February 27th, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching shit do stuff…

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

I will tease that story though.

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

“The first time ever I saw your face,

I thought the sun rose in your eyes

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

One last magical gift that makes life mo betta’.

Toast

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

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

The list goes on.

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

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

February 26th, 2025

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

I’ve been doing that for years!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I quickly mutter…

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

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

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

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

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

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

The numbers in the Grabber Section?

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

It’s Humpday…

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

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

February 25th, 2025

I was stargazing with Fritz the other night.

I was trying to explain how Chicago looked on a cloudy evening from the old sodium vapor streetlights.

I explained that LED lighting on a massive scale has only been around for twenty years or so. Chicago started replacing the old high pressured vapor lights with the newer blue lighted LED’s during Fritz’s short lifetime.

Fritz will never know the orange glow during an evening rainstorm in August. The great blizzards of our childhood when the snow fell across an orange sky.

The tall poles that reached high along the city blocks shining down the glow of our youth. It was the beam of security that Mayor Daley gave to his great metropolis.

All replaced with more efficient lights that put a dent in light pollution along the shores of Lake Michigan.

We had an old sunroom that faced east. I enjoyed sleeping in that room year round even though it was purposed for three seasons.

Our house in Oak Park was built well before air conditioning. I can picture the original owners sleeping with all the windows open and an old metal fan blowing the warm summer air.

I loved sleeping up there during a snow or rainstorm, being lulled by the orange hue from the city.

Today’s quote comes from Scotty Fitz. He used a green light located on the end of a dock as a symbol in “The Great Gatsby.”

The green light symbolized hope for the future, a desire to be successful and unobtainable love.

The orange glow of the last part of the twentieth century into the new millennium was steep with symbolism as well.

To me the ancient glow of Chicago meant strength and power. It gave security to lost souls who longed for calm among the midst of chaos. The orange skies provided happiness and warmth. Something we didn’t realize until the staleness of technology changed the bulbs and brought a bright blue hardened reflection.

Jay Gatsby overlooked the bay gazing at the green light from the distant shore. I had the orange clouds hanging over the John Hancock and Prudential Building.

The potential of LED lighting has already made an impact going into the middle of the 21st century. I long for the neon lights from the 20th century hanging over the sidewalks and the sodium vapor lights shining down on the corners and in the middle of the block.

Chinese restaurants, furniture stores, liquor stores, taverns, movie theaters with the neon signs hanging from their facades have been replaced with plastic sheets in metal frame boxes illuminated by rancid lighting. Displacing the richness with a cheap fake landscape.

Nick Carraway turned off the green lamp at the end of his dock. Extinguishing the hope and desire the light gave Jay Gatsby. Technology and Mayor Rahm Emanuel replaced the stage lighting from my early years.

That’s alright….

….Fritz and I have a better view of Jupiter and the Moon.

Or in the case of my sophomoric son, “Hey Dad? Where is Uranus?

Today is National Clam Chowder Day. Make mine Manhattan with a warm baguette and a cold lager.

Find the glow in your life that guides you through the creeping pace of your daily routine.

Astonishment is always radiant no matter what light bulb we have…

February 22nd, 2025

 I was a little pissed off at myself after I finished chalking today’s quote. There was a time when I would go do stuff at a drop of a hat.

Get on the Lake Street L and go to a baseball game an hour before the first pitch. Jump on an airplane and go to New Orleans without a hotel reservation. Hop in the car and drive to a rural town just to find a good pork tenderloin sandwich.

Why did I stop doing these kind of things? Oh yeah, fatherhood.

The glorious 1990’s when all of my friends were having families and I didn’t have any responsibilities. Now all of those friends are empty nesters, while I’m picking up my daughter at the middle school.

And when did junior high school become middle school?

Being a thirteen year old kid is awkward in the first place. Now you want to stick them in the middle. Getting stuck in the middle sucks.

My Oldman was a “Let’s jump in the car” kind of guy. Out of nowhere he’d tell me to put my jacket on because we are going for a ride.

