Wednesday, April 30, 2025

April 30th, 2025

   Starting out Wednesday with a little Hemingway. I chalked a quote from "The Sun Also Rises." It cuts straight to the bone, like most things Ernie wrote.

Running from your problems doesn't fix your soul. You can change cities, you can get a new job, you can leave your circle of friends, but if you are running from guilt, regret, anger, or pain...
...it’ll follow like your own shadow.
That is because the real work....
...healing, forgiving and understanding must happen on the inside.
A change of address doesn’t change your heart. If you want peace, stop packing bags and start unpacking truth.
I give a nod to Slick Leonard in the grabber section this morning after a huge overtime win for the Pacers last night. That phrase still echoes like a three-pointer from the corner....clean and true.
The high in Chicagoland will be 52° with cloudy cover today. Sunrise hits the Lake Michigan horizon at 5:48, and sunset over the suburban prairie will be at 7:49.
The days are getting long, and that gives us more light to face what needs facing. Go find something astounding in this zip code....







Tuesday, April 29, 2025

April 29th, 2025

   I received an email overnight from a funeral home where a colleague was waked six years ago. I've noticed recently, if you leave a tribute on the obituary, you'll receive a yearly reminder of the death notice.

This guy was the desk manager for the first company that I worked for at the Board of Trade. He was a very personable guy that treated people well and was constructive at his job.
Mike was twelve years older than me and was in his mid-thirties when we worked together. He was recently divorced with two young children. To me, he was an adult closer to my parents' age than mine at the time. Twelve years is a huge gap for a kid in his early twenties.
Mike was an Ohio State guy and we hit it off when I told him that I met Coach Hayes when I was eleven. He was also a big Richard Nixon fan, so we had a lot in common.
We worked together for a short time and went our separate ways. Mike went to work for another grain company and I moved to the Bond room.
I have lost several more colleagues since Mike passed on and will lose many more in the coming years. I remember when my dad was about the age that I am right now. It hit him hard and made him realize how quickly our years pass. Thirty years later, it hits me hard and makes me realize how quickly my career flew by....
I was given the option to unsubscribe from future emails from the funeral home. I didn't check that box. Seeing Mike Jennings' obituary reminds me how far I've walked and how much closer I am to resting under an eternal shade tree.
It was seventy-two degrees when I woke up this morning. It is forecasted to be forty-six when I wake up on Wednesday...
....April in Chicagoland, a place where spring can feel like a rollercoaster.
It's Tuesday and I'm ready for a daydream




Monday, April 28, 2025

April 28th, 2025

 The last Monday of the month and the start of May at the end of the week.

I chalked a strong quote for a Monday morning. We can’t erase what has happened in the past.
Every mistake, regret, good memory or bad choice. They are all written in permanent ink. No amount of wishing, guilt or pride will change the past. Like it or not, every chapter is a part of our story.
We must carry our defeats into greatness by owning up to our mistakes. Own up to the whole story, good and bad and be remembered with respect.
...or try and erase things… and be remembered unkindly.
That is what I’ve pulled from this George Sand quote….
Across Chicagoland, it’s shaping up to be a warm, muggy day. It’s also National Blueberry Pie Day.
Go out and write a good paragraph for your book today.




April 27th, 2025

       Happy Sunday.....







Saturday, April 26, 2025

April 26th, 2025

 I had a lot going on during my mom’s last sixty days of life. It was all connected by the 168-mile stretch of I-65. At Point B was my dying mother and at Point A was my failing marriage.

