October 14th, 2023

      It was a hate groups biggest wet dream last night on the “Wheel of Fortune.” There was an Asian guy named Jack. In the middle was a black girl, Deztiny and on the right was Anthony, who seemed gay.

Jack had a dark suit, a bow tie and an American baritone accent. Deztiny wore a colorful maternity dress and had a beautiful smile. Anthony was a strapping man with a tight dress shirt on that expressed his muskuls!

Hazel was laying on the couch playing Roblox and I was sitting in my chair solving puzzles.

I decided that these interesting contestants gave me an opportunity to test racism on Hazel.

Jack called out for his letter with a booming voice. Vanna ended up turning three “T’s” and in a mocking voice I said,

“Oh, you give Chinaman his tree teeze, pease!”

Hazel looked over her phone and told me that wasn’t very nice to say.

Next up was Deztiny…. She picked an “n.”

So I said, “That’s crazy how black people always pick “n” on the Wheel!”

My ten year old asked me when I suddenly became a racist.

Deztiny picked an “n” on the next puzzle.

“I told you Hazel! Every time! Every time! The letter “n.”

Now I’m being told by a fifth grader to find something better to do with my time than make prejudice remarks.

Finally Anthony gets his turn at the wheel of hatred. Anthony picks a letter in the puzzle and then decides to buy a vowel.

“May I buy the letter ‘I’ please?”

So in a feminine voice I say,

"Patrick honey, can you give me an “I” sweety?”

“DAD !!!! It doesn’t matter who or how you love other people! STOP acting mean!”

I let Hazel in on my little experiment of “The Wheel of Hate” and she wasn’t very happy with dad.

She was still a little pissed off when I tucked her in. We both agreed that hatred is ugly and as I turned off the light I said, “May I please buy the vowel “I”…. As in ‘I love you HayHay!’”

“Good night dad! Enjoy the couch!”

I walked to the couch feeling happy about raising good kids. Hazel would flip out if I told her how we said, "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe" back in the 1970’s. The world is getting a little better with time.

It’s up to you and me to continue setting good examples!!!

That’s my lesson in life story for Saturday, October 14th.

Make sure you wear your Mack in the pouring rain today! Don’t be strange like the banker down the lane…

Saturday is rugby day. I root for all the Six Nation teams. The northern hemisphere teams….

I gotta stand in the rain for a parade today, go to a football game in the rain today and take Fritz to his first homecoming dance.

I hope he isn’t hiding a bunch of Little Kings out in the woods like his dad did at freshman homecoming. Though I did make out and get to second base that night! Good luck tonight Fritzyboy!

October 13th, 2023

 My Oldman often said that opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one and they usually stink.

So these next four paragraphs have been deleted.

Let’s get through Friday the 13th and enjoy a good weekend!

I can’t change the world, but I can change my underwear.

I can also throw a few ingredients into a crockpot and make a delicious meal.

And that is what I’m gonna do this weekend….

Buy new underwear and make a pot roast!

October 12th, 2023

       I slept hard, my ears rang and the layer of saltiness was thick in my mouth when I woke up.

That all went away when I heard the rain firmly beating against the wet gutters. The gray skies will cover the last morning when the crescent and Venus are inches apart from each other.

Just before I woke up, I was sitting at a cold dinner table with a white table cloth. The bright light shined straight down on the sterile cloth. Away from the table only shadows and darkness covered the walls.

I was sitting at the table with a loose fitting t-shirt that was musty and worn. Over my shirt was a cheap fabric suit coat that showed years of use. The lapels were large and it fit like a child wearing his father’s clothes.

Four or five people sat at the table. Two of whom I could recognize. Each person had a large brown grocery bag in front of them. The bags were tightly rolled closed and magic marker was scribbled on the sides.

Each person handed me their bag and I said...

“this is so wonderful … I haven’t received a birthday present in so long.”

We then ate thinly sliced white cake with white frosting. As I ate my cake the members of the party left one at a time. They took their brown bags with them as they departed.

