Sunday Evenings

     Sunday evenings used to mean a giant bowl of popcorn and the whole family snuggled together watching the Disney movie of the week. First, my mom made sure all three kids had early baths. I remember the excitement of being squeaky clean, hair brushed, flannel nightgown, slippers, and robe on and tied tight for the popping portion of our evening. 

    See, in the old days, we popped popcorn on the stove. I can still remember how much fun it was, waiting for that first kernel to explode, and then after a few seconds the next, and the next until they were popping too quickly to keep them separate anymore. First, my mom would take out the big metal pan, pour in some oil (the old vegetable kind, nothing fancy like olive oil in those days), and wait for it to heat a bit. Once the first tendril of smoke coiled out of the pan, mom would pour in the yellow kernels, shake the pan to even things out, and then put the lid on tight. 

    If it had been a particularly good day, mom would let me shake the pan. I can picture it, her hand carefully overlaid upon my smaller hand, her other hand on the pan lid, her body behind mine as we shook the popping corn. Sometimes we would shake our whole bodies, make it a dance that always ended up with giggling and laughing as the final kernel sounded and mom whooshed the pan off the stove. Sometimes a batch might burn, but I don’t remember ever hearing her mad about it. This, was our ritual.

    Once the pan’s lid was rising above, pushed away from its capacity by the steaming hot fluffy explosions, mom would dump it all into the biggest bowl we had in the kitchen. She would melt a stick of butter in the still hot pan, and then pour it over the waiting popcorn. Then, and this was always the best part too…popcorn cheese. Orange. Full of preservatives. In no way, shape or form healthy for anyone…Mom had me sprinkle the popcorn cheese over all of it while she shook the bowl, spreading the love evenly. We’d learned the messy way that it worked better if she shook the bowl and I shook the powdered cheese. More of the popcorn actually made it out to the waiting movie watchers!

    Since there were five of us, Mom would dump part of the larger bowl’s contents into another bowl, and then we carried the bowls into the family room where Dad and my siblings would already be sitting on the unassigned yet always the same spots on the black, fake leather couch. All five of us would start on the couch together, smashed happily together, Mom and Dad on either end, our kid legs not even long enough to hang off the edge of the cushions.

    Tinkerbell would flit across the screen, the famous Disney theme music played, and the movie would begin. I can still picture it in my head when I close my eyes. The whole world could go to pieces, but Sunday evening always brought us together, crunching popcorn, the dog drooling for his share on the other side of my dad. Three sets of fidgety kids’ legs book ended by my parents and a dog. 

    It was the perfect way to prep for another busy week of school and schedules. 

    It is a perfect memory in trying times.