was alright if I couldn’t recall that day. Since I was so old and it was so long ago.

“Sit back Hazel and let me tell you about my eleventh birthday.”

It was a Friday and it was a hot day in Chicago. Gramma CC didn’t have much planned, but she made me a big chocolate cake and bought me a new baseball bat, they were wooden back in the olden days.

She handed me an envelope at the lunch table that had two tickets for the baseball game later that night.

Gramma CC took me to the White Sox game against the Minnesota Twins. Old Comiskey was packed that night.

Richie Zisk hit two homers and my Southside Hitmen beat the Twinkies 5-2. Jorge Orta hit a double and Chris Knapp pitched a complete game.

Our seats were in the upper deck on the first base line and I wore a plastic Sox batting helmet that I bought at a game in May.

“How is that for memory Daughter?”

Not only did the Sox win that game. It was the first win on an eight game winning streak that vaulted the ball club into first. Unfortunately that year the fucking Royals won over one hundred games and the Sox ended up in third. They had ninety wins and ended up twelve games back.

That’s what it’s like to be a Sox fan, but that was still the best birthday ever.

“Pretty good memory for an old guy!”

“What was mom doing on your eleventh birthday dad?”

“Well Hazel, I didn’t know your mom. She was about five days old on my eleventh birthday.”

I think of that great 1977 team that went 90-72 and look at the Sox record today.

Today’s quote gives me hope as a White Sox fan. Someday, and I hope that day doesn’t come when I’m eating lumpy oatmeal in the nursing home, but someday….

…. I will be unburdened by the 2024 Chicago White Sox. Because what can be, can be.

I believe today’s quote is from either Charlie McCarthy or Mortimer Snerd.

Let’s get this week started. The last full week of the month.

Be astonished and ignore that man behind the curtain.

July 21st, 2024

 I stayed up and watched movies with Hazel until two thirty in the morning. It has been a minute since I’ve stayed up that late.

Which means I’m going to slap some Talking Heads up on the Chalkboard, tell you that it is National Ice Cream Day and go take an hour nap.

July is doing one helluva job of flying by quickly. We are losing a minute in the morning and in the evening as the dog days of summer start getting shorter.

Have a glorious Sunday filled with sunshine and summer stuff.

July 20th, 2024

 Some stories have to be told. This is a story that very few can recall and could easily remain in the closet with the other skeletons.

When I was a teenager, I lived somewhere that I didn’t want to be. I lived with a very sad person in a very sad home. I did every stupid thing possible to get out.

I was one of those troublemaker kids that constantly created negative energy. Fortunately a large group of people saw my big heart and stuck with me through those years.

One of those stupid things that I did involved an aspirin bottle and the threat of suicide. I had to decide, do I empty the pills under my bed or in the toilet. I chose the toilet.

I yelled out to the sad person that I was going to kill myself. I slammed the door and left the empty bottle on my nightstand.

I didn’t get an immediate response from the sad person, so I figured my latest act of stupidity didn’t work.

Until the police and paramedics bashed through my bedroom door. Before I knew it I was in an emergency room getting my stomach pumped. The pills were flushed down the toilet and the medical team was forced to find them.

The next five days of my life were spent in the Psychiatric unit. I was suddenly living my own “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

My Oldman drove down to Indianapolis to make sure I was alright.

“You got to be shitting me Moose?”

I told my dad that I didn’t swallow the pills and it was just act five, scene seven. He believed me and saw through the bullshit and drama.

My Oldman found his scared son locked up in the Looney Bin and decided it was time for me to move back home to Chicago.

After that next semester, I never again lived with the sad person, but I will always have that stupid fucking fake suicide hanging over me.

Why am I bringing out an embarrassing story that could have been locked away for the rest of my life?

Because yesterday suicide happened to someone that I know.

I met this kid in eighth grade and we hung out in the same circle of friends. We never became close friends, but we created some lasting memories that bonded us together. Our friendship reignited at the dawning of Facebook.

I made the mistake of giving this kid my telephone number. It put me on his drunk suicidal call list. A call usually received between two in the morning and five o’clock.

At first I was compassionate and supportive. Then I realized this was his routine and a handful of my friends were also on the call list.

My compassion and support became more angry and tough…

“You got to be shitting me Ramsay.!.!.!”

Well…. That call list is no longer in existence. After years of being one step faster than the demons, the demons caught up with my high school buddy.

His last suicide attempt was a success. Luckily the demons gave up the kill when a Band of Angels saved my friend from damnation and took him to redemption.

The kid I met over forty years ago. A kid that was never happy this whole time, is finally at peace.

Why did I have to tell my story of flirting with disaster?

Because as innocent as I thought it was at the time….

…It scared my parents shitless.

I got lucky, but many people that we know haven’t been so fortunate.

Every time I take an aspirin, I can hear my dad yelling, “You got to be shitting me Moose!”

