Rainbows from the Window
Betty Ann Carlson could definitely give just the right kick in britches, when needed. Without you even knowing she was doing so. The confirmation of this redirection would hit you much later. Her grace was as thick as cherry pie filling and as resilient as depression aged tin foil. Early morning coffee, before the sun comes up. Dreaming and planning for peace and find. Conversations come easy for visitors when one is focused on the other. A powerful listening ear and comfort with confirmation thought provoking questions leading to understanding and self-introspection. Like scraping the paint off a post antebellum home. Wearing away the crust and texture of many winters effect on a second story window sill. Going back to base to a smoothness of woods care, roughing away the edges and peeled coverings to re-release inner strength of heart.
Cutting back large growth to make a new path. Mile after mile of back and forth gathering, mowing, and planting. The patience to plant a seed and watch it grow. The nurture to coax a bloom, push the limit of growth, provide a fruitful product for others to feast, in times of need.
Advice given rarely. Support given constantly. Anger and greed not an option. Treasures found in others trash. Historical significance given to items that once served a purpose. Even if that purpose has long since faded.
Hard callused hands rewarded with natures sweetness. Each day was wake, work, sweat, swim, repeat. Giving thanks to the work of Johnny Appleseed. Neighbor’s consistent visit for a taste of an afternoon hot dog. 3:30 consistency. A moment of solitude and reflection in a crystal studded juice glass with a snort of Jim Beam. Walls plastered with artwork, memories stockpiled with history. All providing a lesson to be learned. An emotion to be captured and released like the sound of a summer camp bugle. Our lessons, emotions, history, and life are all cyclical. Going round and round like seasons on a farm or sugar on a doughnut. Small postcards of intrigue, lead to powerful explanations out of redundant quiet halls of current work. Each student driven by what directs them. Each wonder found after first selecting it yourself.
Boys of Summer recorded with scratches on a page,
A diamond worth coveting, a summer come to age.
celebration of nature’s bounty on a charcoal weber grill
Beer soured breath cheering on a bat cracking thrill
Flakey dessert pies under crystal dangled lamps.
Sharing our history through postcards, toys and stamps.
Always a dollar in the cabinet for a trip to the store
Down the road or across the continent or further even more
Quick to fix a fence, mend a heart, or heal an ale
Could calm a crying baby like a fairy tale
No hierarchy manufactured. No aristocracy.
Only the land, a goal, a purpose. My country tis of thee.
Team work fostered, hidden talents uncovered endlessly
Trump you are a fool. Exclusivity is the enemy.
Each was to share their own gifts for the good of the group.
Like storm claimed limbs as fuel for winter’s fire.
Life has a way of bringing in the cold on the back of a northeaster wind.
A pounding of the heart and an erosion of the skin.
Focus on the flame of action, make your statements warm
Not the slamming of a screen door, left hanging in the storm.
In darkness, there will be tiny sparks of light
Look to the horizon to remind you of what is right.
Such a little beam of sunshine, breaking through the clouds
can create a living room rainbow, between the window shrouds.
Fill your room full of crystals dangling in the sun.
Allow the light to paint your walls with rainbows from the sun.
She started a Carlson and ended a Kindem.
Spent most of her life showing God’s wisdom.
Quiet and Attentive. Loud in her Action.
Family gave her the highest satisfaction.
Equal in our blessings, that’s how this world should be.
Pass your strengths to others, for all eternity.
Southern isn’t a geography. It’s a state of mind.
Hospitality, Generosity, Genealogy, Deuteronomy.
Making the most of the lemon and coming to each other’s aid.
Like a rainbow from the window.
The light will never fade.
Amen
Betty Anne Carlson who became Betty Anne Kindem.
Each of you, close your eyes. Imagine it is 4:30am. Feel the darkness of early pre-dawn. The chill of night. You awake, in the dark, and wander downstairs to microwave a cup of thick Swedish-strength dark coffee. You head upstairs to reflect and take in the day’s start.
How does the world look to you? Is it cold and dark? You have witnessed a lifetime of journeys and struggles. Triumphs and Failures. You have been there for people at their moments of definition. The climax and rock bottom moments. Those moments that stick with you for your entire journey on this planet. Funerals, births, baptisms, and divorce.
You have taken in and examined and understand the brilliance and beauty of our world’s greatest contributors to art and literature and science. Yet you still look out into the world and listen.