I was left alone at the table with just the plates with half eaten cake on each setting. I stood up from the table and realized I was wearing pajamas under my wrinkled coat.

The walls were still shadowed with only the white reflection from the table Illuminating the room. Everyone had left, but I still thanked the empty room for visiting.

That is when I woke up hard with my ears ringing and my taste salty.

Back in the safety of my home with the October rain falling softly outside.

It’s going to be a rainy commute this morning. Always fun driving when the road is slick and Betty’s tires are balding. Wags, who I have designated my traffic light guardian Angel will get Betty and I safely to the trading office.

Thursday might be a tough day to put the smile on the sun. Take all measures to put yourself in the right position to get this done…

The new phenom on the Blackhawks scored his first NHL goal last night. Announcing the game was a former member of the team. He reminisced of the day he scored his first goal at the old Chicago Stadium.

Time sure has gone by quickly since Eddie Olczyk lit the lamp that night.

LATER IN THE MORNING. 

     Betty and I raced along a wet 31st street trying to catch the tail end of the green light at 1st avenue.

The light quickly turned yellow with no chance of clearing the intersection.

So I stopped and muttered, “shit, fuck, damn, fuck, fuck!!!”

From the other lane I hear…

“HEY, Hey Jumbo! You know if this light stayed green a little longer… I wouldn’t get the chance to say hello to you!”

I looked over and saw the friendly face of Jerry Owen.

The rest of the ride out to work was peaceful as I was reminded how lucky a man is who has great friends.

October 11th, 2023

 Instead of writing at 3:30 in the morning, I’m going for a brisk walk. I’m going to look for Venus and the tiny crescent to rise over the East.

Yesterday might have been the closest they’ll get to each other, but the Wednesday morning sky is to crisp not to witness.

Maybe I’ll run into tattoo runner?

Remember to put the smile on the sun today!

October 10th, 2023

My dad and I drove up to Rogers Park when I was in my mid twenties. He was picking up something from one of his railroad colleagues.

When we arrived at the home I noticed several Jewish pieces displayed throughout the living room. My dad reintroduced me to his dear friend. A man that I have met a dozen times since I was a toddler. We walked back into the kitchen to find two other gentleman sitting at the cramped table and a lady serving them passionately. She welcomed my dad with a huge hug and kiss and turned to me.

“I haven’t seen this handsome replica of Donald Shepley since he was in his Buster Brown's.”

We all sat around the kitchen table that was stacked with pastries, bagels, bialys, smears, lox and breads.

Five big men sitting in a cramped kitchen at a table that could feed fifteen big men. This was one of the first times as an adult that I sat with these old railroad guys.

They made fun of each other, they told stories, they ate and they ate and they laughed.

“Donald… remind me that I have soup for you to bring home.”

The lady of the house pointed at a container that was a bit smaller than a fifty five gallon drum.

She had a big smile on her face, “Do you think that will be enough Hun?”

That little kitchen was like heaven!

I was watching my dad in his element while getting fed a huge meal.

One of the gentlemen reached over me to grab a plate of onions and exposed his forearm. Etched on his arm was a series of faded numbers. The numbers were sloppily tattooed on his weather beaten skin.

My dad must have realized what I just saw and immediately asked me to pass the chive cream cheese. I handed it to him…. he was giving me that piercing stare to move along.

After an hour and a half in the kitchen, we spent another two hours in the study. We looked at old railroad books, drawings of steam locomotives and schedules of trains that no longer existed.

As the morning turned into afternoon we had to sit back down in the cramped kitchen. Lunch included deli sandwiches and more dessert. My dad and I finally got back into his Cadillac around 3:30 that afternoon. I carefully put the huge container of “Jewish Penicillin” in the backseat.

My dad drove me back to my apartment in Oak Park. We listened to the old radio shows on WNIB as the Oldman mastered the Chicago Grid.

The Oldman turned the radio off and told me the tattoo on his older colleagues arm was a gift from the fucking nazis.

“We don’t talk about that son.”

What was once a great day turned into a solemn moment. The rest of the ride home was quiet.

