The Reveliers - Part III / Maureen

Mondays don’t sneak up on you… they attack. Like—no warning, no hesitation—just boom, full-speed NASCAR into your soul. I finally get into a groove—life’s feeling good—and then suddenly it’s like, “Hey! Get dressed. You have responsibilities.” But I’m taking a little comfort this week—short week. Thursday off, Friday’s a holiday. Which means mentally, I’ve already stopped working.

But first… we’ve got to set the mood right. Let’s get some catchy instrumentals going—something with a little groove, a little bounce… something that gets the toes tapping before the chaos begins. Because nothing says “I’m about to tell you about my weekend struggles” like background music that makes it sound way more impressive than it actually was.

This weekend started out simply. I picked up my resurrected mower from the shop and went to mow the lawn. And when I say “mowed the lawn,” I don’t mean a nice, peaceful suburban chore. No—this was an expedition.

I fire it up and immediately realize… I am not mowing a yard. I am entering a biome. This wasn’t grass. This was a National Geographic special. I’m halfway expecting David Attenborough to pop up like: “Here we see a middle-aged man… in his natural habitat… confused, sweaty, and immediately regretting his life choices…”

I’m pushing this mower through what can only be described as a backyard rainforest thinking, “I might discover a lost Mayan temple back here.” And I didn’t find one… which honestly felt rude. Like if I’m going through that, at least give me a cursed artifact.

But you know what I didn’t find? Spider webs… and snakes. And at this point in life… that’s a win. If I finish yard work and there are zero spiders or snakes involved, I’m like, “Successful weekend. No notes.”

Meanwhile, my dog Cooper is out there watching me. Before, the grass was so tall he could only see me like—two little eyes peeking through the blades like he’s in a spy movie. Now the lawn is cut and he’s just standing there like, “Oh wow… you’ve always looked that tired, huh?”

But I prepared for this journey properly. Before I even started, I picked up some jazz and soul records at a friend’s house, because nothing motivates yard work like knowing, “If I survive this… there’s vinyl waiting.”

And then Saturday hits the high point—and I don’t know what I did right in life—three record packages show up in the mail. Three. That’s not mail. That’s a spiritual experience. I’m standing in my living room like a vinyl goblin: “Yessss… my precious…”

So now I’ve got records everywhere, the lawn is finally under control, no spiders, no snakes, dog’s judging me less aggressively… and I’m just standing there singing like Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies:

“I’VE GOT JOY JOY JOY JOY DOWN IN MY HEART!”

—which, at this stage of life, might also be acid reflux… but we’re calling it joy.