I've always been a music lover.
I love most any kind of music that stirs the soul — anything that resonates with something deep inside of me.
It seems as though most of my life has been played out with a soundtrack in the background. When I was a child, it was Elton John, Bad Company and Jimi Hendrix. As a teenager, my world was filled with Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Soul Asylum, Smashing Pumpkins and Pink Floyd. During my first marriage and around the birth of my son, there were a few more added — Counting Crows, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Sarah McLachlan, Mad Season, Tracy Chapman and Dr. Hook. Once my husband died I added some Godsmack, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Korn and Limp Bizkit. In recent years I've branched out to include various country songs along with a hodge podge of folks including Zakk Wylde, Ray LaMontagne, Morphine, Jack Johnson, etc. etc. etc.
Yet these days I seem to prefer silence. It's all a distraction now, so many memories entwined with each song. The notes open the floodgates so I pause the iTunes, turn off the radio and sit in silence...the echo of those songs and the memories they envoke, insisting on cluttering my mind.