When I got out of the car in front of my building my dad yelled,

“Make sure you get your big ass over to the house tomorrow. I’ll need your help putting a dent in Mim’s chicken soup!”

We never again talked about that tattoo. It haunts me to this day how a man had to live with that mark for the rest of his life.

….and it is because of that Saturday up on the northside of Chicago that I will always support Israel.

October 9th, 2023

   The first thing that I saw this morning was the low hanging crescent moon in the eastern sky. It was waning perfectly outside my bedroom window.

I was looking forward to a weekend without Bears football and a Monday morning without dissecting a loss. Unfortunately something else has occurred. An event much more tragic than a three touchdown loss to Greenbay.

It just so happened that a war broke out over the weekend. I have a dear friend who lost a family friend in this heinous attack.

On Saturday he texted his parents, “I love you” and “I am sorry.” That was the last time his parents heard from him.

A young man who just turned twenty three last week and was celebrating the Jewish holiday with his friends. He was an American who was in Israel to fulfill his military duty. This young man drove tanks, but was also learning to become a medic.

I would be so proud to have a son who possessed such a deep passion and strong Faith. Now his proud parents live in grief at the loss of their son, Hersh.

I told my friend that I will talk to my father about the tragic loss that hit so close to home. My Oldman replied to my prayers that he will give Hersh a hug when he sees him. He said that Hersh probably isn’t expecting some gregarious goyim to welcome him to the peace of eternal rest, but he will still hug him tightly.

I’d rather go into the office today and talk about Justin Fields losing the game. I’m not looking forward to the conversations centered around the start of another war.

I looked back out at the waning crescent moon after talking with my dad. I thought about the place beyond that satellite where we will all end up together someday. It is a place built on my Judeo-Christian Faith. A place that has given peace to young Hersh this weekend.

The world is full of shit. That is why It’s our duty to put the smile on the sun…..

Oh and Dad….

Hersh probably will keep Kosher up there.

So don’t take him for a cheeseburger!

October 8th, 2023

 The second night with the extra blanko went much better than the first night. Last night I ended up in an unplanned cocoon…. folded in tightly with each side of the blankets smothered under my big ass.

Sunday morning with the window opened and a gray sky covering the East. I’m listening to my blues program on WDCB thinking about a dozen and a half life situations.

Probably the same dozen and a half life situations that many of you are facing.

I’m not sure if I won that Powerball lottery, I’ll have to check my ticket later. I didn’t watch any football yesterday, so I’ll have to check the scores. I didn’t watch any news yesterday though I heard Israel was attacked by terrorists. I’m gonna keep the news at the off position until Sunday evening.

George hung out with PopPop yesterday and the redheads are at their mom’s house this weekend. I was able to watch rugby over at The James Joyce Irish Pub.

It was a good mix of Irish fans, a couple England fans and a fine looking couple from Scotland. The bar was full of passion and laughter. The Joyce is definitely a terrific place to watch rugby.

Not an eventful Morning Chalkboard today… might be foreshadowing what Sunday brings?

The Bears aren’t playing today… so we won’t have crappy football to watch.

I’m gonna make some bacon for Georgie and me. Followed by a pot of coffee made with Puerto Rican beans that I bought at Puros Birriel yesterday.

…and if you are wondering, I will not be running in the Chicago Marathon today. I might jump in Betty the Green Blazer and take George to Parky’s for a hotdog though.

Looking at the weather forecast for today… it’s going to be up to all you Chalkheads to put the smile on the sun today.

Have a fanfuckingtastic Sunday and a safe and healthy week.

October 7th, 2023

     George was up with me early on Friday. He had the day off from school and likes to take adventures into the city on his vacation days.

He packs a bag with his cameras, film and lenses and gets on the Metra. Yesterday he was on the 5:24 out of Riverside that arrives at Union Station before six o'clock.

George won’t become the next Barry Butler and that is because George sees Chicago a little differently. George sees our great city on the lake through the Spectrum. His angles and lighting are different than Barry Butler’s. His subjects are different and George does it all on film. He told me one time that digital forgives, film doesn’t.

