March 15th, 2023

      A Seer warned Julius Caesar to beware the Ides of March. He scoffed at her and blew it off. He was given a heads up that something bad might happen to him.

Life is full of warning signs. There are also good signs that happen to us as well.

Many signs come to me in the mystery of my faith. When my mom died I started finding dimes in the most uncommon places. Always at a good time to remind me of her love. Remind me that she is in a place that is safe. A place that I will someday be reunited with her and all the rest of my loved ones.

We have a customer at work. A two lot trader that has made a ton of money trading during his career. To protect his anonymity we will call him Danny Conrad.

My trading group could be working a five thousand lot order and a couple two hundred and fifty lot orders. The markets are moving and these orders have huge deltas.

Suddenly Danny Conrad calls my head trader and wants to talk about golf or boats and then buy a two lot back month call spread.

Shit is hitting the fan and Danny Conrad is calling.

It happens every time…. Every time!

We know when it’s busy Danny Conrad is going to call. He’s going to call and my head trader will treat him with respect and fill that two lot.

This is what we call “getting Danny Conraded”….

….It’s a sign from heaven that teaches us humility. It keeps us grounded. It shows that integrity must always dominate our lives.

“We just got Danny Conraded!”

When life has you in doubt. When you need a sign from heaven. When you need a good gut check…..

….expect a call from Danny Conrad!

“Jumbo…. It’s Danny Conrad. Beware the Ides of March big man.”

I will take that phone call every time and heed the warning.

So look for the signs. They are everywhere and they pop out when you least expect them. Signs will always appear at the most opportune time….

…look for them.

There is a sun on my Morning Chalkboard… it’s going to be a great day to spread love.

And expect life to send a “You got Danny Conraded!”

March 14th, 2023

       Happy Pi Day….. I’m not a math guy, but I do enjoy a good pie.

Pie is something that has always been around. I must have an apple pie around the Fourth of July. Pecan is my go to pie on thanksgiving, but I always look forward to receiving my Amy Weaver pumpkin pie.

Whenever I go deep into the State of Indiana I search for a Hoosier Sugar pie. The best ones are made along the Wabash River.

It would be disappointing if I didn’t mention my love for Tolegged peach pie. I can eat that pie all year long, all night long.

We all burned our mouths on the McDonalds pie when we were kids. My mom ended up doing me a favor. She wouldn’t let me eat my apple pie until I finished my cheeseburger and fries. That sucker was still hot.

Pies should never come in any container that involves plastic. The best pies come in a white box with white twine wrapped around all sides. Unless you come from a family of bakers. Then the best pies arrive on your Great Aunt’s lap as she drove over for a holiday. Still warm, wrapped in layers of wax paper and a sturdy tin from 1911.

I better give a shout out to Fasano Pies. A Chicago tradition for generations. The company almost shut down, but a former Board of Trade guy brought it back to life.

Have a good day today all you math geeks. Have a great day all you pie lovers.

March 13th, 2023

       Three years ago today I told dozens of colleagues that I’d see them in three weeks maybe four weeks at the most.

Three years ago today I worked on the trading floor of the Chicago Board of Trade for the last time. Covid closed the few remaining trading pits that still screamed. The grain markets never traded in an open outcry arena again.

Just a couple months prior was the beginning of the 2020’s. On that January 1st I was able to say that I worked on the trading floor for five decades.

1980’s, 1990’s, 2000’s, 2010’s and 2020’s. Albeit I only worked just over two months in the final decade.

I went from being a college student running orders to a divorced dad filling orders. Those five decades gave me a career, friendship and even a marriage.

I shook hands with Presidents, Governors, Mayors, Aldermen, Bears, Sox, Cubs, Blackhawks and even Joe DiMaggio stopped by and shook my hand.

I stood in the pit on a Tuesday morning in September of 2001 when planes fell out of the sky. We didn’t know what the next target was going to be. It felt like eternity until they finally stopped the trading session. I bolted for the Congress el and got out of the city.

I have a book of memories that I can pull from. My career went from standing in a pit with hundreds of people to standing at a desk with a few dozen.

Three years ago today ended a Chicago bedrock that lasted over one hundred and fifty years.

I never again would see most of those people that I told to be safe and that I would see in April.

The last trading floor that I worked on was sold to ComEd for pennies on the dollar.

A sad ending to a tradition that raised many families and enabled them to send their kids to college. A Chicago legacy that employed thousands of people and fed dozens of businesses.