So easy it would be to preach the gospel of what life is and what life should be and how you could achieve greatness. Yet instead, the power was in the listening ear. Matched with the ability to just sit in a situation and take in unrest, agitation, anger, strife, and fear. Grab that person and soothe them like a small baby squawking in their mother’s arms, feeling the stress from mother or father that has lost their patience due to the inability to know what is wrong with the child. She had the calming strength to just confidently love without stress or anxiety and just hold and soothe.
We revolved around her like the planets around the sun. She provided the source of light for our family. Showing by example how to evolve and rotate that cyclical pattern of life with patience and fortitude.
History was extremely valuable. She found history and value in so many of the things that are left behind. Yard sales and estate sales were treasure hunts of seeking and finding the wonder in objects once coveted and now left by the side of the road.
SO WHAT OF THE ARTIST?
I see you there with my painting on the wall
You purchased that work of art thinking it was all
Bragging to your friends about the deal you have made
While that artist sacrificed future for an image to have saved
You hang it on the mantle, the pain someone endured
To rise out of ashes and keep their vision pure
What you see as decoration for your room dacor
Is really someone’s salvation from bullshit from before
You look at a pretty picture and see yourself in it
Never to have testified the issue within it
As you purchase my expression, may it enlighten you
While I took my soul and yard sale-d in public view
Is that emotion my work sparked deep within?
Something you yearn for, or a hidden sin
While you sit there ogling the depth of my crushed heart
Perhaps you’ll see the sacrifice in this work of art
You institute 5 senses to understand my sign
And sit there captivated by the illogic of my line
So what of the artist? Are you interested at all?
Or do you just keep reaping what you can’t control?
My work is not here for you to brag and boast
I made a perfect statement to the heavenly host
What you see as a message, placed right in front of you
Is really a reflection of my walk here through
I don’t expect this thought, to make you understand
I just want you to master this awesome gift at hand
What I placed here for you should be held with high regard
And give some empathy for those who lead the charge
Artwork is beautification of your every day
Not just some product on the table at display
So what of the artist, do you care at all?
Or do you just take their message and run it down the hall?
MY FRIEND JIMMY ROGERS
My first meeting with Jimmy Rogers was on the eve of his mother’s funeral. I was asked to attend by Sara Lindsay. She was very insistent that I was needed to help support her with the loss of her grandmother. What I found was that I entered the biggest and most fun interview of my life. I was introduced to all family and friends immediately. A true Rogers’ family full immersion. I immediately got over the sheer size of this group and fell for the ease, comfortability, care, and fun that all members of this clan share with each other. Laughter was plentiful.
I remember feeling how honest, open, and endearing our first conversations were.
My second meeting was not so easy.
I awake in the downstairs apartment of 1620 Oberlin Road in a panic. Still wearing the clothes from the night before. I am late for work at a local cellular phone retail store. My mind drifts back to the night before. Being invited to watch the Cravin’ Melon show at the Lake Boone Country Club. Enjoying the music, waiting to hang back stage for the band. Sara Lindsay inviting them to her parent’s house at 1620. Meeting, laughing, partying, and shooting pool with the band. Not really sure if Sara Lindsay was friends, dating, or what. Staying up until all hours and being persuaded to stay the night in the downstairs room, while she stayed in her childhood bedroom 2 floors above. I remember thinking that this might not be the most brilliant idea, but it was late. I was not exactly fresh as a daisy. So after the party ended. I stayed. A quick 4 hours later, there is a golden retriever lapping at my hands and face. This is enough activity to stir me out of slumber. I hastily scramble to get my butt out of bed and unwrinkled my clothes, only to find I am missing a shoe. Golden Retriever! I hobble up the basement stairs to find a house abnormally clean and abnormally large with many rooms going in all directions. My explorations for this mischievous golden continue in a large circle. I am not sure where I am going. I find myself stepping down into a slate floor wood shuttered vast TV room. My eyes follow the room to the back right corner where Mr. Jimmy Rogers is sitting in this chair. In a gravely, apprehensive voice, I hear myself say “Good Morning Mr. Rogers. Have you seen my shoe?”
He does not answer. Takes his right hand and points to the smiling Golden Retriever laying on its bed beside his chair. My shoe dangling by the shoestring from his slobbering jaws. I hustle forward extract my gooey footwear and throw it on my foot mid stride. Almost sprinting for the front door. I learn later that this dog’s name was Keeper. How appropriate.
