The love we share of music is only by serendipity.  My wife and I both intensely love music.  We grew up listening to the same artists and groups.  She is also a musician, which I am not.  The only area she knows better than me is R&B, which I never went out of my way to listen to.

She is the recipient of my DJing every day.  And to me there is no greater joy than to share a beautiful piece of music, especially something she never heard.  Both of our tastes in music are eclectic:  we listen to a broad range of music.

I was responsible for her falling in love again with Peter, Paul & Mary.  She listened to the ninety minutes I put together of them on cassette repeatedly.

I have put together dozens of anthologies on cassette culled from my extensive music collection.  I must do a good job.  The cuts usually blend pretty well and she can’t tell always tell when they have come from different albums.

I have always gone deeply in particular groups and individual performers I have loved.  I sometimes surprise her with the material I have recorded of performers she knew well.

I turned her on to British folk rock–a world she had no idea of–Fairport Convention and Steeleye Span.  And performers from England like Sandy Denny, Richard Thompson and John Tams for starters.

She was the third woman I turned on to Richard Thompson.  The second one divorced me.  The first one was a friend.  And we have gone to several of his concerts.  She has fallen in love with his songwriting and guitar playing.  We never get tired of him.

To be able to share my deep love of music with my wife is a gift.  And I never forget that.  It is a real treat.  When I am home, the stereo usually is on although I have to admit when I go out, silence reigns.  I never take that love we share for granted.  It is a real gift.

Your roots are not just the physical area you live in.  It is the memories you have accumulated in the past and continue to do so.

For over twenty years I visited Miami.  I no longer want to.  My parents lived there but now both are deceased and I have no ties there.  There is no longer any reason to go back.

I lived in Duncannon for fifteen years.  I still have friends there but it is no longer my home.  My wife and kids don’t live there any longer.  I may visit but it is no longer my home.

Our roots are the people who are the most important to us.  It is the people we reach out to every day (and who reach out to us).  It is the lives we are intertwined with.

Of course, the areas we have lived in the past we associate with certain memories.  Your roots are always invisible but real nevertheless.  And is always more than the particular area you live in.