The weekend has quickly ended. Several inches of snow ended up being just a dusting. NCAA brackets are set and the Ides of March is upon us.

Take a moment to read today’s quote. Life changes quickly, life gets older quickly… leave a trail of positive energy across a landscape of darkness.

Sunrise over Chicago

 Saturday March 11th had a brief sunrise before the sun slid under the low hanging cloud cover.

The sunrise has quickly crept its location as the days get longer. Six weeks ago the sun appeared across the South Shore. Recently the morning glow has been coming across the Museum Campus and Soldier Field.

Between March 18th and 22nd the sun will rise across the Loop. This will be the week of Chicagohenge.

Do yourself a favor and always know where the sun is located throughout the year. Not just the day, the year.

I can look at a picture of the Board of Trade, the Sears Tower, the Hancock and Buckingham Fountain and know the time of the day and usually the time of the year.

Many of you live in beautiful places. Homes near oceans, mountains and forests. I live on a steel grid and the sun brings glory to our streetscape.

"Here comes the sun and I say, it’s alright."

Barry Butler photo

March 12th, 2023

        The moon is always somewhere within the darkness of night. Some nights you need to look hard to find the glow. Other nights the moon casts shadows on the nighttime prairie.

The moon symbolizes something different for all of us. It’s always there throughout the month. It’s always there throughout the year. It’s always there throughout our lifetime.

When I miss someone I look at the moon knowing the person I miss can see the same moonlight.

Always know where the moon is and you’ll never be a stranger. You will never be alone.

There is a light dusting of snow on this cold Sunday morning. Somewhere behind the thickness of clouds is the waning gibbous of a moon. If we have a sunrise this morning it will be out later than it was yesterday morning.

Daylight savings time has begun.

Make sure to change your clocks this morning. While you are at it make sure the batteries are fresh in the fire detectors, the television remote and your neck massage device. The one tucked in the corner of the nightstand.

Also, today is the day to trim the winter growth. Just be cautious and manscape carefully. One careless knick and you’ll be bleeding until dinner.

Today brings later daylight, Scotland versus Ireland and the Southside Irish Parade.

This week brings the Ides of March. I’ll be your vehicle baby.

Never give up….

There will always be a moonbeam when you need one.

Don’t stop searching for its glow.

March 11th, 2023

 This is what I’m talking about…. It’s one of the first questions on job interviews, I mean first dates.

“What are some of your favorite things in life?”

Well I’m doing it right now… waking up early on a Saturday or Sunday and fixing a pot of coffee. I get up before the sun and I write or I read.

I’m not talking a Mr Coffee or one of those fancy pod thing a ma jigs. I’m old school…. I have a percolator, a French press and an Italian stovetop.

I don’t go through the motions or set timers when it comes to coffee. Coffee should be like sex…..Foreplay, intercourse and orgasm.

Coffee is like an opera. It should have an orchestral overture, solo arias and recitatives.

Most of the time I like my coffee strong and black and occasionally I like it creamy.

A sunrise is more spectacular when coffee is involved. Poems are easier to comprehend with a cup of coffee. Morning sex should always be followed with coffee….. and a danish, definitely some bacon and a mimosa.

This morning I put beans in the grinder, boiled water and used the French Press. Strong and black like number thirty four.

I have a Saturday scheduled for alone time. I need to dust, vacuum and do laundry. I really should get on the train and go into the city and watch the river turn green.

Before I do anything I’m going to finish my coffee and this William Wordsworth poem that today’s quote comes from.

Saturday is rugby day. Carry them home England…..

It is also Big Ten Basketball semifinal day. Good luck to the Hurryin’ Hoosiers and the Mighty Boilermakers. An all Indiana final tomorrow would be like something out of a movie.

.....And movies for this weekend, “Hoosiers” and “The Quiet Man” are fitting for this dreary March weekend.

Layer up today because thirties in March are always colder than teens in February…

March 10th, 2023

One of you had a post that said, “When did I get to be the same age as old people?”

That is a horrible thing to see on Facebook. Don’t post crap like that! Post pictures of food or of you at the Blackhawks game in your Roenick away sweater.

This weekend Facebook will be saturated with pictures of the Chicago River turning green. A great Chicago tradition that’s been around since 1961. It will be a great Saint Patrick’s weekend in the city by the Lake.