We’d end up buying a loaf of bread and a couple cannoli at D’Mato’s or at Bishop’s for a bowl of chili.

Sometimes he’d want to go get the Sunday papers on a Saturday. Instead of heading to the White Hen five blocks away, we would drive to a newsstand at the corner of Cicero and Irving Park or the one down on Ashland Avenue. My Oldman knew where every newsstand in Chicago was and which one had a diner or hotdog joint nearby.

When my Oldman would throw my coat at me and tell me we were going to get the papers, I knew we were getting something to eat.

I need to tell the Shepkids to go get in the car more often. They need to know where to find a good almond cookie in Chinatown.

Life doesn’t have a schedule. Have you marked down on your calendar the day when you die?

I actually have… May 21st, 2051. That is one day longer than my Oldman lived. I think it’s the perfect time. I can one up my dad and go see him in heaven at the same time.

Then we can grab Saint Joseph and jump in the car and go get the Sunday papers. I can go get an Italian beef with my Oldman and Jesus’s Oldman.

Here is your challenge you Chalkheads.

Go do something off the beaten path today. Go find a Jewish deli and get a bowl of matzo ball soup.

Here is a good one for you Chicago Chalkheads. Grab a sack of sliders and drive to the lakefront. Park your car facing Lake Michigan before it becomes Lake Indiana and have a dashboard lunch.

You don’t know what a dashboard lunch is?

It’s when you sit in a parking lot and watch shit do stuff. You turn the radio on and listen to a ballgame or a jazz program and try not to get those little flakes of onions in the cup holder or on the steering wheel column.

Drive up to Wrigley Field and take a picture of the Harry Caray statue. Drive down to Comiskey and take an at bat on the old home plate.

Grab a growler from BuckleDown and a sandwich from Alpine and go have a picnic at the forest preserve. Just don’t back your car into the parking spot.

My Oldman and I found out the hard way…

….parking backed in was code for looking for a quickie.

That’s a story for another chalkboard. Just make sure you pull in forward.

I’ve been rambling this morning.

Go be astonished with something that isn’t scheduled.

    

February 21st, 2025

I was awoken by an Amber Alert at 1:51 this morning and I tossed and turned for an hour. I had a series of dreams plastered together that had me running around looking for Hazel.

My Friday starts early.

I wonder if I wasn’t a father, would I be pissed that an Amber Alert woke me from a solid sleep?

I hate that we have Amber Alerts, but keep them coming. I could only imagine what the parents are going through while I struggled for one more hour of sleep.

Let’s kick start Friday and hope that child is returned safely.

Not the kind of Morning Chalkboard that you Chalkheads deserve, but the bad moments make the good moments taste much better.

Go love someone

February 20th, 2025

 On the hop this morning.

It is important to know that today is muffin day. Broker’s Inn across the street from the Board of Trade always had gorgeous muffins in the morning.

They would cut them in half. Plop a glob of butter in a skillet and fry your muffin for about two minutes.

Blueberry, Banana nut, Chocolate chip, Strawberry and Bran muffins were the main choices. They were so good, even the bran muffins were delicious.

Broker’s also would fry up a pecan roll, which we will pretend is a distant cousin to the muffin.

Just imagine a pecan roll frying on a glob of butter for two minutes. Crusty from the skillet, gooey from the heat.

Picture a young Jumbo sitting at the counter wearing a trading jacket. Tribune, cup of coffee and a fried muffin or pecan roll.

I miss the morning paper. I miss sitting at the counter at Broker’s Inn. I miss the people hurrying their breakfast before the opening bell.

Happy Muffin Day you Chalkheads.

I’m going to Google and see if there is a place between Riverside and Oak Brook that has muffins at five o’clock on a Thursday morning.

Be astonished and enjoy the sun on your smiling face.

February 19th, 2025

     It is highly unlikely that I will be awarded The Presidential Medal of Freedom anytime soon. It is nearly impossible that the King of England will ever bestow me with Knighthood.

