Three Little Words

Songs trigger memories, some as strong as the day they were made, some we'd rather forget, and some that have faded to nothing more than a feeling.
Doris Day's "Secret Love" came on the radio today and I was, for an instant, swept back to the warmth of my parent's room so many years ago.
Our Sunday evening tradition was to pop a double-thick brown paper grocery bag full of popcorn, cut up a few veggie sticks, and watch our favorite movies. Calamity Jane was our all-time favorite. When the Deadwood Stage came rolling down the road, Doris had her own crew of back-up singers right there in the room.
The room was all braids and glasses and braces, an hour or two of sequestered bliss. Kids were piled anywhere they could find space. There was usually a race for the bed, a brief tussle, and the losers got the floor.
Elbow to elbow, we'd lay with our chins in our hands, popcorn disappearing from our bowls as quick as we could put it away. No one wanted to be last in line for seconds.
I still remember Pat's wrinkly nose grin that revealed the damage he'd done to his upper lip in a tricycle accident years before. Dan, her thick mousy-blonde hair in a long braid that was quite tousled by the end of the day, had a laugh that made her eyes sparkle with mischief. Kim would get so lost in the movie, her curl-framed face would screw itself into seriousness with her "I want to be her" look.
Thanks to Doris for her bittersweet time machine that allows me to hold my family in that moment...forever.