Story Slam 2024

Laughter is a wonderful gift. We laugh for fun. We laugh for relief. And sometimes we are not exactly sure why we laugh, as evidenced by Groucho Marx’s admonition: “From the moment I picked up your book until I laid it down, I was convulsed with laughter... someday I intend reading it!”

Amongst a list of adjectives, let me add one more. Laughter can be quirky. Before I disclose exactly where I am going with this, let me define “quirky” as Merriam-Webster does. It means “evidencing a peculiar trait.”

Just after Brenda and I moved to Melfort, we spent a lot of time walking. While doing so one January morning, with the temperature at -33°C, I slipped. It was not a minor slip. Indeed, my cartwheel would have received at least a 9.8 from the judges in any competition, with some deduction for lack of artistic merit. Whatever the trajectory of my airborne carcass, I eventually landed, face down on that icy lane.

Laying there in some considerable distress, and awaiting words of concern from my loved one, a funny thing happened. I use “funny” in the pejorative sense. The first sound to reach my pained ears was laughter, drifting down from above. It was not loud, at first, but as the seconds ticked on it intensified. The words which crossed my mind at that moment - at least those can be reprinted - were directly from the dictionary: “peculiar” and “trait.” One wonders what happened to “evidencing a.”

The ambulance I had initially thought might be required for yours truly soon was in danger of being called for Brenda. To use the vernacular, she was splitting a gut.

While I cannot claim a total absence of quirkiness in my life and habits, I have nonetheless never understood why Brenda is driven to tears of laugher when someone wipes out. It is counter-intuitive, which is legalese for it makes no sense. The incident I described happened in 1990. As newlyweds at the time, I must say it gave me pause. But we got past it, and in my view, Brenda’s misplaced funny bone was of little consequence over the next 12,775 days of our relationship (thirty-five years, more or less). That’s another way of saying I got used to it, and as well stopped walking down back lanes at -33°C!

Yet every good story needs an Epilogue, and even some not-so-good-ones do as well. A month ago, we were at Caddy Lake, Manitoba, hiking near our cottage. Three of us - Brenda, our Border collie, Belle, and yours truly - climbed up a rocky ridge which overlooks the lake.

It was a beautiful view, with the fall colours. As we descended down the steep and rocky path, Brenda warned moi (hip-replaced Ross) to descend sideways and slowly. I did not pay attention. I headed down the hill like the leader of a cavalry, picking up speed with every step.

When I tried to decelerate, to say this simply, I was out of luck. Soon I was airborne and did a somersault before coming to rest flat on my back on top of some small trees beside the trail. I was dazed and hatless; unsure of many things, but key amongst these were where I was and what had happened. 

Then I heard it.

While Belle looked on quietly, Brenda’s laughter rang out over Caddy Lake. That ringing lasted for a while. And then she asked me if I was okay.

It turned out I had no broken bones, and two significantly skinned and bloody knees appeared to be my only injury or concern, other than - as Brenda later noted - my immediate focus on where my hat had landed.

As the three of us walked back to the cottage, me very slowly with a slight limp, Brenda asked whether I had learned anything. I thought of paraphrasing Tom Hank’s line from Forrest Gump: “Mama says quirky is as quirky does!” But I did not. I just said, “I will pay more attention next time or prepare to hear you laugh!” She smiled, and we continued on, me very slowly with a slight limp.