I have taken it upon myself to make my name an adjective. I think it is a great honor to find yourself in history as an adjective.

Queen Elizabeth has given us everything Elizabethan. Alfred Hitchcock has created a film genre that is known as Hitchcockian.

If something is suppressing free speech or is identified as being destructive to the welfare of an open society….

…it is Orwellian.

Named after George Orwell. The author that made everyone paranoid about Big Brother watching every step we take.

Probably the most famous person to be given adjective status is William Shakespeare. Everything associated with the greatest writer in the history of mankind is known as Shakespearean.

Why can’t I give the world the Jumboesque movement or period?

Started in 1989 in the Ten Year Treasury Note trading pit at the Chicago Board of Trade. The Jumboesque Period has become a major phenomenon in my own mind.

It is a movement known for its gregarious style. It is filled with fun loving and passionate feelings towards the world.

You can picture it having thick thighs and a robust bootie. The Jumboesque style of music can range from Beethoven to the Beastie Boys.

Something Jumboesque is usually boisterous since it was formed during the Open Outcry period in trading commodities.

The Jumboesque philosophy is based on getting straight F’s in life. Built on a Foundation strengthened by Faith, Family and Friendship.

Jumboesque is a combination of prayer and swearing mixed with a Chicagonese accent.

Jumboesque can be kind to strangers, but mean to anyone that doesn’t use a turn signal.

A hotdog must not have anything to do with ketchup and pizza is always thin and crispy.

A Chicago style hotdog is Jumboesque. A thin crust pizza cut in squares and topped with sausage, green pepper and onions is considered Jumboesque.

Clothing found in a men’s Big and Tall store is the Jumboesque style.

Any professional sports team formed after 1976 is an expansion team and not considered Jumboesque. Old school is commonly used by fans of Jumboesque.

You will only find Grawbowskis involved in the Jumboesque movement. Smiths are shunned and not accepted.

Jumboesque women are passionate and voluptuous. Jumboesque men are grateful and full of love and astonishment. Thus the term that is often used…

….JumboLove

Today’s quote comes from a ZZ Top song called “Jumbo just left Chicago and he’s heading to New Orleans.”

If anything comes from the Jumboesque movement…

… let it be astonishing and touched with gregarious passion for humanity.

All of you should award yourself with an adjective. Don’t limit yourself with a pronoun.

Reach for the stars and continue getting straight F’s

February 18th, 2025

     One of the first books that I bought George was “Aesop’s Fables.” If any book can teach common sense, it would be one filled with lessons told with fun stories.

Today’s quote comes from the story where the mice came up with the idea of placing a bell around the cat’s neck.

Sounds like a great plan, but how the fuck were they going to pull it off?

Life always finds a way of working out. Like a dear friend recently told me…

…if you want to make God laugh, tell him what your will is.

Tell him what your plan for life is.

Thy will be done…..

Fat Tuesday is two weeks from today. You know where to find me… Shanahans.

Time to go warm up Betty. Time to find the beauty on a cold Tuesday morning.

Be astonished and keep searching for a possible remedy.

February 17th, 2025

 My Oldman always liked to say, “opinions are like assholes, everyone has them and they both usually stink.”

Not much of a talker today. It’s a cold morning and I’m home from work. I don’t really enjoy these three day weekends much anymore. They make for a harder four day work week and since I’m not much of a traveler these days, they’re worthless to me.

Here is my opinion on National Holidays: Get rid of MLK, Presidents Day, Juneteenth and Columbus Day.

Add Election Day in November to replace Columbus Day.

The National Holidays would be New Year’s Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Election Day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

To make up for the gap left void between New Year’s Day and Memorial Day add the Monday after the Superbowl.

That is my opinion on National Holidays. Love it or hate it.

My Italian-American and African-American friends are probably not too happy with King and Columbus getting nixed. Take the day off, use a personal day.

