I’ve always been a fan of great songwriting. Great songs exist in all genres of music, but today’s music doesn’t seem to offer much along those lines. Maybe I’m just becoming a grumpy old man, but one listen to this “bro country” music makes me want to search for much more pleasant things. Something like slamming my head in a car door or doing a colonoscopy prep is much more appealing than hearing about the continuous party in the cornfield belted out by the so-called stars of country radio today. Where’s Hank when we need him, right? I wish Merle Haggard would take some of these skinny jeans wearing posers to the woodshed of three chords and the truth. Yes, I’m talking to you, Luke Bryan and friends.
Next is mumble rap. Any song that requires me to have an interpreter or subtitles automatically goes on the poop list. I have found a cool groove or two in this genre, but when I get embarrassed listening in front of my grown daughters, it’s time to bow out. I spanked my own self and put myself on restriction after hearing a couple of songs. I listened to some of the popular tracks of today and couldn’t decide if the performer was trying to set the Guinness record for most profanity in a song or was quoting lines from an X-rated movie. I’m still trying to decipher Kendrick Lamar’s halftime show from the Super Bowl. I’ve been informed that he won a Pulitzer Prize. Ahh, there’s possible hope for my Do It Expertly page. No, I guess my “left stroke didn’t just go viral.” That’s a Kendrick reference to research for my less informed readers.
Flip over to the classic rock station. Now this is my kind of music. Lots of guitars and skilled playing. Except they play the same 12 songs on repeat day after day after day. I love Lynyrd Skynyrd as much as anybody. All their songs are great, but even rednecks get tired of hearing the “Freebird” solo seven times in three days. Hey, Mr. DJ, put that corporate-force-fed playlist aside and work on your rotation. There’s plenty of room to move between Van Halen, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Jimi Hendrix. I guess that’s more of a criticism of radio variety than it is the song writing itself.
In my quest to find good songwriting, I came across Jamey Johnson’s song, “Lead Me Home.” If you haven’t listened to some of his work, especially this tune, I recommend that you do. Writing the lines of the song aren’t the same as listening to him sing, but the lyrics go something like this.
“I am standing on the mountain
I can hear the angels’ songs
I am reaching over Jordan
Take my hand, Lord, lead me home”
Pause that thought.
In recent days, our family has lost two of the finest people I know. We had to say goodbye to my aunt, Pat Patrick, and my uncle, Jay Hodgin. Both individuals lived full lives and touched a lot of people along the way.
My Aunt Pat had so many great attributes, but number one was her iconic laugh. People literally have been touched around the globe by her hilarious laugh. Her husband was a three-star general in the Army, so they moved everywhere from Hawaii to Washington, D.C. Everywhere they went rooms would be filled with her great humor and laughter, which always led others to laugh along with her. Never underestimate the power of laughter. The second thing about my Aunt Pat is that she always told me she loved me EVERY single time she saw me. Even when my cousin, Burt, and I would do something stupid and get in trouble, she fussed and disciplined but ended the lecture with “now, you know I love you.” Pat Patrick never knew a stranger and everyone loved her. Me, too.
Aunt Pat suffered in her final days with some health problems. As she clung to life, I visited her for what would be the last time. We buried my Aunt Pat about six months ago.
My Uncle Jay passed away just last week. He lived 90 great years and was loved by everyone he met. He and my Aunt Rita were married 72 years. He never failed to tell her he loved her every day they were together. Uncle Jay sold insurance for a first career, but then created a second career in retirement. He became a superb craftsman and woodworker in later years and built furniture for folks all over our area. Countless people told me at his funeral that they still had furniture he built. Uncle Jay had a quit wit and would pick on everyone on his friend list. He once joked that he doubted anyone would come to his funeral because he picked on everyone. The graveside service had people four rows deep surrounding our family because everyone loved Jay Hodgin. Me, too.
Uncle Jay struggled in his final days. I had visited him near the end of his life, and felt my heart sink as hospice nurses told us of the inevitable. He finally took his last breath on Wednesday, March 5.
Watching someone taking their last breaths is tough, especially when they love you and you love them back. Enough said.
So, I’ve been reflective these last few days. I’ve been thinking of that song “Lead Me Home” and it’s new meaning for me. I’ve been thinking about Aunt Pat and Uncle Jay standing on the mountain. I can only imagine how they heard the angels’ song. I watched as they began reaching over Jordan and making their move away from this world.
And finally, the Lord took their hand and led them home.
We love you and miss you, Aunt Pat. We love you and miss you, Uncle Jay. We will see you again one day, but for now we’ll continue our climb up that mountain.
Until that day that we reach over Jordan…. Take my hand, Lord. Lead me home.
