Mamaw, Carol, and me

Whenever I see Carol Burnett, I think of my late grandmother.

Two reasons.

One, I used to watch Carol's reruns and later shows at "Mamaw" Lydia Mabe's house whenever I was there on Saturday nights. Two, we're part of a Burnett family tree (Hi, Seth!), and my grandmother made a good argument for the fact that Carol might be part of it.

Seems like the story goes as such: A long, long time ago, several Burnett ancestors left East Tennessee for Texas. Carol Burnett (her real name) was born in Texas before going to California -- with her grandmother.

Yeah, it's a long shot, but it's nice to think about on rainy days and Mondays.

Moments I'll forever cherish are taking my grandmother to Burnett family reunions in Sharps Chapel. She grew up there until TVA sent everybody packing to create Norris Dam/Lake. My grandmother talked about it, on and off, for the rest of her life, but she must've not minded too much. She remained an FDR/Truman Democrat in a family filled with Eisenhower Republicans.

We talked about it during what became our last conversation. I went to visit her in the hospital in July 2013. She'd fallen at home. The doctors discovered terminal cancer, too. They weren't going to tell her. I don't guess anybody did.

But, when I got there, she was just like she'd been my whole life. Sure, she'd slowed down, but, goodness, she was almost 89. She told me stories from the '30s, from Sharps Chapel, and I left there thinking she'd live another few months to a year at least. That was a Monday.

She died the following Saturday.

Just before things got so rough I couldn't even read, I bought a cheap copy of one of Carol Burnett's memoirs, "This Time Together." I'm finally getting to read it.

And, I asked on Facebook if some kind person out there might have any of the uncut Time-Life "Carol Burnett Show" DVDs for me to borrow. (After two years of disability and being in heavy medical debt, I'm thankful, but broke, and am looking for laughs.)

Two super souls responded. Robin Tindell said she'd let me borrow her parents' DVDs. And a Good Samaritan sent me an Amazon gift card so I could buy the seven-disc "Lost Episodes" set. I'd really been wanting to see those, especially the first show from Sept. 11, 1967. But I didn't have the $99 to spare, nor the cheaper $40 discounted one in the Amazon marketplace.

So, don't let anybody tell you that kindness is dead or that social media isn't good for something. They know their kindness will be paid forward.

So, as I watch Harvey Korman lose it at Tim Conway's antics, or Burnett sing with Bing, or the footage that hasn't been seen since the original CBS broadcasts, I can't help but think of my grandmother and wish she were here to see it, too.

But, who knows? Maybe she's being entertained by Harvey Korman somewhere in the sweet by and by.

I'm so glad we had that time together, Mamaw...

My farewell to Netflix DVDs

Yes, the time has come to say so long. Cue Carol Burnett.

I made the plunge the other day. I cut back my Netflix account to streaming only. I can't justify the extra cost. Plus, I'm going to be busy getting married during the month of September.

I remember when my first batch of movies arrived in the mail back in 2005. I was recovering from surgery to remove a kidney stone. The upstairs air conditioning unit at my grandparents' house was low on Freon. My first discs were the first batch of "Upstairs Downstairs" episodes and "Eight Men Out." I can't for the life of me remember what the third disc was.

Somewhere along the way I dropped back to the one-out-at-a-time unlimited plan. I finally got the streaming option as part of that plan but I didn't use it much until earlier this year when Jennifer brought over the Wii she'd never taken out of the box. I didn't like watching movies on my laptop. I do like being able to stream them onto the TV set.

Tonight I watched what is probably my Netflix DVD swan song -- the documentary "Hey, Boo: Harper Lee and 'To Kill A Mockingbird.'" Great flick. Everybody from Tom Brokaw to Oprah Winfrey to Mary "Scout" Badham reads portions of the novel. Writers, actors, TV stars and even Harper Lee's 90-year-old sister take turns talking about the book and the film and what it all means. The director even unearthed an audio recording of the last interview Harper Lee gave, to a radio station, in 1964.

It's long been suggested that Lee isn't Scout. She's Boo Radley. And why not? If I had the cash and had produced such a fine work of art, I'd tell the world to leave me alone, too.

It also makes me wonder what's in the water down in Monroeville, Alabama. Harper Lee and Truman Capote grew up next door to one another. The guy who wrote "Crazy in Alabama" is from there, too.

It's funny. Browsing my Netflix queue, I see films I put on the list back in '05. Never got around to them. Yeah, I'll probably miss the occasional episodes of "Perry Mason." No, I don't think my life will be any poorer because I didn't make it down to "Danger Man."

I'm not happy about the price increase. But it's obvious that streaming video is the wave of the future. Netflix is pumping more money into it. They don't have to worry about the skyrocketing cost of postage. Plus, the streaming video feeds our modern desire for instant gratification.

I like old movies and documentaries. Streaming Netflix offers a plethora of both. Life goes on.

Still, I'll miss seeing those red envelopes in the mailbox. It was always nice to get something in the post besides a bill.