JOY TRIGGERS

The study of psychology has given us a lot of talk about triggers—triggers of negative emotions that is. Triggers are memories that produce emotions. We have trauma triggers that cause people to relive terrible events, anger triggers that bring a history of events to boil together at the surface. But we also have joy triggers. Why is it that we so rarely speak of joy triggers? Joy triggers do what anger triggers and trauma triggers do. They focus attention. They change the mood. But unlike anger and trauma triggers, they change it in a good way. I have a few joy triggers. I am always grateful to myself on those occasions when I am smart enough to remember that I have them, those times when I call them up for the pleasure of having them. One is a memory made recently, this year in fact. David had been attending a conference in Virginia. He had been gone a week. I planned to join him for a vacation in Washington DC. The trip began badly. My flight was leaving late—so late that my connection in Chicago would most certainly be missed. “Settle down,” I said to my beating heart as we languished on the runway going nowhere. Then the pilot finally got the go-ahead. He took to the windy skies and raced the wind. Instead of being hours late, we arrived in Chicago only one hour late. There was a little bit of hope. My connecting flight was also late. But Chicago is a very big airport and I am a blind person. “I’m going to miss my connection,” I said to the United Airlines agent who came to help me. “Maybe not Honey,” she said. She crackled her radio. Here began an incredible journey. We sprinted the length of moving sidewalks. We boarded buses. We pushed through crowds. We vaulted up escalators. We rush through a gate. We sped down a tunnel. We greeted a steward. And then we arrived. I sat in a middle seat near the rear and the crew closed the door. I don’t think I felt joy then, only relief. The joy came sometime around midnight at Ben’s on U street. David and I sat touching fingertips across a table and shouting at one another over the din. Obama-eating-there pictures festooned the walls. It’s the memory of how it felt to be there in that moment of French fries and rock-and-roll that starts the joy flowing. A second joy trigger for me is much older. I was pregnant for the second time. The first time had unfolded as a series of joyless events that involved blood, nausea, hospitals, waiting rooms, tests and never produced a baby. The second time began like the first, with nausea and waiting rooms. Then one sunny Tuesday afternoon Dr. Boulton produced an electronic stethoscope and placed it where the baby ought to be. A moment later I could hear a train chugged, chug, chug chug. I almost expected to hear a whistle. I did hear a whistle. The doctor had whistled. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” he said. “This baby has a heartbeat. Things are much better this time.” Thus I was introduced to the baby of unknown gender who would soon be lovingly referred to as “Mark.” That was 1979. this 9s 2012. And still it takes only a second’s recall to bring back the joy.

OH, THE JOY!

Me: financially speaking, I’m not as wealthy as I was yesterday.
Myself: How do you feel about that?
Me: Sounds like something a counsellor would ask. But if you really want to know, I feel happy, joyful, delighted, smug, proud, satisfied and generally pleased as punch.
Myself: Let’s have a little summary here. Your personal wealth has decreased and your positive feelings are in overdrive. What part of this do I not understand?
Me: Well, let’s start with the facts, shall we? One of my students mentioned a book several times.
Myself: And?
Me” She was using that book to help her clients because it suited her better than other, more favous books that had been recommended.
Myself: And?
Me: I thought I ought to know about that book, and the best way to know about it would be to read it.
Myself: And?
Me: Well, as you ought to know, a blind person doesn’t simply decide to read a book. Most books are in print, and some technology and a lot of luck tends to be required.
Myself: So?
Me: So I searched on line for the book in the CNIB Library.
Myself: And you found it?
Me: No. I hadn’t really expected to find it there. It’s a kind of workbook, not the sort of thing the CNIB Library is apt to have. So I searched on line in the Edmonton Public Library.
Myself: and you found it?
Me: Yes, I found it, but only in paperback, and all the copies were out.
Myself: So you put it on hold?
Me: No. I searched on line for an audio copy of the book.
Myself: And you found it easily?
Me: Well, perhaps not easily. The first page showed me ten links to the book. All of them in print.
Myself: It must have been in the next ten.
Me: No. But it did appear as link #26. It was on a website called Read How You Want. Not only was it there in audio, but it was available either in braille, or in DAISY format, a direct conversion from e-text. You know how I’ve been complaining lately about e-text? Every e-text book could very easily be converted for direct use by blind readers if only the publishers and authors would say that it should be so. So far, the authors and publishers have not been very helpful in this regard. But this book is available. Once I found it, I had it. And now I am $13.00 poorer. OH, THE JOY!!!!!

LOOKING FORWARD

If Thanksgiving weekend can be as warm as a yellow-leafed summer,
Then surely November 11 can be as temperate as a lovely Thanksgiving.

