My husband and I subscribe to a Netflix package that allows us to have two movies at a time. The idea being one will be in the mail, coming or going, while the other is in our house for our viewing pleasure.

Our usage never goes according to plan because one arrives and instead of watching it right away, we set it on a bookcase, counter or dresser. Movie number 2 comes and we put it the same place. And that's where they sit. It's gotten so bad that sometimes we just send them both back without even opening the envelopes.

Last weekend, when my husband brought in the mail, he pulled two of the red, white and black Netflix packets from the pile and said with a bit of optimism, "Maybe it's something we'll like. Why don't we check?" I hate to discourage a man so full of optimism so I told him to go ahead.

The first one was a film about singer Patsy Cline. "Sweet Dreams" stars Jessica Lange and Ed Harris. "Must be good," I told him. "We like the actors and we have always had a thing for Patsy Cline."

We decided to watch the flick that night. My hubby took his optimism into the other room and put the disc in the DVD player. While he did, I reminisced. "Remember all those times we took the kids to the Grand Old Creamery?" I asked. He did.

"The kids," were our three grandchildren. Youngsters at the time. Often when they visited, we drove over to Saint Paul's Grand Avenue and waited in line at the store -- a line that was often out the door and down the sidewalk -- until it was our turn to stand in front of the store's glass case. One by one, we pointed to whichever tub held our favorite flavors.

The person behind the counter always plopped a malted milk ball into the waffle cone before adding our scoops of ice cream. We paid, said our thanks, and headed to the side dining room where we could always find a table. Most of the patrons preferred to eat their ice cream outdoors but we liked this room because it had a jukebox.

Grandpa and I always brought quarters for the machine. Two were reserved for a favorite song by Patsy Cline. It hadn't taken long for the children to learn the lyrics so we sang along.

"I go out walkin' after midnight

Out in the moonlight, just like we used to

I'm always walkin' after midnight

Searchin' for you."

When my husband and I were done with our fond recollections last week, we pushed "Play" and were treated to a pretty good movie. Jessica Lange doesn't look a bit like the country music singer she portrayed but she did a fine job lip-synching to a soundtrack that was all Patsy. So fine that I just had to sing along.

I learned more about Patsy from that movie than I needed to know. Things I wouldn't want to share with my grandchildren no matter how old they are. A first husband who wanted her home instead of out singing. A second who was abusive.

The worst revelation came at the end of the movie. Thirty-year-old Patsy, at the height of her career, died in a plane crash. I wish there was something I could add to that but you'll have to forgive me. I'm in mourning.