It's not a house...it's a HOME."

My mom called me the other night, and besides discussing the usual "how the hell are ya" type stuff, she wanted to define the role a house plays in the life of a family. "It's important to have roooots," she urged, passionately speaking from experience and slightly pleading to a younger relative (a mom with three young kids) not involved in our complex analysis of sentimental big picture stuff. Afterwards, she continued to explain her view, but it wasn't necessary. She had me at "hello."

We've discussed this topic before; many times, actually. I've always understood what she's said, but the older I get the more I feel it. And it feels good. Roots are important, just like a warm hug from someone you love who loves you back. The cost may be great for digging these roots deep, but that's a part of having a family. You make sacrifices.

My parents sacrificed a life of much greater luxury in Southern California to raise my brother and I in Northwestern Minnesota. To them, I owe my deepest love and respect. I love my Minnesota roots. I loved my life growing up in a small town of 250 people. I loved living in the house my parents built. And I love the idea of returning to the house in which I grew up. Some things I wouldn't trade for any amount of gold and silver. This is one.

So to them, here are a few relevant songs.

Bob Dylan - The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest

"Well, Frankie Lee, he panicked,

He dropped ev'rything and ran

Until he came up to the spot

Where Judas Priest did stand.

"What kind of house is this," he said,

"Where I have come to roam?"

"It's not a house," said Judas Priest,

"It's not a house . . . it's a home."

Tom Waits - House Where Nobody Lives

What makes a house grand
Ain't the roof or the doors
If there's love in a house
It's a palace for sure
Without love...
It ain't nothin but a house
A house where nobody lives
Without love it ain't nothin
But a house, a house where
Nobody lives.