April 23rd, 2024

 I woke up thinking about all of the times my parents yelled at me. All the times that I let them down and disappointed them.

…And then I realized, what does it matter?

They are dead and can’t remember all of the stupid shit that I did when I was a kid.

All of our memories and dreams die with us. Just like the money we’ve earned throughout our lifetime… we can’t take it to heaven.

I have a voice message that my dad left me Christmas morning of 2016. He wished me and my family a Merry Christmas. He told me that he loved me and that he was proud of me.

Every once in awhile I listen to my dad’s voice and go back to that Christmas morning. That was the first Christmas without my mom and the last Christmas that I woke up next to my wife. George Michael died later that day and my dad was proud of me.

With all of that going on… Santa Claus still showed up.

Maybe this quote should say, “The goal is to die with more memories and less dreams?”

…and here we are again on a Tuesday morning. Things never looked so good and I’m already in a daydream.

I’m glad I looked at the almost full moon yesterday morning. The clouds are covering it this morning at its peak. Luckily I see those clouds as rows and flows of angel hair. Thinking that makes it a little more acceptable to miss the Pink Moon of April. None of us stand so tall when the pink moon is on its way.

Go be astonished!

These Speakers

I was sitting here listening to music on my AAL speakers that I bought at MusiCraft on North Avenue in 1990.

These speakers have played the soundtrack to my life for thirty four years.

My memory tells me the first CD played through their diaphragm was “Sticky Fingers” or possibly some English Beat. They’ve played all eras of jazz and blues. Gospel, country, punk, classical and even Gregorian chant.

I was in love with a girl who is still my friend. She went with me to buy these speakers on a sunny Saturday morning. I let her play her Melissa Ethridge and Randy Travis and we both listened to John Hiatt.

The same receiver is still connected and that same girl gave me her dad’s turntable when he passed away.

I sat here and drank tea, listened to music and thought about where my speakers will be in thirty-four years. Who will my daughter give them to? Will a stranger be drinking from my tea set?

I won’t be around in 2058 to listen to ninety year old Rolling Stone songs. Does 2058 seem like a long time from now? It’s the same amount of time that 1990 is and that seems like yesterday. Which means that the end of the 2050’s is tomorrow.

I could tell you that is the helmet that Bobby Brady wore when Joe Namath was on “The Brady Bunch,” but it is not. It’s a Christmas present for a buddy of mine, but he’s always out of town on Christmas. So, I haven’t given it to him yet.

Those speakers have moved with me from bachelorhood, through a marriage and into a divorce.

Love songs have been love songs and not love songs anymore. Sad songs have been sad songs and not so sad today.

Those speakers were first wired during the age of CD’s and now only play vinyl records. The whole time they’ve tuned into WXRT, WDCB and WFMT. They dialed into classic rock on 97.9FM, Mr. A’s rhythm and blues after midnight on WNIB and Dick Buckley’s swing jazz on WBEZ. The Loop plays Christian music now and those two old DJs went off the air and into Heaven’s wave lengths.

The day will come when I hear my last song on these speakers. Maybe I’ll be listening to these speakers during my last breath?

My imagination wants me to think it will be Gershwin, Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Miles or Muddy. Maybe my grandchildren will be playing some crap that needs to be turned down?

I lived at my parent's house the first few months I owned these speakers. My Oldman yelled at me to turn down the fucking god forsaken crap that I was listening to.

It was a new Van Halen CD that I just bought.

When I set these speakers to eleven, the whole neighborhood can hear them. Tonight, I had them at two and George came out of his room and told me to turn down that old geezer stuff.

I’m stuck in a thirty four year old time warp… drinking Earl Grey wondering if I should go to bed because it’s already nine thirty.

I’m stuck in a thirty four year old time warp thinking how all this shit happened so quickly.

Maybe the most appropriate song to play last in a lifetime will find me behind the wheel of a big car? Maybe I’ll be in a nice home with my gorgeous spouse…

…and I can ask myself, “well…. How did I get here?”

