May 30th, 2025

 It’s National Mint Julep Day, and let’s be honest, they aren’t just for Derby weekend. Mint juleps deserve a place at the summer table right next to cold beer and grilled bratwursts.

May 2025 came in like a lion and is heading out like a slightly hungover jazz singer. We saw the world shift in every direction: politics, conflict, markets. South Side’s own Father Bobby Prevost became Pope Leo XIV, proving you can take the boy out of Chicago and can end up in Vatican City. George Wendt finally heard his last call, and Warren Buffett is packing up his briefcase for the last time.

School’s out, the pools are open, and the Summer of 2025 has officially kicked off. If I’m lucky, I’ve got about 25 more summers left in the tank. That number doesn’t scare me, but it does remind me to soak it in. Bryan Adams ought to write a song about the Summer of ‘25 before it slips away in a sun-drenched blur.

Today offers 15 hours of daylight... a far cry from those endless January nights. As May winds down, I’m headed into the weekend with a cup of coffee in one hand, a crawfish in the other, and a rugby ball under a scrum of big boys. Crawfish Fest at Shanahan's, their 35th annual and Chicago Hounds against NOLA Gold Rugby Saturday night.

Go find something astonishing.

Be happy.

June is waiting.

May 29th, 2025

        Give light and people will find the way.

Some mornings, that's all we are called to do...

...just give light.

We don’t need to carry others, just shine bright enough so they can see their next step. Let the fog burn off and trust the sun will do its job on the last Thursday of May.

veni, vidi, vici....

...Not every day is a conquest, but today feels winnable.

May 28th, 2025

 I look at today’s quote and think about something my Oldman often said to me when I had my tit in a ringer.

"A man can make a horrible choice in a split second that could affect the rest of his life."

I was accused of being a racist over the weekend. George was explaining to me a trip he wanted to take on the CTA. He wanted to go to an area of Chicago that he hasn’t visited to take pictures on his film camera.

I told him that I was weary of the idea because the neighborhood wasn’t very safe. Hazel immediately jumped in and asked what made it dangerous.

Without pausing, I said it was a black neighborhood.

“You are a racist dad…..”

Now I’m backpedaling... trying to explain the difference between racism, prejudice, and stereotyping to a daughter who no longer wants to hear it. For now, I’ve become the Archie Bunker in her life.

Maybe it is time for my darling daughter to watch "Bad News Bears" and "Blazing Saddles' with her daddy?

We were all watching the Indy 500 together last weekend. The front row had a Jewish driver, a Japanese driver and a Mexican driver. I left the “walk into a bar” joke unsaid, but I sure thought about it.

I asked the Shepkids if they were racists and they all said "No!"

My job is done.... I might be Archie Bunker, but my offsprings are not... winning!

Today is National Hamburger Day. I don't go out of my way for these fancy restaurants that serve thirty-dollar gourmet burgers with a shit ton of crap on top of them.

Keep it simple and let the burger speak for itself. I don't need expensive mushrooms, with aioli and duck confit.

My favorite burgers are attached to memories. Take me down to 106th Street on the Eastside for a burger at Harmonies. I would love to go to Gossage Grill for a burger or Sauers or Comeback Inn. All are long gone.

My favorite burgers are still at places that are also tied to memories and are still open.

Parkys in Forest Park, BillyGoat, York Tavern, Top Notch on 95th, Hamburger Heaven in Elmhurst and The Cordial Inn on 31st Street.

What is your favorite Burger joint?

Wednesday isn't going to be a very nice day in Chicagoland. You'll need to chalk your own smile on the sun again today.

Maybe a medium rare burger with a slice of onion and tomato will cheer you up?

May 27th, 2025

 I chalked down this quote and thought about mouthing off about other people, but this chalkboard is set up to make me mo betta.

My spirit has definitely irritated some people through the years. Probably because I was being an asshole when our paths crossed. Sometimes I was a jagoff because I was being stupid and sometimes because I just didn't like the person.