Same with the Polish on Pulaski, the Irish on Saint Pat, the Mexicans on May 5th, the Croatians on Velika Gospa, the Gays on Pride Day, the muslims for ramadan, the Chinese for their New Year, the Greeks for Opa, the Jews for Yom Kippur, the Germans for Oktoberfest and any other nationality that I left out.

You get a personal day off as well.

I can hear Oprah right now, “you get a day off, you get a day off, you get a day off…”

I’m not getting paid today, but I’m still paying Uncle Sam and the former Mrs. Shepley.

Boy I sound like an assclown this morning!

I just want to go to work and not have to wear long johns this week.

I do have all three Shepkids asleep down the hall right now.

Day three of complaining about everything, not putting plates in the dishwasher, leaving shoes in the middle of the floor, slamming doors, and not flushing the toilet will be a joy today.

I’m already astonished at what the day brings.

February 16th, 2025

 I picked a quote today that is credited to Albert Einstein. I selected it specifically for today because I know all the Shepkids will see it right before they ask me…

…”What’s for breakfast Dad?”

The more mistakes that we make in life, the less regret we carry going forward.

It is the Sunday of President’s Day weekend. I always like to tell the story that happened on this day over thirty years ago in New Orleans.

Hurricanes, shrimp po-boys, sazaracs, Dallas chicks, hurricanes, Lucky Dogs, Abitas, oysters at Acme, sazaracs, karaoke, hurricanes, back for a Lucky Dog, stumble back to hotel, waking up on a balcony with a pillow of Mardi Gras beads passed out on a pull-out cot.

The Sunday night of President’s Day in the French Quarters. Back home in Chicago that weekend, it was ten degrees and snow was plastered on everything. In New Orleans, it was sixty-five degrees and humid.

I woke up on Monday morning to shudders swinging open at the tavern kitty corner to my hotel. Just before the bar owner turned on his “open” sign, he cranked his speakers to eleven and “Honky Tonk Woman” blasted me out of my cot. I had to peel the Mardi Gras beads from my cheek. The green, purple and gold clinging to my face that left a distinct pattern. I’m sure I wasn’t the first Yankee to use Mardi Gras beads for a pillow.

I realized something very important that morning.

For the rest of my life…

…when I’m standing on a CTA platform in the middle of February waiting for the “L” to take me to work. When I feel the bitter cold of late winter gnawing at my cheeks. I will be warm just knowing that there is a bar in New Orleans that is jamming to the Rolling Stones as they open for business.

Back to yesterday’s Chalkboard…

… instead of feeling doomed, I felt the beauty and the romance of not only the French Quarter, but also the experience of a cold morning commute across the westside of Chicago.

I loved reading the Tribune on the Lake Street el. Watching the skyscrapers get closer and closer as the sun began reaching over Lake Michigan. It was like I was living in a movie.

My life was a combination of “Wall Street” and “About Last Night.”

When I was in New Orleans, I was a small character in a Tennessee Williams play, but minus the mental illness and homosexuality.

Remember, I mentioned Dallas girls in a prior paragraph.

Life has its mistakes, but the experience far outweighs the consequences.

Life doesn’t need shits and giggles, lollipop trees and rainbows, flowers and Frango mints.

Life is a cold commute to work and a hangover at the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon Street.

Life is hearing your son compliment you on the pancakes or your boss telling you that you kicked ass at work.

Life is the morning Trib bought from a metal coin box on Ridgeland and South Boulevard.

Life is a sazarac at the Old Absinthe House.

Life is a first date that turned out awkward or a one-night stand that was electric.

Life is a road filled with potholes or a trip without a single red light.

I guess the theme this weekend is to make mistakes, try something new and see the beauty all around.

Because we are all doomed anyway.

Today is a trip to the hotdog stand on a cold afternoon. Parkys is just as tasty in February as it is in July.

I need to go fold the seven blankets tossed all over the living room.

Though the site of them is beautiful. Because that is where we watched hockey, rugby and movies together last night. I also need to pick up the spilled popcorn caused by an empty netter. A reminder of the experience that I had on the Saturday night of President’s Day weekend in the mid 2020’s.