…and you ask yourself, “does he really own a tea set?”

April 22nd, 2024

 The last full week of April is upon us and the full moon will be in the sky as well.

Today is Passover and it’s a little late this year due to that full moon. I was hoping the late Seder might have allowed more time for missing family members to return home. Unfortunately that hasn’t happened.

It should be a pleasant day in the metropolitan Chicagoland area. I put clean sheets on the bed last night. So my step has a spring attached to it today.

Be patient this week and don’t let the spring time itch throw you off course.

It is also Earth Day… take the time to marvel in its beauty. Put some love on it and be astonished.

April 21st, 2024

 I drove over to the other side of Mannheim road to take Fritz for a haircut. I still take him to PopPop’s barber to keep the tradition alive.

Afterwards, I brought my middle child over to Honey Fluff Donuts for his favorite, a vanilla long john.

We walked in and I heard a “Hey Shep!” To my surprise I saw a dear friend sitting at the counter with his fiancée. We gave each other a huge hug and talked for several minutes.

We reminisced about the trading floor and the characters we encountered. We talked about getting older and we vowed to meet soon for a beer.

When Fritz and I left I told him that God wanted us to get a long john so I could see my friend.

Grampa Don always said a good friend is someone that you haven’t seen in a longtime, but when you do it’s like you were together yesterday. Good friendship should never skip a beat.

Fritz ended up hanging out with his Oldman for the rest of the day. We did what me and my Oldman always did….

…we went for a Saturday drive.

We drove up to Forest Park to get a hotdog at Parky's Hot Dog's. After that we drove along the brick road that runs behind Shanahan's. My dad always took that street after our Saturday lunch at Shanny's. The bricks tapping against the tires made him reminisce about his childhood.

Fritz and I took that same street yesterday and I reminisced about Saturday jaunts with Grampa Don. We even listened to the same Irish program, the swing time jazz show and old time radio show that my dad and I listened to in the last century.

We drove down my old block and stopped in front of the house. The tree my dad planted in the front yard in 1984 is sixty feet tall.

We took the alley and I told Fritz about hide and seek, kick the can and ghost in the graveyard. I showed him the garage where I felt boobies my freshman year of high school.

“Come on dad! I’m not into that stuff yet…….”

“Soon Fritz…. Soon, and if a girl lets you touch her boobs… you walk her home and make her feel like she made the right decision. Make her feel awesome!”

Later that day we went to get George at PopPop and JoJo’s. We ended up getting pizza and JoJo got to hangout with two of her grandsons.

That was my Saturday journey.

I ran into an old friend out of the blue. I drove through my old neighborhood to check up on my parent’s house and Fritz learned about friendship and getting to second base.

Fritz ended up spending the night. When I was tucking him in he told me that he loves me and I gave him my common reply, “All of my heart son, all of my heart.”

Then I went to close his bedroom door, but stuck my head back in…

…. “Hey Fritz!”

“Yeah Dad?”

“First time you touch boob… caress it softly and listen for a sigh…. Oh and… try not to think about me!”

“Come on dad!!!”

Look at that big sun smiling on the Morning Chalkboard. This week brings Passover and the Full Moon. The Cubs are chipping away at a solid start… while the Sox continue to wallow in the mud. Tough times for our Pale Hose.

I hope many of you enjoyed a dreary Saturday with my crock pot and box springs idea.

Go get some fresh air today and be astonished…

…and the girl from the garage on Lombard Avenue. She is someone’s Gramma now.

Life goes by quickly, grab it or caress it while you can!

April 20th, 2024

 Last night I woke up at 12:34am, so I made a wish and went back to sleep. I woke up again at 1:23am, I smiled and thought "WTF" and went back to sleep. My mom woke me up with her Angel Number at 2:22am. Then I woke up again at 3:33am, the time my alarm usually goes off during the week.

I woke up at 4:11am and decided that the Dream Police were fucking with me all night long and it's time to start Saturday and figure out the Morning Chalkboard.