He wanted to go down on October sixth and catch the sunrise on the lake. He wanted to take a picture of the Chicago Theater in the light of dawn and he wanted to snap a shot of The Bean under construction.

That is the beauty of looking through the Spectrum. Somehow George will find an angle with a construction cone in front of Cloud Gate. He will see the hard edges of the scaffolding reflecting off of the Bean and somehow make it look like the Eiffel Tower.

George will then walk over to the CTA and see rapid transit through the Spectrum. He might go up to Skokie or over to O’Hare. He might go down to Midway.

Wherever his adventure takes him, he will capture it on film. He will record Chicago in early October of 2023 in a way we wouldn’t have.

My Georgie has come a long way since eating wood chips at the playground.

On his way home he will stop at the McDonald’s inside of Union Station. He will get his same meal that costs $13.57. George likes that McDonald’s because everyone knows him there. Even though his father has told him it’s more expensive at that location.

Typical Shepley, everyone knows us wherever we go. All the conductors on the Metra. All of the Motormen on the CTA. Even the guys at the cigar shop know Little Jumbo.

George won’t be Barry Butler…

…Because he will be too busy being George Shepley, Film photographer on the Autistic Spectrum.

Oh baby! We have a gorgeous autumn Saturday right here for the taking. Ireland versus Scotland this afternoon. I hope they manage a score that enables them both to move on to the next round. Knocking current champion, South Africa out of the tournament.

I definitely have a hotdog on my dance card today.

Get out there you Chalkheads and put the smile on the sun…

October 6th, 2023

     It had to be around the second grade when I first played in a neighborhood football game. One of the fourth grade kids took me under his wing and explained where to stand and what to do.

I was wearing my street clothes, but a couple of the kids from the parish were still wearing their school uniforms. My Oldman would have killed me if he caught me outside after school in my nice pants and dress shirt.

The kids kept calling the grass next to the playground the gridiron. It seemed large at the time. I stopped back twenty years later and it was about the size of three basketball courts lined up next to each other. Back in the day it was as big as Soldier Field.

All the older kids were arguing about who was going to be Dick Butkus. Everyone wanted to be Dick Butkus, even the black kids. Actually one of the black kids was a Viking fan. He wanted to be Alan Page. I didn’t know that black kid because he went to the public school, but nobody liked him. Not because he was black, but because he was a Viking fan and an Atlanta Braves fan.

That was the great thing that I recall from our youth. A time before we discovered racism. I thought all black people liked the Vikings until I was in fifth grade. That’s when the black kids all wanted to be Walter Payton.

The late afternoon sun was at a low autumn angle. The air was cold, but our jackets were all piled up on the side. That weekday afternoon was the first time I touched a leather football in a real neighborhood game. It had “The Duke” stamped on one side. I knew on that day what I wanted for Christmas in 1973.

The early sunset of fall was quickly settling in on our football game. The mom of the kid who eventually got to play Dick Butkus called him in for dinner. That triggered the next “I’m Dick Butkus” argument. Obviously the next number fifty one was one of the older kids.

By the time my mom called me out of the game I was a seasoned Chicago Bear. The last three kids left were me, the black kid who played Alan Page and the big kid who owned “The Duke.” My dad referred to that kid's family as the Lugans. A couple years later I realized they were Lithuanian and their name was Stankevicius.

I walked home that day a little bit older, a little bit more confident about myself. That night I wore my Chicago Bears helmet to bed. One of my dad’s railroad buddies gave it to me. It was his son’s helmet that he outgrew. It had a white “C” on both sides. Just like the one Dick Butkus wore.

My first season of neighborhood football was the last season Butkus roamed the gridiron at Soldiers Field. It didn’t matter to me because Butkus was the only defensive player that I wanted to be.

I’d do anything to still have that old Bears helmet. I’d do anything to find those guys from that football game at the park. I’d do anything to walk home and have dinner with my parents and tell them that I wanted a football for Christmas.

Rest in Peace Mr. Butkus. You get to run around heaven with new knees today. Slap Bill Munson in the mouth and any other Detroit Lion players that you come across on heavens gridiron.