In late March, early April during those final sixty days, the upstairs bathroom flooded the kitchen downstairs at our house west of Mannheim Road.
The MasterBlamer (a person who always finds it easy to blame others) concluded that one of the Shepkids must have gotten up in the middle of the night, used the shitter and didn’t jiggle the handle properly. A slow, quiet rush of water ran all night, soaking the kitchen ceiling.
It gave the former Mrs. Shepley the perfect excuse to design her dream kitchen. My mom was dying one state over and my wife was more worried about putting lipstick on a pig.
Fast forward to the end of April.
We had made plans to drive down to Indianapolis as a family....
....maybe for the final time to see my mom.
The hotel was reserved, the schedule was set and the kids were excited for a road trip, even if it was to visit their dying gramma.
On the Thursday before we were supposed to leave, my mom went to the little beauty salon inside the nursing home. She wanted to look nice for her grandchildren. That same day, my wife got a phone call from the kitchen cabinet makers up in Elk Grove Village.
Her specially designed cabinets were ready. They could either be picked up Saturday morning or they could be shipped in mid-May.
Waiting three weeks wasn’t acceptable for the anxious kitchen designer. Never mind that the contractor was still behind on the prep work. Never mind that my mom was running out of days.
I got a text message while I was at work: We’re canceling the trip because we needed to pick up the cabinets instead. We should be able to cram them into the back of your Suburban in one trip.
So, three kids in car seats, one impatient lady, a guy with a dying mother, and a bunch of poorly made cabinets all jammed into my Chevy Suburban. it sounded like a perfect plan... for one person.
After dinner that Thursday, I called my mom to tell her we weren’t coming down to Indianapolis. Before I could say a word, she excitedly told me she’d had her hair done for the visit. It was the happiest she had been during those trying days.
It was the last time that I lied to my mom. I told her Hazel was sick and I also used the stormy forecast as a reason to postpone. I told her we would come down the following weekend. The first weekend of May.
I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but in typical Cecilia fashion, she said, "That’s okay, Pumpkinhead. I understand..."
Saturday came. It was cold and rainy. We crammed the cabinets into the Suburban. The kids were miserable. I was miserable, but their mom got her personally designed kitchen....
....Hinsdale cabinets for a LaGrange Highlands townhouse that already had decent cupboards in the first place.
The former Mrs. Shepley took a small check from State Farm and crowned herself a big-time home designer. It took her mind off her infidelity and it kept her away from supporting her husband...
...as he watched his mother die.
That was the last weekend of my mom’s life. I picked my failing marriage over my dying parent. I chose the mule behind Curtain One, when the shiny RV was waiting behind Curtain Two.
I think that decision killed my mom’s will to keep fighting. Looking back, that’s when I quit on my side of the marriage. A year later I moved to Riverside.
My mom knew my marriage was failing. We had talked about it on one of my many journeys down I-65 between March 6th, when she told me she was dying and May 6th, when she finally met her idol..... The Virgin Mary, Mother of God.
Those cabinets?
They’re already falling apart.
Luckily, I’m forbidden from entering that house on the other side of Mannheim Road. The sight of that kitchen makes me sick.
This is the first piece of my therapeutic writing, capping off my "Sixty Day Celebration of Cecilia."
"The Kitchen Cabinets" will be followed by "The Twenty Minute Detour" next week.
Thanks for letting me chalk about this stuff.
Today is the "Spring Fling" in Riverside — an annual event that goes toward charity and signals the start of the warmer months.
Good music.
Good neighbors.
Good food.
Good booze.
Come to the village nestled in the woods where a river runs through it.
Get out and enjoy the chilly sunshine on this last Saturday of April.




April 25th, 2025

 I am going to let the chalkboard speak for itself this morning.

Today is the last Friday of the month. It is also National Zucchini Bread Day. My gramma made the best back in the day.
Finish the week strong and enjoy your weekend….




Thursday, April 24, 2025

April 24th, 2025

        I received a phone call yesterday from the school where one of the Shepkids goes. The counselor told me they asked my child which parent should be contacted.

“Dad……!”

That made me feel like a winner. Not that it’s a competition with the ex-wife...
...but it kind of is.
It reminded me of something my dad used to say: There are two great gifts a man can receive in this life; the love of a woman and the trust of a child.
I no longer have the first one, but I hold tight to the second.
That ties into today’s chalked quote....
...Love might be the greatest blessing of all, but it’s trust that lays the foundation where love can grow.
A phone call from Highlands Middle School reminded me how lucky I am. Very different from the calls my folks used to get from the nuns back in the day.
Yesterday, Chicagoland lost two heroes.....
....one who dominated on the gridiron, and another who protected lives on the Chicago grid.
A former Bears defensive tackle who battled a brutal disease for years, and a Chicago Fire Department Captain who died suddenly in the line of duty.
Both were reminders of how fragile life is. Both were tough men that had a tenderness that they shared during their short lives. Both were men who were deeply loved and fiercely trusted.
It’s Thursday and the sun on The Morning Chalkboard is wearing a big smile.
Go out and spread some love and earn some trust




Wednesday, April 23, 2025

April 23rd, 2025

 I’ve walked straight lines before.

