I have been adding more music to my “library” lately.  Singing has always been a major part of my life and I love to do it whenever I can — from church to my car to the shower.  Being digital, I have all my beloved songs right on my phone, and I can take them with me wherever I go.  Making my own playlists brings me joy.  I have a playlist for songs all in French; one for classical music, sacred music, ballads, the entire soundtrack to the movie “Coco,” country, disco, hair bands, happy songs, inspirational songs, mariachi (my favorite next to the Latin church pieces,) songs I have “Shazammed” when I was not hip enough to know what they were, and work out music (which I need to listen to more.)  I love it when I discover a new song — even if it has been around for years.  In this case, I stumbled upon a ballad by the Judds, whom I have always liked.  The melody is lovely and the lyrics are bittersweet.  It is about remembering your childhood but not being able to really go back.  However I believe in some ways one can.  Some of my best childhood memories were the times when my folks and I went to the lake.  Daddy would sprawl out on one of his Grandmother’s handmade quilts and take a nap under the shade of a tree.  Mama would unpack our picnic and keep an eye on me as I searched for tadpoles, fed the ducks, and ran to swing.  It was an idyllic time and even as a little kid I seemed to realize it.  It didn’t cost any money but it sure was priceless.  The Fourth of July just passed and I brought a quilt for my husband, our little one and me to lay on while we watched the fireworks.  I had forgotten about the sounds of summer, the smell of the grass, and just looking up at fluffy white clouds against a dark blue sky.  I even broke down and let my little one have my favorite childhood pleasure:  Dr. Pepper.  It is the only soda I ever indulge in and, since I try not to drink it now, it, too brought back memories.  There was still a quilt enjoyed by one chocolate-covered head, one vanilla-haired, and one strawberry colored.  Only now instead of Mama and Daddy with me it is my husband and child.  I married a dark-haired man like my father and my little girl gets her auburn from my mother.  I’m still the vanilla.  My Daddy never wore shorts and neither does my husband really.  I used to love riding on Daddy’s shoulders and our little one loves to do the same with my husband.  The aforementioned newly-discovered Judd’s song entitled “Flies on the Butter” floated through my mind.  My little family is so much like the one I had as a child.  Just as I did with my folks, we were eating watermelon on the Fourth, laying on a quilt in the Texas heat, sipping Dr. Pepper, and waiting for the fireworks to begin.  The American novelist Louis L’Amour once said, “No memory is ever alone; it’s at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have their own associations.”  I’ve never thought about it until now … perhaps that’s why they call it memory lane.