When my sister and I were young, our family used to have a routine on Sunday nights. We'd eat dinner and afterward Mom brought out the popcorn maker. Do you remember popcorn makers? I loved those things. I did a little searching on Amazon.com and saw that they still sell them! How cool is that? My sister and I would dig into the uncooked popcorn kernels that you could buy in a rectangular-shaped plastic bag (maybe you still can buy it that way?), and using a measuring cup, we'd drop in just the right amount to make sure the family bowl of popcorn would be overflowing when it was done. We turned on the machine and the kernels would whirl around and around and before long, the popped kernels would rise toward the top and out into the bowl, causing the wonderful smell of popcorn to fill the house. And just for good measure, we often stuck a big hunk of butter in the butter holder (how's that for an official name?) and it always melted by the time the popcorn was ready so we could pour it over the popcorn.
We'd head into the living and watch One Day at a Time and Alice. And if the Sunday Night Movie of the Week was any good, we might watch that too. Mom always seemed to laugh the hardest when Schneider, the apartment fix-it guy, would make a wise crack or when Mel would make Flo angry enough to say, "Mel, kiss my grits." I don't think there's anything as comforting to a child as hearing a parent laugh. And all of us would munch on popcorn and drink pop and have the time of our lives.
When I look back on that time, one of the things that made it memorable was the fact that everything seemed be an experience--even the popcorn making. And since VCR's weren't around yet (this was the late 70s) you had to arrange your schedule around what you wanted to watch on television. So that's what we did and oddly it brought us closer together.