Jobs that looked safe. Plans that felt solid. Relationships that followed the script.
And most of the time, I ended up lost, trapped and broken hearted.
The world loves the straight line. It looks good on a resume. It makes your family proud and it makes your friends comfortable.
When it comes down to the nuts and bolts, it is the crooked path that teaches. The detours, the dead ends, and the kick in the throat are what makes us who we are.
Today’s quote isn’t talking about geometry…
… it is talking about the human condition. The grand illusion that the shortest distance between two points is the best one. The easiest route often leads to the hardest outcome.
Today is the day we stop trying to draw straight lines and instead start walking on the path that travels through valleys and over mountain ranges.
We have a little Latin down in the grabber section this morning. It translates to “the abyss calls out.”
One wrong turn, one dumbass decision leads to another wrong turn and another stupid decision. That wrong turn leads to an emptiness that nobody wants.
Rainy and warm on this humpday in late April.
Today is Saint George Day. Go out and sleigh a dragon…..




Tuesday, April 22, 2025

April 22nd, 2025

   All I want to point out today is the sun rising just before six o’clock. That means that the sun is North of Division Street.

I know what time of the year it is by the location of the sunrise and sunset on the Chicago Grid.
You’ve heard of Chicago Henge. That is when the sun shoots directly between the buildings and straight down the east/west streets. That usually occurs in early March and early October.
That is when the sun is directly over the Loop.
In the wintertime, the sun rises over Lake Michigan directly across the Southside and in the summer it pops up on the Northside.
Back to my theory that home is where you are familiar with the shadows.
Some people like the sun with mountains, some enjoy the sun shining across the ocean.
I find beauty when the late afternoon sun is glowing back towards Chicago from the western suburbs. There is a twenty minute period of time when the Sears Tower is bright orange.
That is Earthday from my perspective.
If there is anything that you Chalkheads have gotten from this morning musing…
…you’ve learned the importance of knowing where the sun and the moon are during the year.
If you apply that knowledge with today’s quote, you’ve found your rhythm by knowing the length of your shadow.
Time to do Tuesday….
If I’m lucky, I have 1,352 more Tuesday’s to watch the sun come over Lake Michigan and set over Joliet and Dekalb.
Go put a smile on your sun today…




April 21st, 2025

   Woke up to a Violent Femmes song looping through my head. Then I check a text message that a friend sent at 12:47 this morning.

It was a fucking meme with a picture of Bryan Adams telling me that I’m closer to the Summer of 2069 than I am to the Summer of 1969.
Now I have that song looping through my brain.
Maybe it’s a good thing that I have a double earworm going at 3:15 in the morning?
I’m in no mood to tackling the Albert Camus quote down on the Chalkboard.
I’m going to say one thing about it and this is easier said than done….
…. Don’t regret the past and don’t worry about the future.
I have fifteen days left on the 2025 edition of “The Sixty Day Celebration of Cecilia.”
My first cocktail in sixty days will be a gin martini.
My first bite of meat will be a breaded steak sandwich from Ricobene's.
My first dessert will be a chocolate eclair from Oak Park Bakery.
My first hot dog will be at Sox Park.
My first pizza will be from Rosangela's or Phil’s.
Fifteen more days… those last fifteen days were a shit show in 2016. My mom’s last fortnight on earth. I’ll have two stories to get off my chest from that time period. The “Kitchen Cabinet” story and the “Twenty Minute Detour” story.
Go tackle the week and enjoy the arrival of spring. We had thunder and lightning over the weekend. That means nature will explode in the next few days.
Spring is springing…




Sunday, April 20, 2025

April 20th, 2025

  I watched the last quarter of the Pink Moon crawl across the morning sky. Its lunar glow still strong enough to cast a silver light on the bedroom wall. The first sound I heard today came from a mourning dove cooing somewhere just beyond the window.