I pray for my friend who is now in eternal peace and I pray for everyone who suffers from depression and dependency.

Most of us Chalkheads have someone like that in our lives.

It’s a Saturday in late July and my weather guy is telling me that it is our job to put a smile on the sun.

Hopefully the clouds give way tonight, so we can watch the full moon float across the sky.

Home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me round…..

July 19th, 2024

 It’s Friday and I’ve got nothing to chalk about. Let’s figure the roll we have for the weekend and practice our lines.

Be astonished and have an ice cream cone.

July 18th, 2024

 I don’t think I’ve ever stopped reading fairy tales. I definitely never stopped watching cartoons.

My Oldman would get upset when his TV Guide disappeared on a Saturday morning. I had to make sure I put it back where it belonged so he could use it later in the day.

The thing is… he watched the same stupid stuff every Saturday afternoon and evening. He didn’t need the damn TV Guide.

But I did!

I would get a pen and mark which cartoons I liked, the time and the station. We didn’t have a shit ton of television stations in the seventies, but I definitely utilized three or four of them every week. Culminating on Channel Nine at eleven o’clock for Soul Train.

I’d do anything for a bowl of Captain Crunch Peanut Butter and Honeycomb right now. That was my very own concoction, half Captain Crunch and half Honeycomb. It was the perfect marriage of breakfast cereals.

I don’t want to go to work this morning.

I just wanna pour a bowl, grab a blanko and watch cartoonies. I was a huge “Hong Kong Phooey” kid.

A perfect Saturday morning was not hearing a parent yell from the kitchen, “Come and take this garbage out!”

Fifty year later and you’ll still catch me watching Bugs Bunny, Scooby Doo and the Justice League. I don’t want to grow up, I’m a Toys R Us kid and an occasional cereal on a Saturday morning watching cartoons dad.

Though it is more expensive these days to buy a box of Captain Crunch and a box of Honeycombs. It might not be as expensive as a bottle of bourbon, but it’s right there with a case of Old Style.

Alright let’s get this fairy tale of a Thursday jump started. It is going to be a gorgeous day in Chicagoland.

A smile on the sun and no need for GoldBond in the nooks and crannies.

Be astonished today and be kind.

Oh and go Google what I left you in the Grabber section.

July 17th, 2024

 The Brookfield Zoo made a grand announcement yesterday.

The zoo has been around for ninety years and they plan to expand as they reach the century mark. A five hundred million dollar project that will utilize the entire space that they own.

The best part of it for me is the return of elephants. It has probably been twenty years since the last elephant nervously roamed in my neighborhood.

My last memory is of an old tired pachyderm shuffling back and forth like a mental patient. Probably because captivity was torture for an animal that needs to roam thirty miles a day.

When I was a little boy, Brookfield had an elephant named Ziggy. Ziggy nearly killed his trainer in the early forties and was chained to a wall until the late sixties.

Ziggy was a vegetable by the time I met him in the early seventies. I only knew him for a few visits before he died in 1975. I kept his Mold-a-Rama on my dresser for years after.

When I was a kid, a small steam locomotive pulled a Choo Choo around the zoo. Coming from a railroad family, the train was my favorite part of the day. The last train under steam was in 1985 and very little is left from its footprint around the complex. Though, I can still hear and see it when I close my eyes.

The zoo had a fake mountain side that we called Baboon Island. A large drop off and tall wall kept the dozens of primates safely away from the crowd.

The facility was shut down shortly into the new millennium and turned into a generic gazebo for educational purposes only.

Kids today will never get a chance to see baboons having sex on the side of a mountain smack dab in the middle of Cook County.

The new plans don’t include the return of the steam locomotives or an island of poop throwing baboons, but elephants will be returning.

The plan is to put them on the furthest side of the zoo. I hope I’ll be able to hear them when I’m drinking my morning coffee on the balcony. I hope the rebuilding of the zoo doesn’t relocate Titus and Brutus. They are my lion neighbors who roar frequently during my morning Joe.

What am I worried about?

This whole restructuring won’t be done for twenty five years. If I’m lucky, I’ll get in a few visits before I join Ziggy up in heaven. I should be able to enjoy my feline friends for years to come.

I just had a magnificent daydream. When I enter into eternal rest, I want to do it on the Brookfield Zoo “Choo Choo twain.”

.... and as the train pulls into the heavenly station, my parents are waving to me just like they did over fifty years ago when I was a little boy.

The things that I’ve loved through my lifetime, the zoo across the river is one of them. Since the day I went for the first time with my mommy and daddy. The field trip in third grade with the nuns leading us. To returning these last eighteen years as a daddy and just last week…

…When I got my steps in as I walked from the D.D.D. to around the back of the zoo lake before returning back home. A great route to bang out 12,000 steps.

The weather on this Humpday is perfect. Eighty two and smiley.