I think I have been less of an assclown as I've gotten older because I'm getting closer to Heaven's Door. I've become less hateful with age only because I know, if I get into heaven, most of the people I was supposed to hate in life will be around in eternal peace.

Today's quote has two key words, spirit and demon. On any given day, The Holy Spirit can kick the living shit out of a demon. The best way to irritate a demon is to ignore them. Tell the sneaky bastards to hit the road.

Double Doink is the feature in today's grabber section. I'm not talking about Cody Parkey missing that forty-three yard field goal.

Nope.... I got double doinked this weekend. For all the years I've lived East of Mannheim Road, every other Sunday has been filled with sadness when the Shepkids return to the evil empire. It has never gotten easier with time.

This weekend I took Hazel back on Sunday and Fritz returned on Monday. I got lump throat and bruise heart two days in a row.

Double Doink.... I feel a little better when my Oldman yells down from heaven, "keep on keepin' on Moose!"

So, let's keep on keepin' on Chalkheads.

Put a smile on your sun and find some astonishment, because Tuesday morning, never looked so good.

I'm already in a daydream

May 26th, 2025

 Throughout our youth and into adulthood, many of us are searching for our identity.

Who are we?

Where do we belong?

What is my purpose?

In the perfect world, our first fifteen to twenty years should nurture us with that strong foundation built on faith, family and friends. Throw in a decent education, a couple fights at the playground and that first kiss behind the garage and the average person is ready to conquer their destiny.

I stopped searching for my place when I became a dad. Life should focus on parenting at the first sight of that squirmy loud alien. When the nurse hastily cleans a shit ton of slimy stuff off your baby and hands you that bundle… you can stop looking for your place in life.

I was reminded of my place in life over the weekend. I guess you can say it was kind of a shitty Saturday afternoon.

“Dad….!”

“Hey Dad……?”

I had the vacuum cleaner going and didn’t hear the first round of “dad” calls.

The next round was louder and followed by ….

“The poop isn’t going down in the bathroom!”

Mother fucking, fuck, fuck!

As I’m grabbing the plunger and the bucket, I get whacked with another Shepkid telling me the other crapper is clogged.

You got to be shitting me?!?!?!

How does this happen?

I guess I didn’t spend enough time teaching these little bundles of joy how to wipe their own butts.

Many of you Chalkheads have seen my voluptuous thick Shepley booty. The Shepkids have all been blessed with an exceptionally strong can like their Oldman.

I’m not bullshitting you when I tell you that I can clean my backside with eight to ten squares. Maybe I need a dozen, if I have both a bratwurst and a polish at the Sox game.

These little fuckers use yards of toilet paper to create a pillow of protection between their fingers and their anus.

Any given weekend when all three are hanging in the Divorced Dad District, I’m changing toilet paper rolls at least twice.

If I have failed my children in any way…

…it will be that I didn’t teach them proper toilet paper usage.

There I was Saturday afternoon, minutes away from finishing the weekly chores and errands. Maybe, just maybe I can enjoy a quick can of beer on the balcony before I tackle the rest of the day daddying.

Nope…. I’m unclogging enough T.P. to reach from Chicago to Milwaukee out of my crappers.

I mean I JUST cleaned those two fucking toilets ten minutes prior to the clogging's.

I won’t even mention the size of the craps these little monsters produce! I make them drink water all the time. I tell them it’s good for digesting food and they still make crap the size of a toddler's forearm.

Is that my purpose in life?

Have I found my place?

Should I stop looking?

I had that beer early Saturday afternoon, but I couldn’t smell the gorgeous fragrance of hops. I couldn’t smell it because I smelled like Pine-sol!

I’m pretty sure that the Shepkids will turn out to be good people someday. Like everyone, they’ll search for their place in life. I just hope when they get there… they know how to wipe their own ass’s.

