Listening to Lawrence Welk always brings back memories of sitting in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room, sitting comfortably in the green rocker, with Grandpa in his recliner and Grandma barefoot on the couch with the big cushions propping her up. We’d sit there and watch, and they’d know all the performers – Bobby and Cissy dancing, Guy and Ralna singing, and Myron Floren! They loved his accordion music. I didn’t so much. While they loved the show, I was only about half interested, and would frequently think, “There’s nothing going on here tonight.” But oh, was I wrong. Big things were going on. Lasting memories and feelings were being made, a sense of peace, predictability and security that I still feel today when I think about sitting there in their living room watch TV with them.
But that’s only one part of it. So many of those songs were ones my grandparents played in their dance band in the 1930s through the 1950s. My grandmother taught me to read music at a young age and how to play piano chords. We’d sit at her old player piano, me on the left side playing the chords and her on the right side, playing the melody. And, of course, Grandpa next to the piano playing his saxophone. I grew up on those songs, and surprisingly still know the lyrics to most of them to this day.
The memories bring just a little bit of melancholy though; seems just a few short years ago everyone in the entire family knew those songs and those times and those feelings. Then overnight it seems it was just my Uncle Don and I – the others got old and died, and he and I were the only ones left. Now, it’s just me. And at some point, it will be no one. We come, we live our lives, we have people and things that are important to us, and then it’s time for the next people and the next memories. But until then, I'll watch Lawrence Welk, and soak it all in.