October 5th, 2023

      You’re wondering why the October Fifth Chalkboard has a quote about growing flowers. Autumn just began a little over a week ago. Why not a quote about the leaves turning brilliant colors?

For me, I grow flowers every Wednesday.

Every Wednesday for the last six years I get the Shepkids. Wednesday and every other weekend is the agreement for custody. That means every other Monday and every Thursday morning I wake up in a mixed bag of emotions. It’s Thursday morning, which makes today’s Chalkboard even more therapeutic.

The Princess of Hensdale set it up on Google Calendar where it shows “Mom’s weekend” and “Dad’s weekend.” It shows this pattern for as long as Google Calendar extends.

If someone invites me to a rugby game in November or a Wedding in January… I open Google Calendar and see who’s weekend these events fall upon.

I can go to the Fourth of July in 2046 and see if I have the Shepkids that weekend. The Shepkids will all be in their thirties on that Fourth of July, but at least I can still plan ahead.

I have two calendars in my kitchen. George has a calendar hanging in his room. There is a calendar hanging over Hazel’s bed and one over Fritz’s bed. At Christmas I buy the Shepkids a calendar with a theme that was big in their life the year before. I’ve been doing this the last few years.

My Gramma in Indianapolis use to give me a calendar. Usually she gave me the one Kroger's gave her. A couple of years she gave me her extra Christ the King calendar. In 1981 she gave me an Indiana Pacers calendar. Man, I wish I still had that one.

In 2016 I had a calendar from a girls rugby team in England. They were all nude, but in a discreet manner. Twelve months of gorgeous woman with rugby balls placed perfectly to cover up their girl parts. That was the last full year of my marriage. I had a calendar with naked hookers and props. My wife had a couple boyfriends.

The 2023 calendar for Hazel is Turtles. Fritz has a calendar with twelve pictures of the Moon and George has a calendar from the CTA. I have a calendar from Riverside Foods hanging by the chalkboard. On the icebox hangs one the guys from The James Joyce gave me.

We have all these fricking calendar’s hanging around the flat and the only one that really matters is The Google Calendar.

I can’t make big plans for New Years Eve in 2039. I have the Shepkids that weekend. Just so you know December 31st, 2039 falls on a Saturday night. The 2040’s start on a Sunday. I looked it up on the Google calendar. You can’t get that at Riverside Food!

Hopefully I’ll still be living in my three flat in the Divorced Dads District in Riverside on New Year’s Eve in 2039. I better mark that on my Google calendar.

The weather pattern changes today.

Our Indian summer week is ending on a day the Bears play the team formerly known as the Redskins.

Do you know you can program the Bears schedule on the Google calendar app?

October 4th, 2023

    A nurse held an iPad in front of my Oldman as he tried to speak through his labored breathing. He didn’t have much energy left as he mumbled across the Zoom call.

The last thing he said was, “You magnificent son of a bitch…….”

I watched him laying in bed with the Friday afternoon sunlight shining across his face. The nurse told me that he fell back asleep and I thanked her for going the extra mile for my dad and I….

…..his train for heaven left about six hours later.

That was three years ago yesterday. I didn’t realize the day until lunchtime. I was standing at my trading desk when it hit me.

He was the age that I am today, thirty years ago. I’ll be his final age in twenty seven years.

Twenty seven more Thanksgivings, twenty seven more birthdays, twenty seven more losing seasons at Comiskey and Soldiers, twenty seven more spring times.

I hope I’m not alone with a stranger holding an iPad over my dying face the last time I mutter something to the Shepkids.

“Hazel…. Take care of these two magnificent sonsabitches….”

HumpDay

October 3rd, 2023

       Living on the third floor of a three flat gives me good reception for my digital antenna. ”Wheel of Fortune” was on channel 7-1 at six thirty last night. When it was finished, I started surfing the digital channels before switching to streaming.