As I am in a full gate out the massive front door, I hear Sara Lindsay thumping down the stairs yelling “ Pete, WAIT!” I am in a panic. Late, foggy, and every ounce of my pride deposited in a slobbery dress shoe. I turn around to her smile and assurance that all will be “fine”.
Mr. Rogers and I never spoke of this 2nd meeting again.
After work that day, I met my Dad for a 3:00 tee time. I remember his face as I told him this story. He just shook his head. Little did I know, I was fitting into the Rogers’ family shenanigans, just fine.
Years later and many laughs forward, I called the house asking for Jimmy. I still called him Mr. Rogers. No one calls him that. He was not feeling well and in bed. I explained to Sara, his wife, I really need to ask him something. She picked up on my urgency. I heard her say. He REALLY needs to speak with you. I think you should talk to him. My lack of preparation led to his emergency. I could tell he was annoyed. He invited me up to his bedroom to talk to him while he was in bed watching TV. You never knew what was on that TV, at any moment. Sometimes I think he selected shows just to watch people squirm. Good or bad.
When I explained my intention, in a not so concise way. I finally asked, “I am asking for your blessing to propose to your daughter”. He answered….. but not before a pause that felt like eternity. I felt like soccer seasons passed before I got “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” and a giant smirk planted firmly on the side of his face. “She’s a piece of work”.
My retort is somewhat vague. But then again, it was rare for anyone to comeback to Jimmy with a comment that was anywhere near as funny as the joke he was playing on you. I said something like “that’s exactly what I enjoy about her” or something like that. It was a moment we shared that was forced, somewhat uncomfortable and one I will never forget. He had a way of connecting with you and making things happen that cause you to keep and cherish that moment you share. A way to etch it into your brain. Allow you to enjoy that moment. Save it, and use it for later. Always the constant teacher. Coaching without you knowing you are being coached. Leading, while you are out front.
For the next decade, I got a bench side seat with one of the greatest coaches of all time. And I have studied the greatest. Believe me. I know. I know more about coaches than the generals do. Huuuge. Coaching.
I have studied and watched the Dean, the K, the V, Ole Roy, Calhoun, and Anson the Terrible. I have read their books. Listen to their teachings and game summaries, Implemented their strategies in my own management of people. But in my totally unbiased and absolutely completely untainted fair non influenced mind, Jimmy Rogers was the greatest coach of all. The best. That’s right. Uh Huh.
And I sat next to him often. Listening to him work with parents of his players. Sidelining with players. Soaking in his methodology like a sponge. However no matter how hard I tried, I could not emulate his wit. Copy is heart. And duplicate his motivation.
I watch people who have learned the art of persuasion and motivation carefully. These are key concepts in a coach. You have to get all people involved to “buy in” to your strategy. To trust your decision making. To accept the individual sacrifice for the good of the group.
If you were to compare motivation and coaching to an artist like a painter, most of us would hold up a fine paint brush dab it with a little bit of paint and carefully place images and colors in small sections at a time building layer upon layer until the finished product is a calculated and looks proper. Watching Jimmy and his motivation and coaching was like watching an artist with a paint sprayer and a mural that took up the entire side of a building. Paint going everywhere in a random haphazard wall of influence that effected the air and the materials around him. While most of us dabble with a blot here or there, this guy is motivating with a jet engine backpack sprayer.
His words and actions to one player were loud enough so all could here. Direct enough so everyone got the point. And empathetic enough to not create hostility. Unless….he wanted that. I think we all have been the victim of one of Jimmy’s shots across the bow. Hits you like a penalty kick to a bent over exposed rear end. Smack!
One of my favorite motivational comments was when a player, during a game, was trotting to open space and Coach needed a little more urgency. Hey, (player) can I get you a sandwich? Everyone on the team heard it and picked up the pace.
The relationships Jimmy has gained through his coaching are deep, plentiful, and rich. Look at what these players have accomplished in their lives. Great athletes at top programs, great doctors, lawyers, pillars of the community. Cornerstones to their own family. His influence is everywhere.
I also noticed that he never spent much time talking about the losses. In games, in business, or in life. He learned, took note, and moved on. He was never embarrassed to talk about them, just did not see the need to bring them back up. He focused more on what had been gained. Lived in the grand journey and learning of life. Much like his infatuation with World history. Always learning.