From Beverly to Portage Park, thirty three year old girls named Colleen will be reliving their Irish Dancing days. Oh the green beer and Jamo will be flowing in Lakeview this weekend.

The Granddaddy of Chicago Irish is Sunday, The Southside Irish Parade. Everyone will be going to Five O’clock mass on Saturday so they can get a head start on Sunday. Western Avenue on a cold Sunday afternoon in March will be lit up in green. By five o’clock the Chicagonese accent will be replaced by Irish brogues. Pipefitters will be singing “Danny Boy” and Tin Knockers will be quoting “The Quiet Man.”

Everyone from all sides of Chicago including Oak Park and Evanston should experience one Southside Irish parade in their lifetime.

This does not include people from Naperville, Schaumburg or Barrington. You probably should stay home and watch the golf show.

This also includes Big Ten transplants living in Lincoln Park. You came down in the XRT bus one year and they had to cancel the parade for several years. Stay at Kinkades and watch your F’ing Jayhawks.

Who knows what kind of March snow is coming this weekend? It’s a crap shoot….

….just know opening day is right around the corner. Wrigley opens at the end of the month and Comiskey shines at the beginning of April.

If you do a Jamo shot this weekend, back it with a shot of pickle juice. It makes the next morning less painful.

Happy Green all you Chalkheads!

March 9th, 2023

        I liked today’s quote when I picked it out. Once I saw it up on the chalkboard, I realized I just made my morning difficult. It would be very hard not to get into politics, civil rights, and justice with this quote.  

                  So, before I start talking about meatballs I’m just going to say one word…..

            Respect. 

           Half of you just started singing some Aretha Franklin. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
                           If we want to bring ourselves into 2024 and get distance from the Covid Era, we must work on respecting each other.  Respect each other and maybe we can finish this decade with some peace and understanding.
                                    Okay…… it’s National meatball day. I’ve come a long way with my relationship with meatballs. From those first little meatballs simmering in brown gravy in my mom’s crockpot to a meatball sandwich wrapped tightly in several layers of white deli paper.      
           Many years ago, I stood on the rail of the five-year note pit with an eight inch Fontanos. It had hot giardiniera and mozzarella folded neatly around three luscious balls of meat. Just enough red gravy to coat the meat and Italian bread.
I unwrapped this deli delight and started to devour it right there in the trading pit. Bite by bite, no crumbs or sauce hit the ground. I kept a stack of napkins in the pocket of my trading coat. Just In case…..
     One hand was a Fontanos meatball sub and the other hand were bids and offers. I was quoting the market to a wall of customers and enjoying a sandwich simultaneously.
                   Food wasn’t allowed on the floor, so I had to be cautious of any guards lurking around. Eating on the trading floor was a five hundred dollar fine.
       Slowly my sandwich was disappearing as the market was three bid at four, trading fours, four bid, fours trading back offered at four.
            The fingers of my left hand never missed the market go four bid. While my right hand was holding my lunch tightly.
             The customers on the trading floor were quietly watching me do my job and eat a meatball sub. Never missing the beat or making a mess. Fortunately, this was before cell phones with cameras, or I would be on YouTube to this day.
            Phone clerks standing at their desks on the floor were quoting their customers. They were also explaining to them that their five-year arb clerk was eating a Chicago delicacy. The entire financial community was watching the interest rates and me eat my lunch.
              Morgan Bank, Merrill Lynch, Deutsche Bank and Goldman Sachs were all informed of the meatball sub getting devoured while the yield curve was bending behind me.
           Once I took that last bite. That last piece of crusty bread covered in red gravy. Clean fingers, clean chin, clean trading pit. I balled up the white deli paper and threw it in the garbage can and the floor erupted in ovation.
             That entire side of the Board of Trade bond room cheered for what they just witnessed. I filled a dozen orders, quoted the market and destroyed an eight-inch meatball sub from Fontanos.
          From a little boy eating Swedish meatballs on Christmas Eve to an arb clerk quoting a financial futures contract. Meatballs have been a passion that evoke fond memories.
          So after yesterday’s difficult National Women’s Day treat yourself to a meatball sandwich.
            Six inches is too small. Twelve is too much. Peppers are a must, and a slice of cheese holds it together better.
                                          Happy Thursday Chalkheads! 

               Chicagoland has another massive snowstorm approaching. Let’s hope it’s like the ten inches we received last week.