I checked my notifications and noticed one post had unusual visits. It wasn't the post with Betty the Green Blazer on top of the garage or the post with the tub of Old Style.

It was the post with the sign from McNally's Irish bar on the Southside. They often put something on the marquee that is politically timed to the current news around Chicagoland.

Recently they said, "How bout this if pulled over by CPD comply."

What caught me off guard was how a friend of mine who is retired from law enforcement and a friend of mine who is black became involved. They made their statements and moved along. No argument, no ranting, no trying to change each other’s opinions.

I ended up writing a story on that post and thought it would be perfect to carry on to The Morning Chalkboard.

Years ago, my father and I were driving on Lake Street around Central Avenue in Austin. We were hit from behind by a black man who didn’t see my dad at the stop light.

I learned another Don Shepley lesson that Saturday afternoon.

My father and the gentleman both got out of the car, inspected the damage and had a conversation in front of my dad’s Cadillac.

My dad didn’t call the police, didn’t even take down the man’s information. They talked for several minutes, shuffled around, sat on the hood.... they laughed, they got serious, they laughed, they walked over to the curb and then.....

....My dad did his patented comforting left hand on the man's right shoulder, right hand firmly gripped on the guy’s left tricep, followed by his everything is going to be alright speech.

When my dad got in the car I asked him what happened. Why he didn’t call CPD, why did he drive away with a dent?

“Son…. Things aren’t fair in life. That poor son of a bitch ran into a Cadillac with two white men from Oak Park in it. He was fucked! He gets up every morning in a harder world than you and I live in. If I could make his life a little easier, that’s what I’ll do Moose!”

The next weekend my dad and I drove up to North Austin and picked up Randy and took him to Gossage with us. A couple weeks later we picked him up again and took him to Bishop’s Chili at 18th and Damen.

Randy was the guy that ran into my dad. They became friends and Randy ended up working in a railroad shop that my Oldman inspected.

My dad had a strong judge of character and a good heart. I hope I can pass that down to the Shepkids.

Give people a chance. Listen to them... Think about walking in their shoes. If you are in a position to be kind, DO IT!

Last Sunday it was Eighty-two degrees and today won't get over fifty! Might be a good day to get the chores and errands done while the sun is shining. Go home and put some taste in the crock pot and some love on the box springs....

..... and if you are in a position to be kind, DO IT!

April 19th, 2024

 I’m on day 44 of my “Sixty Days of Celebrating Cecilia.” I’m not missing the meat, the booze, the orgasms or the sweets as much as a slice of pizza or a hot dog.

In 16 days I’ll be able to have a glass of bourbon and a pork chop. My life will go back to whatever normalcy it has.

Unfortunately it’s been 196 days since the brutal attack on Israel. 196 days since families were murdered in the name of allah. I’ve been focused on one Jewish kid by the name of Hersh.

Hersh’s mom has been saying Psalm 150 everyday and will do so until Hersh returns to her arms. I added Psalm 150 to my morning ritual.

I’m going to continue reading the last Psalm after May 6th and until Hersh returns back to his mom. I got a feeling I’ll be saying this prayer on the last day I breathe.

Maybe Hersh will meet me when Saint Peter approves my visa. Then we can say it together.

Hersh was at that Supernova music festival when he lost his freedom. He was doing something fun that he enjoyed, surrounded with love. You’ve heard me say that I plan on dying on Thanksgiving Day sometime in the 2050’s. Doing something fun that I enjoy, surrounded with love.

My life is nothing special right now. I go to work, I eat lettuce, I do my chores, I eat tuna fish, I go to sleep, I go to work, I eat oatmeal, I do my chores, I eat chick peas, I go to sleep.

However, it’s the little things that add up that makes life wonderful.

Give your self thirty minutes a day. Fill it with whatever makes you feel wonderful. Stop what your doing and drink water, breath deeply and compliment yourself on being a great fucking YOU….

It’s Friday and I put a big smile on the sun today. Go be astonished and don’t forget your thirty minutes.

April 18th, 2024

        It’s already Thursday…. Give em hell!