Many of our holiday family beach trips he would sit on the history channel for days on end. Exposing young frightened grandchildren to the complexities and gruesome details of war, history, and unrest. He loved our history especially American History. He enjoyed politics as well. I enjoyed our few conversations about WW2, Civil War history and impact to the south. Civil Rights and equality. He did not do this often, but he made me feel special about sharing his thoughts with me. As if I was the only one who would understand him. As if I was the only one in the room. He did that for each of us.
He made each of us feel as though we were the only one. That we were each special. Perhaps it was calling out a special nick name he had for you. OR just paying attention to what you cared about. This ability was also present in our family. I watched intently trying to learn how he made each child feel like they were the one. The special one. His.
As a father of two wonderful daughters of my own, Jimmy was a resource for parenting. Role model for motivation and good character. I observed intently as he was quick to instruct, sharp with direction, and a soft landing platform when dealing with loss. I grew up with two brothers and no female family near my age or younger. Two daughters was beyond my skill set. I had a playbook near me. I just had to seek it out. My wife Sara Lindsay was always talking about her Daddy. I saw a great man through the eyes of one of his biggest fans. He doted on her. He doted on all of us. Showered us with laughter and a great smile. His grumpiness was always short lived (that is, unless he was on a diet). Sara Lindsay was always the best at getting him a mood change for the better. We watched as she would turn his stern look and direction into laughter. Her methods have been passed down to her daughters and I find it very difficult to ever stay angry with them for very long even when something was not right.
Sara and Jimmy went everywhere together. He loved his wife completely. She is his greatest teammate. His greatest manager. And his closest friend. A young married couple can learn a great deal by watching the partnership they had. So much of a tight couple that all of us knew to look out after him, if Sara was away. On one of her very infrequent girls trips or visits to a friend. He was lost without her around. Meals became an issue. Proper wardrobe suffered. His mood inconsistent. They were the ultimate team. Holidays were always at their house. Full of great food and plenty of laughter. Sara and Jimmy saw all of life together. Saw the world together. Rare to fight. Inseparable.
When you talk about Jimmy Rogers, you also have to mention two of his friends. I imagine they are having one incredible BBQ, laughing on a cloud, and watching their grandchildren from above. Shields Pittman and Edd K Roberts. These two magnanimous men were a big part of his life. I am happy to know that he is reunited with them now. All three share common traits. God #1, Family #2, and Family #3. All three put their wife first in family. All three drove their wives nuts. And each others’ wives nuts. All three were deeply loved by their wives and made great things happen. Driven powerful men.
Another friend of Jimmy’s that I have enjoyed getting to know is Prentiss Baker. I actually met Prentiss before we made the connection between me dating Sara Lindsay. I got to meet him through working out at the Central YMCA. Another guy of great character, solid family and driven. It always made me laugh to be around Prentiss and Jimmy. Two of the smaller sized men, firmly in charge, with the loudest deepest voices around. Putting them at the same dinner table is like conversational cannon fire. Like God had placed a wireless speaker in their chest with a 20”woofer. Cars on Hillsborough St. are envious of their bass.
Shields, Edd K, Prentiss and others built a network of support for their families. A bond that remains and will carry on. They all are extremely skilled at ribbing each other. Ribbing their offspring. Ribbing their wives. Ribbing all into endearment. The times I felt closest to my brother in law little Jimmy. Was when we were both taking it on the chin and the butt of their jokes. I felt big and magnanimous, just like them.
Big Jimmy was a believer. Spent years in Bible school. Studied, participated, and taught. He teased Sara Lindsay and I to great lengths at the less than frequent attendance record we displayed on Sunday. A trait our family has committed to change. He had a relationship with Our Father. He was not boastful about it. He just lived it. Asked others to find it. He would reinforce it in action.
In the last months and days of his life I watched amazing acts of love. The teamwork of a loving family. The connection we all share. I witnessed Jimmy jump in on our Christmas dinner grace and tell all of us that he loved us. Thanked all, especially Sara for the support and care. Jimmy was strong. He was built from the generation of steel. Don’t get all mushy with people outside your grandkids and wife. To watch his thankful and gracious statement and prayer of love was one great act. It sits in my heart and fills me with warmth like God’s grace.
His miraculous, bolt of lightning, awakening at Rex was a beautiful spectacle. He kissed his wife. He gripped his grandkids hands, and spoke “I love you” to those who needed it most. He made it home. Where his family could surround him, comfort him, and celebrate all he has done for them. He is a great man, who lived a great life. He motivates us all to do the same.