When the day comes when they have their first apartment, I’m going to buy them a toilet plunger and a twelve pack of Charmin Ultra Bold.

Today is Memorial Day… many unselfish men and women died so I can raise the Shepkids. Those brave souls never returned home to a clogged toilet. Not to make it sound trivial, but it is all the little things in life that we have because of the freedom the American Soldier and Sailor died for.

Give thanks for the freedom to own a toilet plunger and hearing a child scream…

“Dad!!!”

Let’s finish the month of May with astonishing joy and love.

May 24th and 25th

 The Weekend Edition of The Morning Chalkboard for Saturday the 24th and Sunday the 25th.

On these weekends when all three of the Shepkids are in Riverside, I end up on my couch. I woke up to the pitter patter of raindrops on the gutter. Birds fighting over the next song on the juke box and from across the river, I could hear Brutus and Titus roaring out at the drizzly morning. I left a couple of nuts on my bistro table for the blue jays. They grabbed them early.

Here we are already celebrating The Memorial Day weekend. The official start to summer and the time to take a long moment to give love and thanks for those who fought for America.

I see these memes about not forgetting the American Soldier when you are grilling hotdogs and swimming in the pool.

And hell yeah, they make a valid point.

I am going to go out of my way to enjoy mustard on my hotdog, cold beer in my cooler, patriotic music on the radio, potato salad plopped on a collapsing paper plate and I'm going to shit kick with joy the love of my family.

This weekend is about thirty-three racers back home again in Indiana. It's about cleaning cobwebs out of the Weber Grill and washing out that moldy shit in your Coleman cooler. This weekend is when we tell everyone that the pool water is perfect as our chicklets chatter in the shallow end.

Fuck yes, I am grateful for the men and women who lost their lives so I can live mine. My eyes sprinkle every time I hear Taps and my heart swells when I stand tall for the National Anthem.

I want to thank the brilliant bastard that placed this great weekend where it is on the calendar. The end of school, the beginning of summer. This is the weekend to put a new Deadhead sticker on your Cadillac and buy a new pair of Wayfarers. Because, before you know it, the boys of summer will be packing up their Weber grills and Coleman coolers.

Glory, glory hallelujah, Glory, glory hallelfuckinglujah...

...his truth is marching on.

May 23rd, 2025

 I started this morning like I do most, saying my prayers with the names of the people I love, some here, some up in heaven. It's my way of anchoring the day. The sun was just starting to rise as I drove Francine the Ford Flex out to the Oakbrook Board of Trade. I grabbed a couple of Egg McMuffins on the way out, It’s Friday, after all.

It is National Cooler Day and I’ve carried a few in my days.

Never the small kind that had wheels and long handles. I cut my teeth with heavy coolers made with metal, aluminum and hard plastic that were made in the U.S.A.. Two small handles awkwardly placed to make it more of a burden. Sloshing with ice and clanging bottles of Old Style. I lugged coolers onto the CTA and across Grant Park for Chicago Blues Fest, across gravel lots at the Indy 500 and into backyards where the grill smoke curled with a pork incense.

Some days I didn’t feel like hauling it, but I did it anyway because people were counting on the big guy with the beer.

Life’s like that, the quest for the perfect moment.

We don’t always get to wait for perfect timing. The train is going to eventually pass. The red light will turn green. The sun is going to rise. Sometimes we just got to wait for it.....

And the ice inside that cooler?

It is going to melt whether you’re ready or not. So drink up and put some gusto into the moment.

Go enjoy the sun on this beautiful Friday. Carry your damn cooler to wherever family and friends are gathering.

There is no perfect moment.... just the one you are in right now.

May 22nd, 2025

 A guy who treated me like a dick died yesterday.

It was the tail end of my senior year of high school down in Indianapolis when the Baltimore Colts were stolen in the middle of the night. The team was owned by the Irsay family, and their 24-year-old son Jimmy had just moved to town.

