Movie lovers all over are waiting for Sunday for the granddaddy of all movie shows, the Oscars, and I’m one of them. I’ve watched the Oscars every year for as long as I can remember—always dreaming of the day I will walk up on that stage to receive the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. I’m still dreaming, but I’m pretty sure this fancy blog has carved out my path to greatness.
This year my friend Lori gets to attend the Oscars. Lucky! She has the best job ever and her production company just might be nominated for a Best Picture Award. And just a few weeks ago my friend Rachelle attended the Technical Achievement Academy Awards. And not too long ago, my friend Liz attended the Oscars herself. I can’t imagine a more deserving group, and I figure if I stay in their good graces, some of their honcho-ness will one day rub off on me.
So this Sunday evening, I’ll be parked in front of the TV and Jay will have to make and serve me dinner so I don’t miss a thing. I’m suddenly regretting posting the Creamed Corn Bake recipe…hopefully he’ll order a pizza.
When I was a kid we had an annual TV movie event at our house. After dinner we had to get cleaned up, put on our jammies and then form a line to have Mom put those old-fashioned prickly metal curlers in our hair. Once we were all curled up, we’d sprawl out in front of the TV on a big quilt to watch–wait for it–The Wizard of Oz!! It wasn’t like today where you can find it playing on TBS, or AMC or download it on Netflix to your computer. It came on ONCE a year, sometime around Easter. And you had better be ready! You could only go to the bathroom on the commercials…there was no pausing the remote. Remote? What was THAT?! Anyway, that movie was pure magic. Every kid was transported into the TV and skipped to the Emerald City right along with Dorothy. Well, except for the weenies who were scared by the Wicked Witch. Wimps.
While we watched that twister tear up Kansas, Mom would get to work in the kitchen. She would break out the big plastic electrical popcorn maker—that’s right kids…we didn’t have microwave popcorn back in the day. Microwave? What was THAT?! If you were a lucky rich kid, maybe your parents splurged on a Jiffy Pop so you could burn up your popcorn in that nifty little foil pan. But we had the old-fashioned popper, and I remember it was a nightmare to clean. Nobody wanted to wash that stupid greasy contraption…in fact Mom didn’t make us wash it, with that electrical cord hanging out and everything. Even when she did clean it, that greasy butter NEVER came off…there were permanent streaks on that orange plastic forever.
Mom had a secret ingredient for her popcorn. It wasn’t butter, it was Powdered Cheese in a can. And you know anything cheesy can’t be bad, and it wasn’t. We loved Cheesy Popcorn. Mom would serve it in the huge white metal pan with the red rim. It was the same metal pan that was used for soaking twisted elbows and ankles each summer. I had to psych myself up to eat the popcorn from it, because I always pictured someone’s foot sitting in it—no amount of bleach could make me believe I was safe from all those cooties. Not only that, it was the official Barf Pan, too, so you can imagine what else I pictured in it. If one of us was sick, that pan would sit on the floor next to our bed all night. It probably sat next to my bed on many occasions. See, on some days I would go outside and eat apricots off the tree in our backyard—to excess. This probably occurred every time Friday Night Casserole was on the menu for the evening (stay tuned for that future post), because hey, I had to eat something. Then in the middle of the night, I would puke up golden-colored apricot vomit all over my bedspread. My poor Mom–I’m guessing a few laundry loads of that and she trained us to roll over and barf into the pan. I wonder what happened to that old pan. Hmm…we probably buried it out in the backyard, next to the apricot tree.