MARK MY WORDS

And it came to pass that, after our Thanksgiving dinner,
When Mark had made the after-dinner walk especially fun for 11-year-old abbey,
And retrieved Pirate from his frolic in the bush,
And dealt the cards that weren’t a complete deck,
And re-dealt a better deck, but not quite right because the number of players kept changing,
And dealt again, then dealt again for Abbey, and for me, and for Aunty Donna,

Yes it came to pass that I promised to be grateful for Mark,
For all the things he does just because,
He can make the world a better place.
And to say that I am grateful—say it with feeling!

THANKSGIVING BY THE DOZEN

It was in City Hall Not in a church That representatives of 12 faith traditions Gathered on a Wednesday night To welcome each other, To support each other, To say prayers of Thanksgiving.

HOMEWORK

In the interest of interest, one of the ten positive emotions, I decided to spend three Saturday mornings at Grant MacEwan College, Writing Creative Fiction with instructor Kath MacLean. The first class was yesterday. Today I’m experiencing the side effects: homework. First on the list is the task of articulating my goals as a cnf writer. There’s space for three goals. Hmmmmm! My goals! This would be easy if I were a better goal-setter. Sometimes it’s better to move past the questions you can’t answer to the ones you can answer. Second on the list is the task of choosing a book. I am to choose a book that exemplifies the genre that most interests me as a writer of cnf. Shall I choose Beyond Belfast by Will Ferguson? Maybe. I do seem to like that book. I have been reluctant to delete it from the memory of my tiny talking book reader. But then, probably any book by Will Ferguson would do. But then there’s a bit of a snag. If I choose a book by Will Ferguson, I’ll wonder why I didn’t choose a book by Gary Lautens. Any book by Gary Lautens would probably do. I particularly like Peace, Mrs. Packard and the Meaning of life. Maybe I’ll choose it. If I choose that book, I’ll wonder why I neglected to choose a book by Greg Clark. Any book by Greg Clark would probably do. I could make it easier and choose Greg’s Choice. That would be a good choice. The only thing is, choosing any of these books would prevent me from choosing anything by Robert Fulghum, and that would be a shame. Any book by Robert Fulghum would probably do. Perhaps the best choice would be maybe—Maybe Not. Come to think of it, it might just be easier to define my personal goals than to choose a single book. Suppose I abandon the task of selecting a book, and consider the other assignment: stating my personal goals as a cnf writer. There are three spaces on the empty list. 1. I want to do writing that helps me think about my world in a way that makes me want to live in it. When I read books by Ferguson, or Lautens, or Clark, or Fulghum, I find I want to live in the worlds they write about. They, of course, are different from me. They have made a living with their writing, which could be my second goal, only it isn’t. If I wanted to make a living at something I’d probably study it on a Wednesday, or maybe a Monday afternoon. I’d be taking a rest from it on Saturday. . 2. I want to chuckle more. Ferguson, Lautens, Clark and Fulghum make me chuckle. But you can’t always be relying on others. I used to have a plaque that said, “Those who learn to laugh at themselves never cease to be amused.” 3. I want to play as I write, to play with emotions, with ideas, with the ever-changing truth. And if the things I write are not exactly true, well, then at least I hope they are entertaining.

LOVE

THINGS I LEARNED ABOUT BLUE AND GREEN OVER THE PAST WEEK That a lot of people in my world like blue and green together That the tipping point for blue and green together comes when you mix two shades of blue with green before 6 AM That a person who accidentally wears green with blue, even with two shades of blue is still worthy of love.

PRIDE

And when Lawrence brought in a huge trophy: Employee Of The Week!  That was pride for a mom.

INSPIRATION

There are teachers in my world
Working through the weekend,
Learning names of students
Writing WELCOME messages
Soothing anxious parents
Making friends with colleagues
Seeking help from mentors
Cleaning messy classrooms,
Bursting with excitement

How could I fail to be inspired?

JOY

Joy is: (though not exclusively nor necessarily in this order)
Laughing aloud at something he said in his sleep, and waking him up to laugh with me
Hugging her when she meets us at the airport
Throwing the ball when he leaps to catch it
The warm hello at work after holidays
The nights when all of us joke in the kitchen
The enchanting fragrance of sweetpea, evening scented stock, acidanthra
The juicy chin drip from the fresh fruit of summer
A thousand birds in the hedge and the yard
The days when I grin and ask: “Do you think you might be done needing counselling?” and my smile is returned with a simple: “I truly believe that I am.”
DARK CHOCOLATE!!!