Make sure to visit the Brookfield Zoo this summer. I always have an extra pass in my kitchen junk drawer if you need one.

July 16th, 2024

 Today’s quote comes from a duchess who had a sharp and pointy chin.

It doesn’t matter who teaches us the moral of the story, just as long as we figure it out.

A Chicagoan is born with a neighborhood and a parish. Some of us stay in that same place all of our lives and some move out.

I’ve had several parishes in my life, but my home parish is Saint Ita’s up in Edgewater. That was where two lonely people had me baptized on this day in 1966.

I can go to Cook County and get my birth certificate and I can call the rectory at Saint Ita’s and get my baptismal certificate.

I got on a northbound L train a couple years ago and went back to Saint Ita’s. It wasn’t as big as it used to be. It was built in the 1920’s and is definitely the prettiest church that I’ve belonged to in my life.

I’m not sure how the hell I'm going to tie Saint Ita’s and the moral of the story together on today’s Morning Chalkboard.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons and made a shit ton of mistakes in the 21,854 days since I was baptized a Catlick. I have many lessons to learn and a few more to teach the Shepkids. I’m going to make several more mistakes before I return home.

I’m having trouble putting a conclusion together. Home is where the heart is, mine is currently in the Divorced Dad District of Riverside.

My home has changed location often, but as long as my baptismal certificate is located 5500 North on Broadway, I’ll always have a destination to return to.

For me that is Saint Ita’s, my Linus Blanket.

Be astonished and learn the moral of the story.

July 15th, 2024

 I get on the 5G network this morning and it’s covered with tornadoes and thunderstorms.

Barry Butler took a picture of a tornado over the Sears Tower. Several people posted that their power was out. ComEd issued times on when the electricity would be restored and even Big George Shepley was charged up over a little rainstorm.

“Dad! The power is out! Dad! There are tornado warnings! Dad, wake up!”

“You gotta be shitting me George! You are waking me up because of lightning? You better hope I can get back to sleep!”

I got back to sleep and slept like a baby.

Until Mr. Anxiety came back in to tell me he’s worried that he won’t have clean clothes for work on Wednesday.

“Come on son! You can’t worry about that…. I’m trying to sleep here!”

We can’t do laundry in Riverside when it rains. The sewers need time to process the rain water. Extra water taxes the system and basements can flood.

It has become an obsession since the day I showed George how to do his laundry. It’s the way he is wired and it’s a beautiful thing. Just not on a Sunday night when Big Daddy is sound afuckingsleep.

“Dad! One last thing! Can we try one of those coin operated laundromats tomorrow? Dad?”

Well… I’m up, I’m chalking and the electricity is on. It’s like nothing happened.

Sunday nights are always those anxious and nervous nights. Usually I’ll have the normal “late for work” dreams. Last night I had the “worried son can’t do his laundry” dreams.

Let’s start the week off on a strong step and a handful of GoldBond.

Be Kind and rewind….

July 14th, 2024

 Yesterday sure was an eventful day.

Dr. Ruth died and then we hear Richard Simmons died and just after dinner, Donald Trump gets shot in the ear.

A sex therapist, a fitness instructor and the former President of the United States walk into a gay bar outside Laredo, Texas…..

To soon?

Get back to me when Willie Nelson, Dick Van Dyke and President Carter have a similar day like July 13th, 2024.

So many people are torn apart over Biden and Trump, global warming and fracking, racial tension and sex changes.

I don’t have time to worry about that crap. I have other things to worry about.

I’ve got a George that walks the tight rope of autism. I’ve got a Fritz trying to find his voice in life. I’ve got a Hazel about to stride into puberty. I’ve got a mother-in-law in her first year of widowhood. I’ve got a friend with cancer, a friend who just had a heart attack, a friend with an ill child, a friend with depression, a friend in financial difficulties and a dozen friends with insane ex-spouses.

Do you think I’m bent out of shape about celebrities dying or celebrities telling me who to vote for?

I give two shits!

Do you think I’m worried about two crooked bullshit artists running for president?

I give two shits about that as well!

My concerns are about the people that I love and those who love me back.

I’m sorry there is poverty, racism, crime, mental illness and violence in the world.

None of my concern right now.

I don’t get on my knees and pray for President Trump’s ear wound or Angel Reese and Caitlin Clark’s relationship situation.

I don’t even care that the White Sox are 27-70 either.

My concerns are all connected to my heartstrings and not the 5G internet connection.

I’m going to keep on worrying about three people that I watched come into the world.

I’m going to worry about you as well….

….we got this as long as we are with each other.

End of story.

Kick the soapbox out from under me and let’s Sunday Funday this hot muggy somabitch.

It’s a Morning Chalkboard holiday today.

Today is “smile big like joanne” Day. It’s a day we celebrate the smile on the face of someone who once brightened our day.

Go be astonished and smile like Joanne.