On Good Friday, I wrote about hatred. On Holy Saturday, forgiveness. And now, on Easter Sunday, it only seems right to chalk about love.
But I’m not going to overthink it. I’ve decided I’m just going to start saying “I love you” more often. That’s it. That’s the lesson.
Instead, what’s been riding shotgun in my head this morning is comparison. That nasty little habit we all picked up somewhere along the way.
Do you remember your first comparison?
I do.
It happened in a Little League dugout.
All the boys were sizing up each other’s mitts before practice. I had a left-handed first baseman's glove—a Spaulding signed by Mike Epstein. My Oldman probably picked it up on Maxwell Street or at a flea market. It was beat to hell by the time my hand ever climbed inside.
The other boys had brand-new mitts, autographed by Bobby Murcer, Roberto Clemente, Johnny Bench, and Luis Tiant.
Kevin Sullivan—seven years old and already fluent in his father’s ignorance—told me I had a “Jew glove.”
I went home crying. Told my dad my glove didn’t work.
He smiled and said, “They’re right, Mike Epstein is Jewish. But what they don’t know is that Ted Williams taught him how to hit—and gave him the nickname ‘Super Jew.’”
Epstein was a journeyman. Played for a handful of teams over a decade. My Oldman loved journeymen.
Kevin’s dad died not long after. Everyone said it was a car accident. I found out years later that Mr. Sullivan sat in his closed garage with the Oldsmobile running.
The next comparison came with bikes. I had a Schwinn, thankfully, but that just made me a target. The kids from the next neighborhood over.... who didn’t look like us....always tried stealing my bike.
Good thing we lived on a block with Italian moms and Polish dads who always had their eye on the street. I told my dad what Mr. Wojcik and Mrs. Robustelli called the other kids.
He didn’t get mad. He just said, “We don’t use that word.”
Then he added, “Next time, tell them you watch 'SoulTrain.' Maybe they’ll like you.”
They didn’t.
The kid who stole my bike pedaled off under the viaduct singing "My Cherie Amour.'
The next comparison was my parents' house.
Then my dad's car.
Then the Oldman’s job.
We lived in a small house. My dad had a Cadillac in the garage and he built choo-choo trains for a living.
By grade school, we were comparing gym shoes. I went to a Catholic school and we wore uniforms. So we didn't compare Izods and Polos. Mikey Cavanaugh rolled into third grade with a real necktie. The rest of us had clip-ons.
A week later, we all knew how to tie a tie—and started comparing how long our knots were.
Foreshadowing?
We did compare winter coats and it didn't help that my dad bought me a Saint Louis football Cardinals stadium coat. It was bright red while everyone else had blue and orange coats. At least it wasn't green and gold... those poor kids got the crap beat out of them.
See the problem with comparison?
It didn’t stop at childhood.
It followed me to high school.
To the trading floor.
To after nine-thirty mass.
Comparison is a cancer. It eats away at gratitude. It strangles joy. It blinds us from what is by constantly whispering what isn't.
But today... Resurrection Sunday... the day Jesus rose and opened the gates of heaven.
And when we get there…
Nobody’s checking the time on your Rolex. Time is eternal.
Nobody cares about the label on your sport coat. We’ll all be in togas.
Nobody gives a damn about your car's horsepower, the size of your schwantz, your exotic vacation photos, or how many shitters were in your third house.
What will matter is how you made people feel.
Who you lifted.
Who you forgave.
And how many people heard you say, “I love you.”
So eat the ham. Sip the mimosa. Tip your hat to the Bloody Mary bar.
But remember:
It’s Sunday Funday.
It’s Resurrection Day.
It’s a good day to stop comparing and start being astonished.




Saturday, April 19, 2025

April 19th, 2025

I woke up this morning at 4:44 a.m.. No alarm clock. Just a cool breeze slipping through the window and the racket of birds singing their morning songs like they had something urgent to say.
The first thing that hit me when I saw that Angel Number ... 444... was the story about John Wagner and the Holy Spirit. The story is only a few years old, and I’ll get better at telling it over time.
It centers around a man who gave more than he took. A guy who might’ve earned straight F’s on life’s report card, but aced the things that mattered most — Faith, Family, and Friendship.
...and when the lights started dimming in his life, those three things shined the brightest.
Wags died two or three times in the final weeks of his life, but it was that second death that changed everything.
See, Wags was the first guy we knew who shared his health battles openly on social media. After he flatlined and came back, he grabbed his phone and posted a message that shook all of us.
He said he had a conversation with the Holy Spirit. God’s ghost didn’t talk about eternity or faith or love.
The two of them talked about forgiveness. The message that heaven gave Wags was to forgive and to ask for forgiveness.
Simple, right?
That post changed those preparing to grieve the loss soon to come, but we didn't lose, we won. Wags helped solve one of the biggest mysteries of our Faith.
He showed us that the skinny Jewish kid made good with the promise of his crucifixion and resurrection.
Wags was there for me during the roughest stretch of my life, when my marriage hit the rocks. He was the experienced friend that had the advice and support that I needed.
He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He listened and told me what I had to hear....
.... and then, when he was close to the end, he hit me with the hardest thing yet:
“Shep,” he said,
“Forgive the mother of your children… and ask her to forgive you.”
So today, on this Holy Saturday, that’s the chalk lesson.
Forgive.
Not because they deserve it. Not because you feel like it, but because it will make your final days lighter and softens the edges on the road to salvation.
Yesterday’s theme was hatred. Today’s is forgiveness.
I wonder what Resurrection Sunday’s lesson will be…

