January 10th, 2026

 I chalked a lyric most of us know, but for people in Indiana it isn't background music.

Front porches bring back memories for Hoosiers. Churning ice cream with your great aunts. Watching trucks go by with your great uncle. Listening to the ball game with gramma on the radio while grampa sat there smoking his pipe while reading the grain prices in the local newspaper.

Life in Indiana is about Faith, home cooking, hard work, family and community. I better not forget basketball.

Why does a kid from Chicago come off well read on the Hoosier State?

My maternal family comes from The Hoosier State. I lived all of those things on the front porch. I detasseled corn, I prayed before a meal, I swam in a crick. I went to the 500 and to the State Fair.

Last night the state of Indiana witnessed the Indiana Hoosiers win a big football game. They are one win from a National Football Championship. Hoosier fans grew accustomed to basketball championships, but football was always a losing proposition.

The head coach told a reporter when asked how remarkable this winning season has been. He replied that his team was zero and zero. Take one game at a time and if there was one thing I lived during my Exile in Indiana. Take one day at a time and take that day with Faith, Family and Friends near your side.

When you wake up tomorrow and the next day and the next, you are 0-0. Somedays we finish 1-0 and some we go 0-1. Most days we go 0-0 from start to finish and that isn't so bad.

I plan on having a winning record when I go to the Promised Land.

January 9th, 2026

    There are days when the story doesn’t arrive on time. No clever opening and no clean ending. Just the date, the temperature, and the quiet routine of a January morning doing what it always does. Today was one of those days.

Short daylight on a rainy windy day. Another Friday that looks like a hundred others before it. The numbers show up whether we do or not... 7:18 a.m., 4:39 p.m., 42 degrees. The world keeps moving without asking how we feel about it.

Then the human voice enters.

Not with a grand statement and sometimes without any answers. Just a presence that can either be comforting or it could be pitched with terror. After 21,742 days on this earth, I have learned that showing up counts even when the words don’t line up as neatly as you would like.

Some days are meant to be recorded, not explained. Counted, but not decorated. A reminder that life isn’t a highlight reel. Life is a long, patient accumulation of ordinary mornings and unfinished thoughts.

Today is Day 21,742 of the Jumbo Shepley experience. Just another tricky day for me.

January 8th, 2026

 I can’t believe I had a crush on Blondie forty-five years ago.

Actually… it makes perfect sense.

The invitations to 60th birthday parties keep arriving, and suddenly 1981 feels close again. That was the year of sneaking beers into the basement and kissing sophomore girls. The year when fifteen felt like pressure, not promise.

The tide was high and the pressure was real, but we didn’t collapse. We kept hanging on.

Fifteen was an awkward age, all nerves and no instruction manual. I’m glad that I made it through. Not because it was easy, but because surviving it taught me something I still use. When the tide rises, you don’t panic, you hold your ground.

Sixty-eight days until Saint Patrick's Day. That isn't just a date to celebrate the Irish. That will be the day we have our first seven o'clock sunset. Sixty-eight days until Balcony cocktails at Happy Hour are in full force.

Happy Thursday Chalkheads.

January 7th, 2026

 There was a little sports shop tucked next to the El tracks by Wrigley Field. Just about every time I went to a Cubs game in the mid to late nineties, I would wander in there before heading home and buy a bobblehead.

They had a great selection, and they were probably ten bucks back then. Most of the time I was zipped up on a dozen Old Styles, give or take, so the purchase felt necessary, almost ceremonial.

Then I would catch the Howard line down going south into the Loop, transfer to the Congress, and head west out to Oak Park.

That stretch of steel and windows rattling through the city was time I had alone. Well, not exactly alone. I had my new bobblehead riding shotgun in a paper bag. I didn’t have a care in the world back then. Though, truth be told, I was still worrying about something.

It was the height of the nineties and the reckless Clinton years. The pits were full of traders and open outcry was roaring. The market opened at 7:20 in the morning and shut down at 2:00, period. When the bell rang, the day was done. Baseball was played in the afternoon and you used tokens on the CTA, not apps. Life had edges, but it also had more room.

Over time I built a decent collection of bobbles. When it was all said and done, I had fifteen to twenty. I still have the Houston Oilers and the Cleveland Indians. The rest disappeared somewhere along the way after I got married. Mostly after my bride asked why they were lined up on the dresser in our bedroom. Turns out I didn’t live in a bachelor pad anymore.

Back then, I had a lot of time alone. Just me and my bobbleheads. Hard work, softball games, cold beer, afternoon baseball and Sunday papers that were still thick with news. The world felt loud, but manageable.

The end of the world never came with Y2K....

...And I feel fine.

January 6th, 2026

 I don’t remember the last time I met the guys and played baseball in the park.

We didn’t stop and announce, "This is it, the last time we will ever do this together. We just went home, and somehow it became high school.

I don’t remember the last time I went to the diner with my daddy.

I don’t remember the last time my mommy held my hand.

Because endings don’t come with heads up. The last thing is almost never known to be the last thing at the moment it happens. Life slams doors, and life opens doors and we seldom know which door matters.

Today is the Epiphany, I go from the ending back to the beginning. In the beginning when the Three Kings showed up and brought gifts to the Christ child. His birth was announced with a star... not with a bang, but definitely not with a whimper.

Time to take the last ornament down and pack away the Nativity scene. Change out your green and red light bulbs for the colors of Mardi Gras season; green, gold and purple.

Stay dry today and go do things like it might be the last time...

... and do it with gusto.

January 5th, 2026

 The first Monday of January.

The holidays are over.

The noise is gone and for the next couple of months all there will be is routine, discipline and showing up. We have a long way until Memorial Day weekend, but the next 139 days will fly by quicker than we can run to the crapper when a fart is really a shart.