I didn’t get any further than 7-3, THIS-TV. At seven o’clock they were showing “The Longest Yard” from 1974. Right away the station said that this movie will be formatted for viewing on television. That meant the swearing will be cut out and commercials cut in. I don’t care, I’m just going to watch Burt Reynolds in the chase scene at the beginning of the movie then I’ll change to Monday Night Football.

Burt Reynolds was my man in the 1970’s. You give me Burt and Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar man, throw in Jim Rockford and we are talking bad ass dudes from my childhood.

I ended up watching the whole damn movie. I’m also a sucker for Bernadette Peters. When I first saw this movie with my dad on the WGN Friday night movie forty five years ago, I fell in love with Ms. Peters.

She gave me at the time what I called a beanstalk in my pants. So did Cat Woman on “Batman” and the girl with Charlton Heston on the planet with the apes.

Back to Burt Reynolds…..

This movie has football, Ray Nitschke, Burt Reynolds at his best and Bernadette Peters. I watched it until the end, commercials and all.

The commercials on this grainy digital station are all aimed towards the elderly. AARP commercials, reverse mortgages commercials and home delivery of adult diaper commercials.

I started thinking about the severity of old age and if I will need to wear a fucking diaper in the 2050’s. 1993 doesn’t seem so long ago, which means 2053 is just down the yellow brick road.

I imagined Hazel opening the door to her home and picking up the big box left on the porch. A discreet box that won’t tell her neighbors that her Oldman pisses himself. A box delivered the next day with free shipping.

I endured the piss pad commercials. I endured Henry Winkler and Magnum PI hawking scams to desperate old people. I even put up with the pharmaceutical commercials.

And I will admit that there is a hot lady on one of the AARP commercials. She’s probably wearing a diaper, but she was put together well for her age.

I watched THIS-TV and the Monday night movie all the way through until the end. I even watched the credits. The film studio thanked the Georgia Film Department and Georgia Governor Jimmy Carter for allowing them to film. I never knew that…

For a horrible president, Jimmy Carter turned out to be the best ex president in our generation.

That’s how I spent my Monday night. I watched one of the top five sports movies on a goofy digital station. I’m thinking if “Slapshot” is the Tuesday night movie, I’ll be watching senior citizen commercials for a second night in a row.

I hope your pow wow is going well this week as we enjoy this Indian Summer.

Enjoy your Two for Tuesday all you gorgeous Chalkheads.

Tomorrow we can talk more about Beanstalks and my dad’s explanation to my mom what a beanstalk is….. ewww gross!

October 2nd, 2023

     I’m thinking right now that this post might be about godparents. If you’re a Catholic kid you’ve probably seen pictures from your baptism. Your parents look proud and your grandparents look prouder. The priest looks like he just wants to get back to the rectory and watch golf. Then there is that other couple. Who are they again?

What made your parents pick that other couple? Are they family members? Are they family friends or are they just random people that your parents hung out with around the time you were born?

It was a little nerve racking when it was time to pick out godparents for George. George’s mom picked her brother who lives in Wyoming. I picked my girlfriend from the late eighties/early nineties.

George’s mom was never really happy that my ex girlfriend was going to play this pivotal role in raising her firstborn son.

But I picked her anyway and the ex girlfriend from the Vanilla Ice/Milli Vanilli era was George’s godmother.

That ex girlfriend showed up yesterday in Riverside with an incredible gift for her godson. I don’t have to go into huge detail what the gift was, but it was something that belonged to her father and something dear to George.

George and his godmother went over things together as she instructed him what to do with her father’s belongings. George had met his godmother’s dad several times before he passed away. They actually seemed like two peas in the pod. A couple computer geeks that knew more “stuff” about everything.

So the gift was special for both George in receiving and the godmother in giving.

Now your thinking to yourself why is an old girlfriend still around after all of these years? Why does she care so much about an ex boyfriend’s son? George’s godmother arrived on Sunday with her boyfriend of fifteen years, isn’t that weird too?

Maybe in normal circumstances this might be somewhat awkward, but not in my dysfunctional family.

George’s godmother is a dear friend because my dad taught me not to burn bridges with people who at one point in life thought you were something special. At one point during the first Bush administration, this girl must have thought I was somewhat special.

