What I’ve got they used to call the blues
Nothin’ is really wrong.
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.
—Rainy Days and Mondays by The Carpenters
It was Monday Moaning during my freshman year at college. I was in Boston, far away from home and family. I was lonely, sad, and bored. I had just returned from an early Monday Moaning French class.
How do you say Monday Moaning in French? Lundi gémissant.
Whatever the language, it was a rabat-joie Debbie Downer Day. The three roommates to whom I was randomly assigned were at class or the library. They had drawn the short straw in the university’s apartment groupings. Their prize was the athletic hick with the Oklahoma twang. None were impressed.
One roommate from Maine was the most organized guy I had ever met…and one of the nicest. The roomie from Tacoma, Washington, was the most aloof guy, which is really saying something coming from me, a great proponent of the Isolation Policy. He perpetually hid his face behind the spread sheets of The New York Times as he judged the rest of us. Those two became lifelong friends. I roomed with the latter all four years of college.
The fourth roommate was different. Very different, which is really saying a lot when one considers the social, economic, educational, and emotional diversity of our university’s students. Thomas did not like me. That did not make him different. He could join the club. He just seemed peculiar, possessive, and problematic to any free-wheeling never-been-out-of-Hicksville kind of guy like me.
His most prized possession, besides his cokes in the fridge, was an antique mirror he hung on our wall. It was a family heirloom from the 1880s. Even I could tell the craftmanship was exceptional.
This Monday Moaning found me gazing into that mirror. I must have been infatuated with what I saw. For some reason, I began to imitate the batting stances of some of the most popular Major League baseball stars. This was a practice I began back in junior high school. I could copy the best of them.
I saw a hammer sitting on my desk, so I picked it up to serve as my baseball bat. I was looking fine as I went down the list of impersonations. I began to follow through with the swing of the hammer in imitation of those sweet home run strokes.
Now, if you are thinking at all, you probably guessed that I took out the antique mirror with one of my practice swings. That did not happen, but only by the grace of God. I would not be here today telling this story if that had occurred.
My favorite player was Stan “The Man” Musial, Hall of Fame outfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals. He had a funky, slightly slouched, relaxed stance that exploded upon contact with a fastball.
My mom and dad took me to St. Louis to see my first professional baseball game. Our family did not vacation at amusement parks. We went to ballparks. The game against the Cincinnati Reds was tied when Musial came to bat in the bottom of the ninth inning. I knew he was going to hit a home run and win the game.
Stan “The Man” struck out swinging. He went down like Mudville’s Mighty Casey. I was crushed, but not for long. In the twelfth inning, Musial sent one out over the right field wall for a walk-off homer.
I was imitating that perfect swing in front of the antique mirror. I went through the slow motion facing the mirror. Then I turned sideways to get a better view of my copycat swing.
As I watched my smooth swing in the mirror, the head of the hammer went flying off. Thankfully, not into the family heirloom mirror. The hammer head crashed through our second story front window and onto the pavement below. What a relief that it did not knock out some student passing by.
The loud crash of glass and the tumultuous clap of the steel hitting the pavement got everyone’s attention. People in the Yard began pointing upward to the second-story window as if they had just spotted the JFK shooter.
There I was. Standing right behind the shattered window. Staring at the mayhem. Holding the wooden end of the hammer.
Yep. It was Monday Moaning time. I crawled under my desk…staring at the antique mirror and then the shattered window.
We all have our Monday Moaning stances. What is yours?
Some go for face in the hands. Or hands on top of the head. Rubbing the head or wringing the hands is fairly commonplace. Pacing the room. Flopping back into bed is a personal favorite.
Staring at a cup of coffee or hot tea. Mindlessly watching TV. Reluctantly checking texts and emails, hoping for nothing stressful.
Maybe you prefer to just look into the mirror and stare at the reflection of the antique in the room.
We all have our go to Monday Moaning stance and standard phrases that mark the beginning of another week. We hope to get out of the batter’s box and take that initial step in the direction of first base. Just get through to Tuesday.
Hopefully, the clouds clear in the mind and the eyes brighten a little in anticipation of the day ahead. This might be a glorious day.
Here is another verse that I love to recite on Monday Moaning. It is from Psalm 121.
I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth…
The Lord keeps His eye on me as I come and go and will always guard me …even on Monday Moaning.
This is a good stance to imitate. Keep your eyes looking to the horizon. There is a glorious day coming. It might be on Monday Moaning.
Living, He loved me
Dying, He saved me
Buried He carried my sins far away
Rising He justified freely forever
One day He’s coming,
Oh Glorious day.
–O Glorious Day, Casting Crowns, Bleeker and Hall
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