Monday won’t be so bad. At least it isn’t subzero and snowing. Go out there and find how much opportunity there is in 2026.

January 4th, 2026

 I’m not sure why I cluttered the grabber section with a countdown to Opening Day at Sox Park.

I didn’t go down there for a single game last year. I haven’t been to a home opener since before Covid. Let’s be honest about Opening day... the lines are longer than the innings: the pisser line, the beer line, the polish sausage line, and then the slow shuffle out the gates after another loss.

This team has dropped one hundred games two years in a row. The only reason to get excited right now is that we have the Pope on our side.

Most of the teams I follow suck ass.

The Blackhawks have been horrible since they dismantled the Stanley Cup roster.

The Bears have been a rolling circus since they fired Lovie Smith. This year finally feels different, a breath of fresh air, but my expectations aren’t sitting out there bare-assed and begging for disappointment.

I have been an Indiana Pacers fan since the ABA days. They made the championship last year, they lost. Just another brick added to the disappointment pile.

And speaking of Indiana...

I have no idea what the hell is happening with their football program. They bring a Bobby Knight-type football coach to Bloomington and suddenly they start winning. Winning football games like the Hurryin' Hoosiers once won basketball games.

I have my checkbook out for the Hoosiers now. My expectations are spending real money on this remarkable team, and I know exactly how dangerous that could be.

Here’s a surprise for you, Chalkheads. I even have a favorite soccer team...

…and they suck too.

I have followed West Ham United for years. Yesterday they lost to the team in dead last place. West Ham is sitting third from the bottom on the table themselves. In the English Premier League, the bottom three teams get relegated. In American terms, they get sent down to the minors.

Can you imagine if we did that here?

The Bears, Blackhawks, and White Sox would be playing teams from Peoria, Fort Wayne, and Grand Rapids.

Now here’s the thing... I am not giving up hope, because I don’t believe in hope. When it is all said and done, my teams end up losing their last game. Maybe I’m the common denominator here. I’m the guy hitting every red light. I’m the guy who picked the wrong drive-up lane.

And still…

I will continue to cheer for the Bears.

The Blackhawks.

The White Sox.

The Pacers.

The Hoosiers.

And the Hammers.

Like Brian Wilson once said, "so be true to your school, like you would to your girl or guy. Be true to your school now and let your colors fly."

Here we go, the first full week of 2026. Like sports, I am not expecting much going into the year. I am Preparing for the worst, but ready for the best.

Now go perform some astounding things this week, you deserving Chalkheads.

January 3rd, 2026

  The first Saturday of the New Year, and I thought we’d chalk some Billy Shakes.

Today’s quote comes from The Tempest, which has quietly become my favorite of his plays. The Bard is telling us that everything that has happened so far is just the setup. The story that matters is the one coming up next.

The past matters, but it shouldn’t define the ending. The past has broadened our strokes with every lap around the block we have taken. It has given us common sense and street smarts. It has also taught us how to love, and unfortunately, how to hate.

We have learned our routines, and when we dare to step outside of them, we learn something new about ourselves.

Experience should become our foundation, not our burden. Life is still being written every day. Sometimes it feels like writer’s block, but if we are willing to keep showing up, the story keeps growing one line at a time.

That short quote up on the Chalkboard reminds us to honor where we have been, but we sure as hell aren’t quite done just yet.

I woke up just before 2:22 a.m. to the smell of cigarette smoke. When that happens, it is usually my Ma paying a visit from heaven. Her way of letting me know she is still around.

Being up early gave me a front-row seat as the January Full Moon lit up the cloud cover. With a little luck, the clouds will break and I will catch a glimpse of the first supermoon of 2026. Jupiter is sliding across the sky, keeping close company next to the Wolf Moon.

If not this morning, we will get another shot Saturday night into Sunday morning.

The weather corner on the Morning Chalkboard doesn’t have a smiling sun today. Cold and cloudy over my neighborhood, but that is alright. I’m heading to the diner for breakfast with my boys, then off for haircuts. A small ritual we have been doing recently. One that will someday turn into a fond memory for the Shepley brothers.

Because the past will be their prologue too.

Go find astonishment and gusto today, you gorgeous Chalkheads.

January 2nd, 2026

It is one of those rare occasions when I have nothing to chalk about. Nothing on the radar to get worked up over. It is National Sci-Fi Day. Maybe a Twilight Zone Marathon tonight and a pizza. The sunsets will be at five o'clock by the end of the month and we have a full moon tomorrow. The January full moon is called the Wolf Moon.

Lets get this party started...

January 1st, 2026

First thing, I chalked the correct year this morning.

2026 looks weird up there. The first quote is from the first song I heard in 2026; a little John Prine is a good start to the year. Clay Pigeons from the Sweet Revenge album. The Mailman from Maywood told me to find truth in myself rather than searching for external answers.

I started to chalk down what I would like to do this year, but decided it was a worthless chore. Six months from today I turn sixty.

That gives me twenty to twenty-five years left of living. That puts me in heaven between 2046 and 2051… that may seem like a long time to live, but on the flip side, 2006 and 2001 seem like yesterday.

That makes ‘46 feel like this Saturday and ‘51 falls on Monday of next week. I better vacuum and throw away my Playboy collection if that’s the case.

A cold and cloudy start to the new year in Chicagoland. Looks like a crockpot and movie binging day with a couple football games to throw on top.

Listen you Chalkheads, don’t put pressure on yourself with a shit ton of New Year resolutions. Just stay in love with who you are. Don’t be a jagoff and make your bed. Other than that, the sun comes up and goes down. The four seasons bring astonishment, and faith is a source of inspiration and security.

One last thing…. Watch your sodium.