But let’s talk about something special…

Fritz’s godparent are the brother from Wyoming and his wife from Wyoming. That would make them Fritz’s actual Uncle and Aunt…. Fritz barely knows them, they live in Wyoming and the uncle fled Hinsdale at eighteen and never looked back.

Hazel’s godparents consist of a friend of mom’s from college and her husband. We were actually close friends during my marriage and they were good candidates for the roll of godparents. Somehow after my marriage failed the godparents friendship with Hazel’s mom failed as well. So Hazel doesn’t know her godparents. They fled their friend from Hinsdale and never looked back.

That is where the ex girlfriend from back when Seinfeld was a new sitcom comes into the picture.

George’s godmother has taken it upon herself to take all three Shepkids under her wings. She gives them small birthday presents every year. She gives them books at Christmas time and she always writes something personal inside the book cover.

…And the best thing about the whole deal is they all know who their Auntie Amy is…

They barely know the relatives from Wyoming or the college buddy from the Kansas college via the southside. They do know and love their Auntie Amy and they have a good history with Auntie Amy.

And I have a good history with Auntie Amy. I think I picked a pretty good godmother when I picked my ex girlfriend from Oak Park.

Today’s Morning Chalkboard has the final records of the season for Chicago’s two baseball clubs. One club has a winning record and beat preseason expectations. The other club, my baseball club lost over one hundred games.

Just like Terrence Mann once said, “baseball has marked the time. It is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be good again.”

So I’ll have my Sox hat on next season when they are 0-0. Just like I have it on today when they ended 61-101.

Enjoy the Indian Summer this week and speaking of Indians… the Bears play the Redskins on Thursday. Oh wait… they’re not the Redskins anymore. They are the Commodores. I hope their defense isn’t a Brickhouse.

October 1st, 2023

     I didn’t see very many lightning bugs this summer. Not that kids would go out and collect them these days. Kids don’t do many of the things like we did back in our youth.

My closest friend from my Indianapolis era had a mom from England. I became closer with her as my friendship with her son grew. She called me “Sheppie.”

My mom was a single working mother, so I was a latchkey kid. Which meant I spent most of the time at my buddy's house down the block.

“Sheppie? Are you staying for dinner?”

“Sheppie? Will you be spending the night?

My buddy and I spent hours at the neighborhood pool. We played home run derby, ouija board and Strat-o-Matic over at his house. His mum always had a snack for us and a quick story.

My mom worked at the News station often on Sunday nights. That was great for me because I’d get a Sunday English dinner. My friend’s mom made a gorgeous roast with potatoes and Yorkshire pudding almost every Sunday night.

One evening she told us about her first night in America. My friend’s father was in the military stationed in England. That is how his parents met.

Her first night was at her in-laws home in Freeport Illinois. She was nervous as all eyes were upon her. She was bombarded with questions and felt pressured on her first night with her new family.

It was a warm summer evening and that didn’t help this poor English girl. The house was crowded, there wasn’t air conditioning and the dinner was very heavy. Not what she preferred for a humid evening.

Her new husband and mother-in-law were very close. They both had a great sense of humor and played well off of each other.

My friend’s mom came to a point where she needed to get some fresh air and get her bearings straight. So she ran out hastily to the front porch.

Her husband wasn’t far behind and his mom was right there as well.

My friend’s mom confided to her GI husband that she felt out of sort and missed England. She needed a glass of water because she was seeing flashes of light going off in the yard.

The husband and his mom figured it out that it was the lightning bugs, they don’t have lightning bugs back home in England. So the new American family kept my friend’s mom in the dark and didn’t explain to her why she was seeing flashes before her eyes.

This made it even more stressful for the misplaced English bride. Her husband sat next to her on the porch and her mother-in-law handed her a cold glass of water.

She continued to worry about the flashing small lights that she was seeing. Her new family pretended like it was just her seeing them.

She tried calming down, but the flashing wasn’t going away. Then she noticed that the moon wasn’t in the sky that night.