I was working valet at a place called the Manor House Club, just up the way from Dear Old Cathedral. The club was an old mansion the Catholics bought from a banker named Fletcher. It was a good gig that paid well, and I learned to drive a stick shift on the job.

The manager was a jagoff named Marvin. The head valet was an older Black gentleman named Jimmy. Marvin insisted on calling him "James," which drove Jimmy nuts. But everyone loved Old Jimmy... the members, the staff. He took me under his wing and looked out for me. Jimmy taught me a lot during my valet parking days.

Young Jimmy Irsay had already built a reputation around town. Spoiled. Entitled. Rich. And proud of it.

One Saturday evening, the place was packed with a big wedding and busy dinner crowd. In walks Jimmy Irsay wearing flip-flops, swim trunks, and a T-shirt. Everyone else is in jackets and ties, but he struts in like he owns the joint.

He tells Marvin he wants to grab some beers to take back home. Marvin, being the brown-nosing type, snaps his fingers and tells Jimmy, our Jimmy to go fetch some beers for the young Irsay.

“Big John, can you help me grab beers for this motha fucker?” Jimmy asks me.

We loaded up a box with an assortment of six-packs and brought it to the foyer, where Irsay was waiting.

"You can carry it over to my place for me, big boy,” he said.

I looked at Jimmy. He just tilted his head and made that little click noise he used to make. A sigh with a nod. His way of saying, go on, Big John.... just get it done.

So I walked with Irsay to his house. Not a word the whole way. When we got to the back door, I went to step inside and he snapped, “Don’t come in here. Leave it on the patio table, kid.”

That was it.

No thank you....No couple bucks.....

Just that smug little command. I probably missed out on tips while hauling his beer, too. I never volunteered for another Irsay errand again.

Forty years later, I’d forgotten that moment until the news of his death brought it back. I’m glad my friends in Indianapolis have an NFL team, but to me, they’ll always be the Baltimore Colts.

It is going to be another cold and rainy day in Chicagoland. Try not to be a dick to your valet.

May 21st, 2025

 “We never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.” Today's quote is credited to Dr. Seuss.

Dr. Seuss, Winnie the Pooh and Mr. Rogers sure did give our age group a good philosophical base.

Today’s grabber section is Last call, Norm, a tip of the cap to George Wendt, the actor who played the lovable barfly on Cheers. Wendt was one of our own, hailing from the Beverly neighborhood right here in Chicago. He’ll be missed.

From high school through my twenties, I watched Norm hold court at the end of that basement bar.

Tuesday night, I had a cheeseburger with George at Shanahan’s and an ice cream at the Polar Bear. We sat at the same booth where, as a toddler, George split his head open walking across the bench between his parents. He took a tumble and cracked his noggin on the corner of the table. Blood everywhere, it left a scar that has faded through the years. Somehow that table's seen it all...

...parades, first dates, Mardi Gras', Bear games, family lunches, rehearsal dinners, and dear friendships. That spot has watched George and his siblings grow up. It has been my "go to" for thirty-five years. Next week is Crawfish Fest.

There was a time I was Norm at Shanahan’s. I’d walk in and hear, “Jumbo!”

It’s another rainy hump day here in Chicagoland. Sunrise is officially at 5:25 a.m., but the clouds will keep it hidden. That’s alright, we can make our own sunshine baby!

Let's move forward. Share some love. Spread some gusto. The long weekend is just around the corner. Soon we will hear the roar of thirty-three race cars...

May 20th, 2025

 “We die only once, and for such a long time.” Moliere

I know that sounds a little morbid, but to me it’s a simple reminder that our days are numbered. Like an advent calendar, except we don’t know when December 24th is. We don’t know when we will open that final flap or what we’ll find behind it.

I drove to work in the rain today. Lately, small things have been triggering memories of my Oldman. This morning, it was the way the raindrops streamed down the car windows. It took me back to a Saturday morning years ago...

