Hi! I’m Julie, Jubilation Facilitator, level 5, and I’m on breakfast duty right now, waiting for Mr. Joneses to come down.

I love being on breakfast duty.

“Where’s our ju-ju-jubilant face this morning?” I sing out as Mr. Joneses comes down the stairs.

He grabs his head in both hands and sags at the knees. I’m not discouraged. I’ve seen it before. That’s exactly what The Ecstasy of Jubilation Center (the Jube-Cube as we insiders call it) is here for.

“Remember Theory Number 3?” I take his elbow and allow a note of severity to creep into my voice. Not too much. We don’t want to discourage people. But they have to realize the Jube-Cube means business.

I can already tell that Mr. Joneses is one of those who will need extra work.

That’s fine. Jube-Resisters are my speciality. I like a challenge.

Take my husband, for example. I am vegetarian but he hates going to vegetarian restaurants. Every time he tries to resist me. Every time I persuade him. And what happens? Every time he leaves Leaves4Lovers, he’s full of jubilation that he has managed to survive adversity (Ecstasy of Jubilation Theory Number 34).

“Number 3?” Mr. Joneses’ eyes have an unhealthy unfocused gaze. Yet he took – along with everyone else – the Ecstasy of Jubilation Theory Introductory Lecture last night. It’s included in the package. No extra charge.

I’ll have to find time during the day – heaven knows how – to repeat the lecture with him.

“In the land of jubilation,” I say merrily. “We don’t allow dull faces. Happy, happy, happy is what we ask for.”

“Uh?” says Mr. Joneses.

“Think of happy happy…” I guide him to his seat. “As the egg of the chicken of jubilation.” (Ecstasy of Jubilation Theory Number 15) The others at the table raise their coffee cups to me and Mr. Joneses and yell “Prosit!”

I can’t tell you how it does my heart good to witness such transformations. And in such a short time. You should have seen these people when they arrived last night.

I offer Mr. Joneses the choice of a bagel or a croissant. Who cannot feel jubilant with one of those in their hand? (Ecstasy of Jubilation Theory Number 57.)

“Just coffee, thanks,” he says. “Black. And an antacid pill if you have one.”

I laugh my ju-ju-jubilant laugh. It’s important to remember that jubilation is contagious.

Our first activity after breakfast is looking at the chicks hatching.

“The jubilation of birth,” I breathe into Mr. Joneses’ ear. “Number 58.”

He gazes at the chicks. “Born to be eaten. What a life.”

I’ll have to take my husband to Leaves4Lovers tonight to perk myself up. Some of the people who come in here don’t think about us, the Facilitators, about the grinding hard work we do, always trying to prod sad-sack people into some sort of joy of life. You’d think their whole purpose in coming here is to make our lives a misery.

“Look!” I point to the ground. “Trout lilies. Look at those little petals curling upwards! Isn’t that the most darlingest jubilant little plant you’ve ever seen?”

I smile at him encouragingly.

“I think it’s going to rain,” he says. “We should be getting back.”

“Numbers eight and nine,” I shriek. I don’t often lose my cool, but really Mr. Joneses is very exasperating. Eight: No negative thinking. Nine: Do not anticipate negative events.

I try a little jubilant singing but the sounds that come from Mr. Joneses are so unpleasant that I hurry him along to the swings.

Who can resist feeling jubilant when soaring up towards that glorious blue sky?

Some people believe you have to win something to feel jubilant. It’s not true (Number 4) but I suspect Mr. Joneses is one of those people. And I suspect he’s never won anything, not even a ribbon for last-place finish in the sack race in kindergarten.

So we – he and I – will do the sack race together once he’s got off the swing and got his normal color back and stops gasping “seasick” between dry heaves.

And we will both be jubilant when we finish, whether he comes first or I do.

I will come first of course. I love the feeling of coming first. I hate coming second. It’s like at the Olympics when people get a silver or bronze. Just look at their faces! Oh dear, oh dear! Now look at the face of the one with that gold medal clutched in their hot little hand! Yes sir! That’s jubilation all right!

Mr. Joneses and I step into our sacks.

“Ready…” I say. He has one foot over the starting line. I tell him to get back. There can be no jubilation for cheaters.

“…Set….GO.” And I’m off.

*****

Thank you for stopping by and reading this week’s Thursday Blurt. It was inspired by The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge: Jubilant.

Please note: all material on this website, except for comments by others, is © Susi Lovell.