Go experience astonishment, you won’t regret it

February 15th, 2025

 Definitely not the kind of quote you wanted to wake up to on a Saturday morning.

Let’s look at it more clearly because we don’t often look at it very clearly.

Friday morning when I walked out the front door, it was six degrees. I locked the door and started walking down the stoop, only to be greeted by the remnants of the Snow moon.

We missed February’s full moon this week because of cloud cover, but the sky was clear and cold Friday morning.

The reflection off of the fresh snow made everything bright. The moon was hanging high enough over the western suburbs to illuminate my walk over to Betty the Green Blazer. I didn’t need my little pocket flashlight.

I have a village of Riverside gas lamp in front of the house that sat uniquely under the waning gibbous moon. It was a perfectly framed picture.

I was caught by the beauty that the moon brought to my street just before five o’clock in the morning that I didn’t feel the coldness of the clear February day.

I started the last day of the week seeing the beauty that life brings. Being doomed to the way of dusty death was the last thing on my mind.

Deadlines and time clocks set the pace as we strut and fret upon the stage of life. It keeps us from using our senses to notice the beauty life brings.

Instead of freezing my fat ass off going to work Friday morning…

… I stopped and stood there in the cold and looked at the moon shining down.

More and more of the Morning Chalkboards have been dedicated to pointing out that our days are numbered.

We are losing are parents.

We are losing our friends and colleagues.

We are losing our physical and mental resources that we once took for granted in our youth.

This is some heavy shit that keeps us from seeing the beauty around us.

Chalkheads my age should remember watching the “Gulliver’s Travels” cartoon during the Banana Splits television show.

There was a whining Lilliputian named Glum. Whenever the tiny little people of Lilliput had their tits in a ringer, Glum would point out that they were doomed.

His taglines were:

“It’s Hopeless!”

“It will never work!”

“We’ll never make it”

“Oh No, we’re doomed!”

Don’t be like Glum the Lilliputian.

This morning when I woke up, I looked out at the freshly fallen snow and saw the Riverside water tower in the distance.

I didn’t see all of the Danley garages and the alley lights. I saw a Robert Frost poem about the clean cover of snow covering the sleeping tower near the river.

I say “fuck it!”

If the doomsday clock is ticking louder to my eventual demise, I’m going to take the time to look at the moon.

I’m getting closer to seeing my parents again than I am to the day when I first met them.

I met them 21,414 days ago on the north side of Chicago and I figure I’ll see them up in heaven in roughly 10,000 days.

That means I can enjoy 10,000 more sunrises and sunsets. That also means that I have about 315 full moons left before I die.

You see Chalkheads… it ain’t cold anymore in February and it ain’t hot anymore in August.

This chair is perfect for my big butt, this porridge is the perfect temperature and this bed is firm enough yet soft enough for a lullaby.

What I’m saying is…

Be more like Goldilocks and less like Glum.

Be astonished and don’t feel doomed

February 14th, 2025

      Today is that special day for couples in love. Saint Valentine is the patron saint for love and is celebrated passionately today.

That is why we have been inundated with the “Lover’s Lane” commercial at every station break during the six o’clock news this week.

One minute the meteorologist is telling us about a snowstorm heading to Chicago. The next minute two people are having foreplay in skimpy outfits selling nightgowns and butt plugs.

Saint Valentine told people to get married and promote Jesus Christ. He didn’t want you to drive out to a lingerie store in Morton Grove and buy edible underwear.

Thirty-five years ago today, I spent the first Saint Valentine’s Day with a girl that I loved. We shoveled fourteen inches of snow off of her dad’s driveway and then went to dinner in wet clothes.

Looking back with all the wisdom that I have accumulated, we were never “in love,” but we still love each other to this day. She has become an Auntie to the Shepkids.