...me stretched across the backseat while my dad drove, his railroad buddy riding shotgun. They both were smoking cigarettes with the news humming from the radio.

Back then, the radio would announce the network and play a little jingle before the top-of-the-hour news. You never hear those anymore. I remembered watching the rain race across the window, picking which drop would win. We were off for coffee, chocolate milk, donuts, and inspecting rusty old railcars. It always seemed to rain on those trips.

I thought of all that as I drove to the trading floor today.

The vocab word in today's grabber section is Talisman (noun) an object, typically a ring or token, thought to bring good luck or protection.

I’ve got talismans scattered around my home—things that carry a little weight, a little memory. My crucifix chain and my rising phoenix ring, both gifts from my dad. I put them on every morning in a little ritual that will get me through the day.

Both lucky in their own way.

It’s going to be a gray, rainy day in Chicagoland. It feels like the perfect kind of afternoon to finish the Hemingway book I’ve been working on. Any suggestions for what classic should come next? I'm going to try and read ten classics this summer. Chalkheads tend to be a well-read bunch.

Have a glorious Tuesday. Maybe you’ll catch a good two-for-Tuesday set from your favorite musician. Here’s hoping one of them hits you like an old memory on a rainy ride.

May 19th, 2025

 Being an only child taught me how to get things done for myself. There was no safety net, no sibling to lean on. My ex-wife was never steady enough to rely on, and at a certain point, my parents gave me the push I needed...

...they kicked me out of the nest so I could learn how to fly.

Then one day, they were both gone, off to heaven before I had a chance to thank them for that nudge.

And just like that, I was alone. Since then, I’ve carried a quiet vow inside: I will never be a burden to my children.

The other day, I saw an old Chevy Blazer at a red light. It looked just like Betty. My heart sank a little when I couldn’t remember her name right away. “Green Blazer… Green Blazer… What the hell was that car’s name?” It took a few beats before “Betty” came back to me.

Last week, I was deep in a conversation about global diplomacy and couldn’t recall Henry Kissinger’s name. That shook me. Forgetfulness like that scares the living hell out of me. Because the moment I can’t rely on myself… that’s the moment I fear most.

The Cubs swept the Sox over the weekend, another SouthSide heartbreak. The Pope might be a Sox fan, but he needs to use his energy for other things.

And looking ahead, the week leading into Memorial Day is shaping up colder than usual. Feels like Autumn is bitch slapping Spring around a little. Just so Spring gets the upper hand back for the weekend cookout and that five hundred mile trip on Sunday.

I didn't put a smile on the sun today, but that shouldn't keep you from finding astonishment on a Monday.

Gusto Baby.......

May 18th, 2025

   I used to sit on the porch with my Oldman. He’d have a cigarette in his mouth, a glass of Liebfraumilch nearby, and Dick Buckley’s jazz program playing softly on the radio.

We did that for years. At first, I sipped lemonade. As time passed, I joined him with a glass of sweet German wine.

Last night, George sat beside me on the balcony while jazz records spun on the turntable. I don’t know if he will look back one day and smile at the memory of Frank Sinatra or Bill Evans playing in the background.... him with his lemonade, me with my martini, but I hope he does.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, I was transported to the sunsets long ago on Lombard Avenue. After George left, Sinatra’s voice came in smooth and steady: “It was a very good year.” Count Basie’s band backed him up like old friends.

I’ve grown up with that song. I was seventeen. I was twenty-one. I was thirty-five. And now, I suppose, I’m living in the autumn of my year.

That song will outlive us. It will be adopted and reinterpreted by the generations that follow. Because it happened fast.... it always does. One day you're the kid with lemonade; the next, you're the man with the martini. And another father and son are listening to records together.

Sooner than later, 2025 will be a very good year.

Even when life hands us stupid, frustrating, heartbreaking moments.... just look back.

Count it anyway.

