If only there was some way to bring back all the goodness of childhood, all the security you feel when you're safe and warm full of the knowledge the you are the center of the universe.
There is one thing that brings me back to that. Brings me back to that one safe place, back to my grandparent's kitchen, late on a Saturday night. The only light is above the kitchen sink and the small flame on the front burner of the white enamel stove. The pop, pop, pop, echoing in the small space I share with Papa. Once the butter is melted, the popcorn coated and slightly salted our fingers mingle seeking the perfect piece.
Now Mike makes me the same kind of popcorn, shaken on the stove, coated with butter and now with parmasian cheese. While my fingers are butter-coated, I'm in Papa's lap, safe. The center of the universe, the perfect peace.
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