Nine years ago today, my mommy called me on what was her last Saint Valentine’s Day. She telephoned to tell me that she loved me and that she had “Love Story” on DVD. She and I watched that movie on February 14th many times together when I was younger. I still watch it to this day, alone.

I can hear my mommy echoing Ali MacGraw, “Love means never having to say you're sorry.”

My mom also asked me what I was doing with my wife for Saint Valentine’s Day. I told her that my wife was going to Iowa for a real estate convention. We gave each other a Hallmark card before she left for the Hawkeye State.

I spent that day in 2016 watching “Love Story” for the first time with Hazel. Though she was sleeping on my belly most of the time.

Saint Valentine had his head chopped off for spreading love in Christ’s name. Sounds fitting that we celebrate falling in love on his feast day.

I “think” I have been in love twice. The girl from 1990 is one of my dearest friends today and I’m blessed.

The girl from 2016…

… well, she did give me three children that I love unconditionally and that would make Saint Valentine very happy. She also hung a blackboard in our kitchen that spawned the Morning Chalkboard years later.

If you are in love with someone...

…Celebrate today with passionate gusto.

I have no advice other than to stay home and make dinner. Restaurants perform their worst on holidays. Buy tulips rather than roses and skip the garter belts and whip cream on the areolas. Cuddle up on the couch and watch a sad movie about love from 1970.

That reminds me of a joke;

“Do you prefer roses played on a piano or tulips on an organ?

About today’s quote….

I don’t need a day to celebrate love.

I love you Chalkheads everyday and I do it with all of my heart.

February 13th, 2025

         It seemed like a good quote when I was chalking it, but now that it is time to write about…

….brain farts

I’m going to talk about beer this morning. I don’t drink beer like I used to and that is the same trend that many Americans are taking.

I can remember beer being in my life from a very early age. My first beer was a Meister Brau poured into a small juice glass. My parents had guests over for a big dinner and cocktail party. People from the neighborhood, the parish and a few of my dad’s railroad buddies.

I was sitting next to Mr. Dove at the dining room table and he pointed out that everyone had a drink, but Master Shepley.

Mr. Dove poured me a beer and as I took my first gulp, Mr. Vargas wished me happy dreams. My mom told me to go get my pajamas on immediately.

The foam on my lips and the first bitter gulp drained down my throat. I’ve been in love with beer ever since. That was the summer before first grade.

Times were different.

Meister Brau ended up going bankrupt, so my allegiance turned to Lowenbrau and Michelob. Then I became an Old Style guy and the rest was history.

I started going to a place on Roosevelt Road called the Weinkeller after I turned twenty-one. They made their own beer and I fell deeper in love with those golden suds.

I was twenty years old and I introduced my dad to this German bierstube that was about a mile from the house. He loved it so much, he ended up inviting Mr. Dove to the Weinkeller for beers. It was on that occasion that everything went full circle.

I had a beer with the guy that poured me my first beer. Mr. Dove passed away shortly after. That night on the Berwyn side of 12th street was when I had the last beer with the man that became Uncle Bill. My dad’s mentor who taught my Oldman how to be a solid draftsman on the railroad…

…and the man who introduced me to beer.

Let’s jump back to 2025.

The Weinkeller has been gone for over twenty-five years. Since the early 2010’s, I’ve been going to The BuckleDown brewery off of First Avenue and 47th street.

They make an American IPA called Belts and Suspenders or simply, “Belts.”

I’m not an IPA guy.

Since I cut my teeth on pilsners and lagers, I drink a beer that BuckleDown makes called Fritzicuffs.

The first sip of Fritzicuffs brought me back to the dinner table in 1972.

I read an article yesterday that said more small brewers are closing than opening. The cost of aluminum for the beer cans is skyrocketing. So is the price of barley and hops. Shipping costs aren’t getting better either.

What do we do about this? What would Uncle Bill Dove want me to do about this?

Support your local brewery. Pick up a six pack if you see one at the grocery store. Go directly to the brewery and buy a growler.

