I’m extremely sentimental about music. Extremely!

In my memories there is background music that was either present or I inserted to accompany every occasion, event or plain ole’ ordinary day.

My father passed away when I was 7 and several of my clearest memories of him revolve around song.

I had to be very young, I was standing right beside him as he sat behind the steering wheel and we were eye to eye. The car wasn’t moving, we had gone down to the DQ to get ice cream for the family, Petula Clark’s “Downtown” came on the radio as we pulled into our driveway. It was dark outside, we were licking ice cream cones, singing together and we were the only people in the whole wide world. My dad and I.

I’m standing in the middle of my parents bed with my legs fully covered up to the hem of my sundress with my dad’s boots, wearing his too big cowboy hat, singing “Sooner or Later Love is Gonna You!” as my mother applied her mysterious, magical makeup and my dad puts on his shirt for work. He whisked me into his arms. (Probably to get me off the bed with boots on!) I felt I could fly, I felt love.

Lawrence Welk. Twirling to the “champagne music”, my feet atop my dad’s. Due to those few and cherished memories of my dad, and missing my dear Grandma Parker, I adore Lawrence Welk.

I have shared previously that I’m not a TV watcher. But back home in Oklahoma, I knew what time Lawrence Welk would come on PBS. Sunday evening at 6:00p.m. Lawrence Welk can be watched any old way you want, perfectly acceptable. I prefer my idyllic way.

All my weekend chores done, everything prepared to start the work week and dinner ready by 5:59. I was free to revel in “my” time. I would open the windows between the living room and my outdoor dining table.

I would sit outside eating my dinner, peeking through the window, beautiful Norma Zimmer in her long gowns, Arthur Duncan tapping away, sweet Larry Hooper’s deep voice, Lawrence Welk’s baton bobbing and his foot tapping.  Champagne bubbled goodness, sweet memories, and all-is-right-with-the-world brought straight to my happy home every Sunday evening through my window.

Why through the window? I remember the rhythmic, soothing squeak of Grandma Parker’s porch swing or playing jacks with my sister on Grandma’s big painted blue wooden porch, the gurgling of the water cooling unit, twilight falling, through the open window of the storm door, I would hear Lawrence Welk.

Louis Armstrong. My dad holding me in his lap in his velvet brown recliner, my mother bought for his birthday. Brand new avocado carpet. My sister and I were so excited about the new carpet; we begged to sleep on it the first night. It was a big deal to us as we prepared our pillows and blankets to sleep on the grand new carpet. Now I can’t believe we covered wood floors with avocado carpet, but then “wall-to-wall” carpet was very exciting. I don’t know if the song was playing or someone was singing it or at a very young age, I was already assigning music to the event/occasion/feeling in my world.

I thought then and still today it’s one of the sweetest songs I’ve ever heard. It chokes me up every time.

“What a Wonderful World”

I see trees of green, red roses too I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

 I see skies of blue and clouds of white the bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

 The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do

They’re really saying I love you.

 I hear babies crying, I watch them grow

They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know

And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Oh yeah!

Nobody does it like Louis! Click on the link below to see him sing “What a Wonderful World!”

http://youtu.be/E2VCwBzGdPM

(Before beginning a blog, I sent these little stories and words to my co-worker and friends in a daily email. They have been gracious enough to respond to most. The one I got the most responses from was a shorter version of this one. Touching, poignant, tear inducing memories they shared. This is why I enjoy and am addicted to sharing stories – to hear others!)

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