March 8th, 2023

      The full moon fell behind a thin line of clouds this morning. The muted glow was still glorious across the early morning sky.

I was standing on my balcony doing my morning fat guy tai chi thinking about the quote I just chalked up onto the board. All I could think about is routine. My daily routine now and how it has evolved through the years.

One of the reasons my marriage failed was two different routines shared the same bed. Our routines never managed to get into sync.

I like my routine… I like how it changed when George moved in permanently. Making his lunch and listening to music cuts down on chubby cheek yoga, but it still gives me a satisfaction of accomplishment.

Routine must have accomplishment or it’s just a stagnant shuffle.

When I moved to Riverside I started making my bed first thing. It’s still made when I return. That is a great accomplishment with rewarding results at the end of the day.

My routine took a big hit when they closed our beloved trading floor. I took a train to work for over thirty years. I rarely drove into the city. I would love to get on the Lake Street and go back to the Board of Trade. That ship has sailed.

I like routine.

You’ve heard me say how I know where the sun and moon are throughout the year. That’s a routine…

I don’t care if clouds get in the way. Shadows will still fall and moon glow will still shine. Maybe not today, but they will.

So many of you have told me how the Chalkboard has become part of your routine. That gives me a feeling of accomplishment that puts gusto in my life.

I’m really looking forward for the summer. I don’t know what changes will come to my routine.

…….just as long as Faith, Family, Friends and White Sox wins are involved.

March 7th, 2023

         I have the three Shepkids assigned to Guardian Angels. My mom and Gramma cover Hazel. My dad has Fritz and my Grampa the Baker has George. This gives me the confidence to send them into the dangerous world of Chicagoland Suburbia.

I had a Great Aunt Barbara who was my Grampa John’s sister. Grampa John is the baker who watches George. Let’s not get Aunt Barbara confused with Aunt B who is Barbie, my mom’s sister.

Aunt Barbara was a nurse at the Old Saint Vincent’s in Indianapolis. She was probably born in the late 1890’s and was retired by the time I came on the scene.

She lived in a small apartment in a building on the near Northside of Indianapolis. the neighborhood was turning “colored” when I met Aunt Barbara.

Her building was from the old black and white era of movies and television. It had a three person elevator that scared the living shit out of me. It was a cage on a rope more or less.

Aunt Barbara had an apartment that wasn’t made for a young boy. She did have a porcelain cigarette holder with thin chocolate cigarettes in it. She never let her great nephew have one though.

I hated when we had to go to Aunt Barbara’s. It was boring, it was depressing, it was a living mausoleum. She was a single retired nurse. I often heard a whispered word, “lesbian” spoken about Aunt Barbara. She was strict, always well dressed and very Catholic.

One time I was being a jag off when she was visiting her niece Cecilia up in Chicago. She picked open my bedroom door and took it off and put my door in the hallway.

I didn’t like this Aunt Barbara. Aunt Barbara died in 1980 when I was in eighth grade. Man, I was so happy we never had to go to Aunt Barbara’s apartment ever again.

I often thought if Aunt Barbara was a little younger or lived a little longer…. She would have been one of my favorites. Unfortunately that didn’t happen.

Sooooooo, last night when I was praying to the host of dead relatives, Aunt Barbara stopped by to say hello.

I thought this was perfect.

“Aunt Barbara, can you do me a favor?”

“Can you keep your heavenly eye on my ex wife?

“She’s in a bad period in her life and needs the guidance of a retired nurse who might have liked other nurses.”

Aunt Barbara accepted the job and is now my ex wife’s new Guardian Angel.

Yes…. I just prayed to my dead Great Aunt to watch over my ex wife. It’s a match made in heaven.

Maybe Aunt Barbara won’t bogart all the chocolate cigarettes with the Shepkids mom?

I’m a firm believer in this program that heaven offers. The deceased relatives guardian Angel program has been a God sent for me.

We all have relatives in heaven that get bored with eternal peace. You should get them back involved and sign them up to watch your back. Watch your children when you can’t.

Think about it…. Pray about it….

It really does give you the security that you need.

Do you recognize today’s quote? One of the co writers just passed away. One of my favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd songs.

The Worm moon passes over us today. The March clouds are not cooperating with our view.

In fact March is scheduled to act like late February these next few days.

I wish I had a dead uncle that was a meteorologist. I could pray to him about the weather I don’t like….

“Baby, be a simple kind of man…..”