Norah Jones

I can listen to her for hours. From the first time I heard this girl sing, I've been enchanted. She evokes something nostalgic, harking back to summer evenings throughout my life.

As a kid growing up in Oklahoma, those evenings were hot. We'd wind up at my cousin's house where the Hi-Fi played Hank Williams, Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline while our parents sat in the kitchen playing bridge. We kids would sit on the porch or run along the road catching "lightning bugs". Now and then we'd run through the house inspiring a chorus of "Dont let that door slam again!"

As a teen, we had Linda Ronstadt, Willie Nelson and Christine McVie. It was the seventies and we were not redeemed. We played guitars and sang along, writing our own music under the stars. Summer nights were for songs, smokes, whiskey and tequila. Girls were young and lovely, easily impressed by a blue-eyed kid with a nice voice and a quick smile. It was all so romantic until the police showed up or someone started a fight. More than once it got ugly.

Somehow, listening to Norah Jones brings back the best parts of those times. When she starts into "Cold, Cold Heart" it's like a time machine in my mind and I'm right back there, singing the songs and catching fireflies.

Of course, I'd never go back. Despite the nostalgia of my memories, I also remember the nights in jail and other things that went along with it. I'm much happier now, as the World's-Greatest-Grandpa, drinking Arnold Palmers and watching the grandkids run.