Lyfting Me Up

My introduction to country music came while working for my dad in the mid-60s. The guys I worked with listened to KPUB, which played only country music. I was a KDZA guy—Top 40 Rock and Roll—so I was force-fed what turned out to be some of my favorite music.

Like most Boomers, I had the good fortune to grow up during one of the most creative and memorable periods of popular music. Oh, there was plenty of it that will never be remembered, but even my Generation X son once said to me, “Dad, you had the best music.”

Somewhere in the late 70s, there was a lot of crossover going both ways. Nobody has made that more apparent than Willie Nelson.

My favorite Willie experience took place at Willie’s Fourth of July Picnic at the Tulsa fairgrounds. I was there with my good buddy Bill. It was over 100 degrees, and we shared the space with about 100,000 of our closest friends.

It was between sets, and Willie and Waylon had not yet played. We worked our way along a fence until we came to the stage. There was an open space dead center, right at the edge of the stage. We were just standing there when they all walked out.

For the next hour and a half, I stood about five feet away and heard them all.

“Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” never seemed so true.

Over the years, Willie seems to have made every pivot. “Always on My Mind” might be one of the best cover songs ever recorded. I saw him a few years ago at Fiddler’s Green. Yep, age had taken some of the energy, but none of the heart.

This past week, I listened to a podcast featuring Willie. He talked about a song called “Last Leaf,” written by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan. Then he performed it.

If, as a 30-something, I could relate to the raise-hell-and-have-fun Willie, I could relate equally well to the 90-something Willie hanging on.

The line that stayed with me was:

“If they cut down this tree, I’ll show up in a song.”

Five years ago this week, I went into the hospital with Covid. I lay there for two weeks unable to move. It took another five days before I could walk well enough eventually to come home.

I received amazing care—and an unexpected opportunity to reflect on my whole life and what I would do with whatever was left of it.

I never once doubted that I would make it. The question I kept asking myself was different:

How would my life be different?

That line from Willie’s song keeps coming back to me: “If they cut down this tree, I’ll show up in a song.”

It sounds to me like a Country Western version of Dylan Thomas:

“Do not go gentle into that good night.”

There comes a time when hanging on is not simply about refusing to die. It is about continuing to live. To notice. To laugh. To love. To tell the stories. To sing the songs.

And maybe, eventually, to become one of the songs.

As my Grandma Opal said to me many times:

“It is a good life if you don’t weaken.”

Onward and Upward,

Mark