Today we added one more F to Life's report card....
FOUNDATION: FAITH, FAMILY, FRIENDS and FORGIVENESS













Friday, April 18, 2025

April 18th, 2025

Today is a yearly reminder that if I don’t get my shit together, eternal peace won’t be part of my story.
Instead, I’ll end up in a place the Catholics call purgatory—an eternal detention hall. I’ll still get to write on a chalkboard every morning, but I’ll be stuck in perpetual JUG. (If you didn’t go to Catholic school, that stands for 'Justice Under God.')
Only instead of my usual chalk musings, I’ll be writing "Hail Mary's" on repeat ...every day... until the gatekeepers of heaven decide I’ve atoned for my sins.
Why does today hit me so hard?
Well, first of all... because today is the day a skinny Jewish kid got nailed to a cross so I could have a shot at getting into His Father’s kingdom.
Second, because there’s still hatred festering in my heart.
Yeah. No shit.
A guy nicknamed JumboLOVE has hate in his heart.
My Black friends are scratching their heads.
My Jewish friends are ducking for cover.
My gay friends feel betrayed.
My Latino crew is probably cussing me out in Spanish.
But it’s not you. It’s not any of you.
You might ask, “How can you hate one group and not another?”
You can’t. Hatred is hatred.
....And that hatred? That’s what’s gonna keep me locked out of heaven and stuck in detention with a piece of chalk and a pile of regrets.
Some of you Chalkheads might feel betrayed reading this.
“This guy prays for me every morning… and he’s got hate in his heart?”
Yup. Ninety-nine percent good doesn’t erase one percent evil.
And here’s the kicker: I’m not going to tie this Chalkboard up with a punchline about ketchup on a hot dog or using your turn signal.
Nope.
Today, I’m admitting my flaw. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.
I have a problem with islam. I can’t even bring myself to capitalize it. Same with nazi. No caps. No respect.
It started with the hostages in Iran, November of ’79—right after Willie Stargell and the Pirates won the Series. That was the last season I felt innocent.
Then it sat in the background until a Tuesday morning in September, when a plane sliced through a kid’s trading desk. A kid I knew.
Motherfuckers!!!
And yeah—I know it wasn’t all of them.
“They’re not all terrorists, John.”
I hear it. I get it. But it doesn’t change what’s inside me.
You might see me at a pride parade.
You might see me dancing at a bat mitzvah.
You might see me handing out turkeys at a Baptist church on the South Side or playing Santa at a migrant shelter.
None of that gets me into heaven.
I told a priest once, in confession, that I hated muslims. He nearly shit himself. You might be doing the same now. My LibLab friends probably just crossed me off the cocktail invite list.
Why admit this?
Because maybe—just maybe—by bringing this darkness into the light, I’ll have a chance at redemption.
This isn’t “torch the mosque” kind of hate. It’s more like, “I don’t trust that guy in the turban” kind of hate.
Still ugly. Still wrong.
Jesus and his crew have every right to be pissed.
A few months ago, I held the door for a woman in full muslim garb. I even smiled.
My son George looked at me and in his autistic logic asked, “Don’t you hate people like her, Dad?”
I said, “I do, son… but I can’t be an asshole to her.”
My Old Man watched from heaven, not sure whether to clap or shit himself.
.... And here I am again, on Good Friday, wondering why a crucifixion happened… for me.
A guy who can’t even follow the one damn instruction Jesus gave: Love everybody.
If I end up in purgatory, my parents are gonna be pissed.
My Old Man’s gonna grip those bars and say,
“I told you, Moose. We’re all just one forgiveness away from eternity… and you blew it.”
So how can I call myself a Catlick if I can’t do the main job I was asked to do?
That’s the cross I carried today.
Take today’s Chalkboard however you want.
Maybe my confession helps you face your own.
Maybe you’re floored I came out of the hatred closet.
We all carry something heavy.
Down in the grabber section is a bit of Latin:
“Forgive them.”
That’s what Jesus said to his Old Man right before John Wayne muttered, “Truly, this man was the Son of God.”
...And remember what Don Shepley always said:
“We are ALL one forgiveness away from being together forever. Stop hating each other in life so we can enjoy peace as one after death.”





