Thoughts Arising from the Passing of Stuart McLean

At some point yesterday I idly tweet-quoted a CBC tweet-link about the death of humorist Stuart McLean, adding a little thought:

 

I choose to remember the times I sat in the car long after parking listening to Mr. McLean’s terribly clever & essentially human absurdities.

 

I confess, I was not a devoted listener of Mr. McLean’s, but when I did catch his stories – usually on the car radio – I always experienced as joyful and love-of-humanity-filled laughter as I’ve ever experienced.  I will never forget the story of the two boys witnessing what they thought to be the explosion of a human head due to a held-in sneeze.  That was just one of the many times I sat in my parked car, tears of laughter freely flowing down my cheeks.

I didn’t think again of my idle tweet until late last night when I was surprised by a direct message on Twitter from, of all people, Shelagh Rogers!  She was asking me permission to quote my tweet in a piece she was writing.  Who asks permission to quote a tweet these days?!

I replied “Heavens to Murgatroyd! Of course you may!”

I don’t use the expression “Heavens to Murgatroyd” very often, but when I do it always calls up warm but dim-with-the-passage-of-years memories of my father inventing bed-time stories for toddler me about Murgaroyd the rabbit and his adventures avoiding Farmer MacGregor.  I’m sure my father cursed the night he first started taxing his creativity with that project!

I’m not sure where I picked up “Heavens to Murgatroyd”. Isn’t it funny what becomes a habit of mind? Isn’t it interesting how our memories are stories. and wonderful how those memories are polished by life and time into memories of feelings?

I’m ever grateful for those happy memories of a bunny living in a bramble bush and a working man rising to poetry for a moment each night.

A great many Canadians will, I’m sure, be ever grateful for laugh-filled memories of Dave and Morley and the rest, and for memories — for the feelings — of Stuart McLean lovingly making poetry of the absurd, the mundane, and the ordinarily and essentially Human in us all.

Thank you, Mr. McLean.

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