Nothing better than sitting on the balcony on a Saturday afternoon in June. All the errands and chores are finished. Especially the most important errands.

Going over to Alpine Sub for an Italian sandwich and going to BuckleDown for a growler of Fritzicuffs.

Family businesses that have become staples to the community. Don’t give your money to Anheuser-Busch or Miller. Spend your money on something that is made especially for you.

Every Fritzicuffs keg that is made, is preciously crafted for JumboLove. Those assclowns down in Saint Louis or up in Wisconsin give two shits about me and my lagers.

The purpose of today’s Morning Chalkboard is to support our local breweries. Every glass of beer we drink keeps their families fed.

I don’t have my parent’s dining room table anymore. The Weinkeller is a parking lot for Turano Bakery. Meister Brau, Lowenbrau and Michelob are all gone. Old Style has sucked since they stop kreusening it in LaCrosse…

…. BUTT (that is a big Shepley butt)

BuckleDown and many local breweries are still around. Go have a beer and toast all the Mr. Doves that poured us our first beer.

Winter is back in the Chicagoland area.

Go be astonished

February 12th, 2025

 I thought I was going to wake up to white rooftops and windshields, but the snow is moving slowly over Iowa.

I have never been a big fan of February snow, but since we haven’t had much this winter….

… bring it on.

I also wanted to get a good look at the Full Moon, but clouds got in the way.

I guess I need to look at this from both sides now?

The Snow moon just before a snowstorm. Tomorrow morning when the moon is climbing into Waning Gibbous and the ground is covered in fresh snow should be a gorgeous site.

It will be even better if the lions across the river are roaring with delight.

Go be astonished by the snow today. One more cold blast from the fifty-first state next week and we will be turning the calendar to March.

February 11th, 2025

 I was text messaging back and forth with a dear friend recently. Someone that would call my dad’s house to find me. I would have to take the cordless phone out on the front porch for privacy. That was in the late eighties.

In the early eighties, I would talk to this person from the phone hanging in the kitchen. The cord just long enough to reach to the broom closet in the hallway.

During our texting last week, the word “YOLO” popped up. I have a rule that anyone born before 1979 shouldn’t abbreviate words in a text message. Don’t even tell me that you are LOL right now.

So I quickly googled what the hell YOLO meant while my friend was texting their next message.

You Only Live Once….

“Jeez Shep, YOLO! You need a vacation.”

Later on I got another, “you only live once!”

“Maybe you should buy a car that was built in this century? YOLO!”

I think my friend was recently Yolo’d by one of their kids and was testing it out on me.

They thought….

I’ll use YOLO with someone that I’ve known since our parents had rotary phones. I’ll text John Shepley and remind him that he only lives once.

Thank you for the reminder, but I’m well aware of the amount of lives that I have.

Maybe I will buy a car? I just don’t want one with an iPad on the dashboard. I don’t need seat warmers or back up cameras.

My mom always told me to back up until you hear falling glass.

I might even go on a vacation in the near future. Somewhere exotic like Southern Indiana. I can go on a pork tenderloin sandwich tour and watch the farmers plant their crops. Go to honky-tonks and listen to songs about lost love and Jesus. I'll watch the sun cross over the Ohio River into the Hoosier forest and settle over the Wabash.

I should go visit my mom down in Greensburg. Maybe eat some Hoosier pie at a diner in Solsberry.

I often talk about our journey and the path that we take. Instead of the bumps and curves on the road of life, our voyage sometimes feels like a fast flowing current down a rushing creek. Tougher times feel more like a raging river.

Frantically looking for a rock to cling and then suddenly a friend is there on the bank with a tree branch to grab.

In my case the tree branch was a text message telling me that I only live once.

No time for a vacation, but I am eyeballing a 1975 Cadillac Eldorado. When that day comes when I need to replace Betty the Green Blazer…

… you might just see me tooling around in Edith, the creamy Eldorado.

From an old Illinois Bell telephone to a Verizon iPhone…

…it is good to have dear friends during this one life that I do have.