Thursday, April 17, 2025

April 17th, 2025

  I was experiencing a horseshit attitude when I chalked this quote last night before bed. I was dealing with a habitual blamer. Someone who blames everyone else for her problems.

Now that I’ve had a chance to sleep on it, I am in a calm place and have nothing further to say.
Unfortunately the modern world has become one big blame game. It reminds me of my fourth child that I have never had the pleasure of meeting.
"Notme" Shepley
The Shepkids speak of their mystery sibling often. Whenever I ask them how this happened or who did this….
… it is always Notme.
I got a feeling that I will never meet this Notme kid. Hopefully we can eventually have Notme stay on the other side of Mannheim Road where he or she belongs.
Anyway… these next few days are full of some crazy holy events. No more pepper and egg sandwiches on Friday and Sunday brings a shit ton of jelly beans and marshmallow treats.
Enjoy the day off tomorrow and have an umbrella handy when it rains at three o’clock.




Wednesday, April 16, 2025

April 16th, 2025

 I was riding in a car across Brooklyn and over into Manhattan earlier this morning.

It was overcast and slightly raining. My buddy was driving with the Beastie Boys cranked up. The loud music kept us from having a conversation and I really wanted to catch up with him.
We were weaving in and out of traffic, avoiding stopped cars and traffic lights.
We pulled up in front of the hotel lobby that I was staying at. I leaned over and kissed the erratic driver on the forehead and asked him if he wanted to come in for a cocktail.
He didn’t have time and replied,
“everything is going to be alright. You gotta stop worrying Jumbo…”
I got out of the car and bent over for one final goodbye. My buddy was wiping blood off his forehead asking me if I felt something. I didn’t feel anything, but I noticed I was standing in a huge puddle.
The car drove away and I woke up back in Riverside. I looked up at the clock and it was 1:23am…. 123, an angel number that Jimmy often uses when he tests the mystery of my faith.
Jimmy went to heaven on a Tuesday morning in September, almost twenty-five years ago. He took the time to let me know that everything is going to work out by the time I finally join him.
I’m lucky to have one of my Guardian Angels ease my worries.
That’s how my Wednesday started.
Today is National Eggs Benedict Day. All of my Board of Trade colleagues probably list Broker’s Inn and Ceres as their favorite Eggs Benny.
Where do you Chalkheads go for the best hollandaise sauce smothered over eggs, Canadian bacon and an English muffin?




Tuesday, April 15, 2025

April 15th, 2025

    Tax day is a yearly reminder that I will never have another vacation ever again and that my retirement plan will cover eleven minutes.

Other than that positive thought to kick off a Tuesday… let’s get it on.
Yesterday was Ex-spouse Day.
Today is Uncle Sam Day.
What will tomorrow bring?
Maybe Godzilla will pop out of Lake Michigan and go on a rampage throughout Chicago?
Please destroy Soldier Field!
It is all yours Mr. Godzilla. Rip the toilet spaceship out and take it back with you into the depths of the Great Lake.
Tuesday morning, never looked so good. I'm already in a daydream.




Monday, April 14, 2025

April 14th, 2025

 Today is National Ex Spouse Day. I can take the chalk on two paths this morning. We can take the low road or we can take the high road.

I didn’t plan on having an ex-spouse, but that is how it turned out.
We wouldn’t have the Morning Chalkboard, if it wasn’t for the ex-spouse. I wouldn’t have the Shepkids, if it wasn’t for the ex-spouse. I wouldn’t have moved to Riverside and I wouldn’t be working for the same trading group, if it wasn’t for my assclown (I mean wonderful) of an ex-wife.
I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for having an ex-spouse. Having an ex-spouse is probably one of the best things to happen to me.
As much as I think that I will finally lose my ex-spouse when our youngest turns eighteen, that won’t be the case.
I will always have an ex-spouse…
… and like my wise Oldman told me the morning I went over to Daley Plaza to finalize the divorce,
“You better learn to get along with this woman quickly. Because eventually, the two of you will be back together in eternal peace.”
Definitely not how I imagine heaven to be. Though I pray to both of my parents every day and they are together in heaven…
…and they were ex-spouses.
So, I quote the great Roy Kent, “Fuuuuuuuuu*****k!”
Happy Monday Chalkheads.
If you have an ex-spouse….
…. I’m sorry!

Look on the bright side, if there is one