Man and his dog
In my life, I have had several pets. They have been very good companions and have become a big part of the family. However, I have never understood what is possible in a canine/human relationship until Miller entered our lives. Every part about this dog drew attention and made a statement. Born on Valentine’s day she upheld her birth date and brought my family so much love and dedication.
Sara Lindsay and I picked her up in Willow Spring, NC the day before we found out SL was pregnant with Lindsay our 10 year old. From that day, she watched over a pregnant mother and would never leave her side. Miller was a puppy herself, but seemed to know what her specific purpose was. Miller would nap behind our heads on the top of the sofa cushions breathing her puppy breath all over the backs of our necks. After Lindsay was born, Miller would frequently sleep near the crib and watch over the new born baby girl. Especially if there were loud noises or a thunderstorm. Millers activity over time, grew faster than her long legged deer like body. Her energy would become legendary.
Miller’s ability to fetch a stick was a spectacle. Miller would fetch a stick until the thrower’s arm would give. In fact, she could outlast several stick throwers arms and wait for more. Many campsites had ground that was chewed up under the claws of this weimerainer. The campsite would look like a football team had spring practice around the campfire. It didn’t matter if the stick was on fire or she had pulled a small tree out of the ground, she would want to retrieve it.
One boys weekend camping trip, I tried to turn this dog into a fishing buddy on the James River in Virginia. Miller took to fishing like she took to independence. Not a good idea. She spent all day on the river, swimming outside the boat, shading lures, or biting caught fish. This was a dangerous combination. John Gonella and I believe she may have swam the entire 12 miles of the river up and down stream. Her determination , stamina, and speed had all of us baffled to the point of worry. We wondered when she would collapse or stop swimming and float. She never did. In fact, when we hit the camp that night, she continued to bring sticks. That day, if we did catch a fish, which was near impossible with all of the commotion and her entering and jumping out of the canoe. I capsized several times trying to haul this lanky, soaked puppy back into the canoe by its collar.
My other adventure with Miller was trying to teach her to jog. Or should I say trying to allow her to run at a speed that would allow me to participate. I am still not sure how I have arms connected to my body. She would pull, yank, and tug so hard I could hear muscles and joints separate and crack. If she took after a squirrel, the leash might sail in the air for 100 yds before it actually touched the ground. I still remember the day I introduced a constrictive soft spiked choke collar to the run. Her face was dejected. One or two yanks, and she was a different dog. This was there fist time I was able to jog with her and not feel like a tin can tied behind a newly-wed get away car. As we got used to running with a regular leash and made a routine out of it, I tried to drop the collar all together. We were either loved or hated b y all pedestrians of Shelly Lake. The bikers loathed us. Miller was so well behaved and stayed so close to me that some would bark out at us. She never left my side (as long as I was running). Walkers might yell “get a leash!” Joggers would stop in awe as Miller knew to stay right with me and would push me to make bigger, longer and quicker strides. After a few years, Miller helped me train for a half marathon. In this training, we became accustomed to long runs. I decided to try to see if I could surprise her with a really long run outlast her. We did 7 miles at record speed and I collapsed with hands on my knees and tongue out of my mouth. Miller circled me three times as if to say “Now that is what I am talking about!”
Her athleticism was most noted on the beach of Pine Knoll Shores. Often, Miller would taunt and tease the Frisbee, pretending to allow it to fly with our being snagged in the air. Often Miller could leap 5 ft high to catch the disk and return it to my feet. She would take on huge waves and large swells to return the dish, or ball, or small child to the sandy beach. She was also an accomplished ocean kayaker and wave surfer. If I took a sea kayak out into the water, and Miller would catch me in the act of the boat launch, she would open a door, jump a fence, and spring toward me. Diving into the waves and swimming up to a half mile out to join me. Despite her fear of surfing and wave crashing, she would always want onto the raft or boat I was in. She loved to surf the waves, but hated the dismount.
As you can see, her determination was unstoppable. She was not absent to life threatening situations. She has survived a bite from a large copperhead (Sunday night emergency vet visit with overnight and IV) fought through 2 rounds of cancer and she even survived a large medication overdose error. Miller was totally dedicated to her family. She would sleep touching the sick. She would like and heal the wounded or injured, and would aid tremendously in the rehabilitation of whatever trauma had come to myself or the girls. Despite her fear and loathing of the car ride, she never missed a road trip. Her family and their safety was her ultimate priority.