It was still a good year.

Years are numbered. Children turn into senior citizens in the blink of an eye. Radio legends sign off for the last time. But through it all... it was a very good year.

The Cubs took game two of the Crosstown Classic. They’ve got a shot at a sweep today unless the Sox play spoiler. My eyes, though, are on the Pacers. They are just two series away from becoming the only team in history to win both an ABA and an NBA title. Hicks vs. Knicks in the new millennium.

Yesterday started with laundry and ended with a martini. Today is Lionel Richie Day: easy… easy like Sunday morning.

Let the sun smile on you today. Be astonished.

Watch the world move — listen to the buzz of life — taste something that stirs a distant memory.

Bring on the bottom of May and may it be full of gusto.

May 17th, 2025

    Sometimes it feels like all I do is solve problems and worry about stupid shit. As I have aged, I have started taking the time to notice the lilacs blooming by my front stoop. The smell is a yearly reminder of the fresh start that spring can bring.

Four times a year, I carve out time to go sit by Buckingham Fountain and listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I always pick the same bench and take in the same view of the skyline from the seasonal angle…

…Chicago blooming in spring, dancing in the summer, bursting in autumnal glory, and softening for the winter bite.

That’s not solving life…..

….That’s experiencing it.

Today, I’m going to slice a fresh loaf of bread and watch my friends play rugby. Two things that I love to do.

The weather will still be windy. Spring’s volatility continues, as warm fronts and cold fronts maul for position. Even nature is trying to solve a few problems while reminding us to experience the gusto.

The Cubs throttled the Sox yesterday up at Wrigley. I once thought that to be a problem, but when I realized I can’t solve bad pitching and poor batting….

Ah Fuck it, it’s only a game and hey, we got the Pope!

Go be astonished and don’t blow away.

May 16th, 2025

        "I’m glad I woke up for this.”

It’s a line that works both ways....

...dripping with sarcasm or bursting with gratitude. I’ll choose the latter this morning.

There’s something about waking up early… watching the sunrise, sipping hot coffee, and making the bed like it’s a fresh start every day. Today is National Classic Movie Day, and I’ll tip my hat to my favorite, "Casablanca." It never gets old.

We’ve hit the midpoint of May. Memorial Day is on the horizon, and summer is knocking at the screen door.

To all you Chalkheads out there...

...may your weekend be filled with planted flowers, grilled ribs, and the kind of love that makes you say, sincerely, “I’m glad I woke up for this.”

May 15th, 2025

 Today's quote challenges the illusion that we have ownership of our lives, of our souls, of the blood pumping through our tampered hearts.

We really don't own these things that we fret about on a daily basis. We don't own the people that we worry about and we definitely don't have ownership on our breathing time.

Possessions rust, relationships shift, money moves and youth fades.

Through the 21,503 days since I first met my Ma and Oldman, I've learned not to grip so hard, so my hands are open for better things... things that I will never own, but should experience passionately and faithfully.

Today's vocab word down in the Grabber section is Vociferous. It is an adjective that means loud, passionate and forceful. Think of the guy at the end of the bar yelling about the Bears' offensive line or the Blackhawks horrible skating and passing.

Today, Chicagoland is bracing for summer like heat with highs soaring towards ninety. Be prepared for severe thunderstorms this afternoon and evening. These storms could bring damaging winds, large hail, and even isolated tornadoes.

...may your day be calm as the skies will not be.

May 14th, 2025

  I chalked down this quote right after I climbed out of bed this morning. The moon peeking through the clouds as it starts to wane into gibbous.

Everyday starts with my feet hitting the ground. I don't have to be perfect, but I do need to believe that the day is worth living.

The Indiana Pacers pulled off a gutsy win last night...

...not because they were perfect, but because they never played like they were beaten.

Belief doesn’t put points on the board, but doubt sure as hell keeps them off. Show up sharp today and something astonishing will pinch your ass.