Few things make me sentimental anymore. Nearly all those that do involve the children I love. Seems reasonable, I think, as I approach fifty that I have filtered out the things that shouldn’t matter. Strong memories are funny things, induced by any number of powerful sensations. Perhaps you pass a table at a restaurant where you perceive a hint of a perfume worn by your favorite teacher or a former lover. Or perhaps, God forbid, as a child you were burned by bacon grease, causing you to forever hate that salty smell. But strong memories can keep us anchored to love-rich moments when our hearts are so filled that we feel they may burst. For me, many of those moments have been experienced while singing lullabies.