In her later years, she became a parent, sibling, teacher, and partner to a new black lab named Boone. Despite the attention this new addition received, she never showed us her disapproval. It took about 2 weeks for Miller to acknowledge her new family member, but once accepted she took over this leadership role with the same determination she took to any task. Never wanting this puppy to see her pain and illness (or weakness) she would often play tug of war around the 4 – 5 o’clock. She would give Boone her undivided attention to teach her how to sit and where to sleep. We would often catch Boone licking Miller’s face when pain seemed the greatest.
Since Miller has left us, the energy around the home is subdued. Boone gives from one of Miller’s nap spots to another. Occasionally grabbing a toy of Millers and dropping to the floor with a sigh/whine. I agree, we miss her too. Miller’s actions will be missed, but most of all we will miss her love and support. She was the greatest of all dogs and made a statement in everything she did. She certainly made a statement to me. On her last day in her final moments, I whispered in her ear, that I always knew I would give up before she did. I thanked her for her loyalty, dedication, and love. She has always protected and motivated my family to action. When she sees St. Peter, I know her first look will ask him where the sticks are and what is the heavenly record for number retrieved in an hour?
Go get ‘em Miller.
November Rain
Cold rain tattered my face on the bleachers of Millbrook High School. It was 6:14pm and I was anxiously checking my phone for time. My nephew Owen plays forward for Sanderson Soccer and I was cheering loudly for the opponent. My daughter started at Millbrook this year. She is sadly disappointed in her father’s lack of loyalty. Weeks prior, she shook her head, as I was cheering hard for Lilly and Sanderson Volleyball, in the Millbrook gym. While many of my parental friends cut their eyes at me in disgust.
My daughter, nor are these fans, privy to the power of family and Greystone Volleyball. The soccer game was definitely riveting and the rain was pouring down, but all I could think about was the beaches of Greystone. 6:50pm, sweet. I let my neighbors know that I was leaving promptly at 7:14pm.
Rain continues to fall. My butt is wet. Part of me wonders, “who will show up tonight?” Then I remember, “it’s Greystone and these people are crazy”. They will show in the pre-game of a hurricane.
No wonder I like them.
As I pull into the familiar gravel lot, I see people in groups. I see a random volleyballs bouncing and dancing in the sky. My doubts about participation are answered. I am late to the game. I shout into the crowd with excitement. It is ignored. Shouting a phrase, in this group, is like setting a hitter. It happens all the time.
The November weather is fantastic. Ryan Ball is shirtless. In November. He is always shirtless. So much so, that I have a hard time recognizing him when he puts a shirt on. The ball is spiking. The games are tough. Competitive spirit shows its forceful head. People are diving into the cool sand. High Fives are everywhere. Greg Wait has the game of his life. He is on fire. Not one quote. Not one joke. He is in the zone. He is in his mid 50’s, in his prime. I am ecstatic for him and his effort. I think the connection between watching my nephew head a ball for goal and watching Greg Wait dive for a loose ball are very similar. Both are taking advantage of the moment they have been given.
It is 10:45pm. No one wants to go home. Pick-up games ensue. The night air is warm, comforting and says “be with me”. We are all hanging on to the last shred of summer. Clinching it like the last PBR at a 4th of July picnic.
Earlier that evening, the rain fell like a Mike Meeks dink. Tonight, the weather and the socialization were as warm as a Georgia swamp. We are living in the moment. Last night of summer, last night of volleyball, last night of our Greystone Beach family. Until next year.
May next year continue to grow and flourish like 2018. May we bask in the November Rain.
Let us use this break to our advantage. Do some musical expedition. Expand our mind to new artists. New sound. New thought.
Try the following songs to ease the pain until spring:
Lipstick Sunset – John Hiatt, Better class of losers – Randy Travis, head full of doubt – Avett Brothers, Anyhow – Tedeschi Trucks, Angel from Montgomery – John Prine, I got a woman – Ray Charles, Orange Blossoms or Brighter Days from JJ Grey and Mofro, And it stoned me – Van Morrison, Pink Houses – John Mellencamp, Children of the Sun – The Hip Abduction, Three Little Birds – Bob Marley. And my personal favorite – Maria (shut up and kiss me) by Willie Nelson.