She turned to her husband and I can still hear her brilliant accent,

“Bob, the flashing light isn’t stopping and I can’t even see the moon!”

…without skipping a beat, her new mum said, “Bob? What is the moon?”

and Bob replied, “Well mom, the moon is something they have in England at night.”

Hearing that America has no moon and not knowing the flashes before her eyes, my friend’s mom wanted to go back home to England.

The two jokesters calmed her down and explained to her what lightning bugs were and that America has the moon as well.

She never moved back to England and Doreen Grilliot eventually became my English mum. She played a large part in getting me through during my exile in Indianapolis.

I’d do anything to sit at her cramped kitchen table with my buddy Bobby and have Sunday supper. Just to hear her stories and call me “Sheppie” with her lush accent.

“Supper is ready! Get off that bloody Quija bored before you populate my home with dead relatives!”

I didn’t expect to tell this story on the Morning Chalkboard, but I thought of it when I looked out on my block and saw very few lightning bugs. It’s the little things in life that bring back our fondest memories.

It is the first day of October. The Chicago Bears will probably end the day with defeat. The only thing that could make that any better for Bobby Grilliot and I would be his mum’s roast and her Yorkshire Pudding.

Happy Sunday Funday all you Chalkheads. It’s going to be a brilliant day to put the smile on the sun.

September 30th, 2023

      I spent the last hour sitting on my balcony watching the Harvest Moon settle across the morning sky. An occasional car passes by between five and six o’clock. Just wisps of clouds floating with the stars twinkling sparsely in the air.

Like today’s quote suggests…. Take the quiet time to let your soul expand. Tomorrow is the first day of the month. A transitional month that begins with warmer temperatures and somewhat longer days.

….but the shadows are growing long and the end of the month will bring brisk breezes and grayer days. The leaves will no longer bring green colors to the trees. October is the month to harvest your life and prepare for the coldness of winter.

Start expanding your soul.

Last night George was in his room playing war games with Mathew Broderick, Hazel was taking a bomb bath courtesy of Hilary soaps and Fritz and I sat in the living room listening to Dave Brubeck and then Miles Davis.

Fritz is the middle child. Quiet most of the time, but witty when he finds the right opportunity. Years ago I nicknamed him “The Glue” because as the middle child he’s been given the role to hold things together.

We talked about the first month of high school. We talked about improv, high school girls, music, gaming and family.

I came to realize that my charming son is trying to hold things together in his mom’s life. He said it would probably be easier to live in Riverside with George and me, but Mom needs him. He has taken it upon himself to be that steady breeze in a chaotic world.

I got up to refill his root beer. Hard bop jazz and root beer go hand in hand. As the Barq’s filled his cup I felt a rush of pride in The Glue. He is learning that love is unconditional.

His soul is expanding more and more each day. Just like the shadows will expand across the October meadow.

Enjoy this gorgeous weekend you Chalkheads. There is a good chance we won’t experience another weekend in the eighties until late next spring.

Expand your soul today!

Put some pork on the grill. Some love between the sheets and hold the door open for old people.

… and don’t forget to put the smile on the sun!

Oh and it is National Love People Day. That should probably be everyday, but that doesn’t work out so well. All we need is love, love is all we need….

September 29th, 2023

      I came across a song Thursday evening that I haven’t heard in years. A local musician put on a show last night from his attic and played it… and he played it well.

I went back and listened to the original recording that came out about forty years ago. Then I listened to the singer/songwriter play it throughout the years.

The magic of YouTube.

Then I decided to write a lyric from the song on the Morning Chalkboard.

Just another example of how music triggers memories. I thought of memories from forty years ago when I heard this song last night, but now it has a connection to the end of September in twenty-twenty-three…

The song has the same words today as it did when I was a senior in high school. I heard those words when I was seventeen, but the lyrics have more meaning now that I’m in my fifties. All songs are like that.

They make a memory to cling to and then grow with you through the years.

Tonight is the Harvest Full Moon. It is the end of the month and the end of the third quarter.

The beginning of October has a forecast similar to the end of August.

So take it while you can.