The Beatles were always there. Before I knew what bills were, probably before I even knew who the President was, there were The Beatles.

When I hear classic country music, I’m about 9 years old, back when my mom and dad took care of everything and represented total security.

When I hear Creedence Clearwater Revival, I’m arguing with my sister about which is better, rock or country music.

When I hear pop songs from the early ’70s, I’m in my bedroom, listening for my favorite songs, with my first “shoebox” cassette recorder ready and waiting.

When I hear country songs from the mid-’80s, I’m singing my heart out in my car alone, because my ex didn’t like country music.

When I hear Prince, Wham! and Bruce Springsteen from the mid-’80s, I’m having a good time with my ex, because it wasn’t all bad.

When I hear oldies, I’m dating my dh, because because oldies were big at the time, and he worked for an oldies station.

When I hear “Not On Your Love” by Jeff Carson or “My Love” by Alabama, I’m home with my first baby, dancing in the living room to keep him happy.

When I hear Mozart, I’m giving my second baby her bath, because the hospital gave us a nice CD of classical music and I thought this would be a nice way for both of us to learn it.

When I hear “Everything” by Michael Buble, I’m thinking about my dh again: “And in this crazy life … and through these crazy times … It’s you, it’s you….”

When I hear Frank Sinatra, I could be anywhere. A four-year-old kid with my parents’ single of “Strangers in the Night.” Or a thirtysomething, really discovering the full breadth of his music for the first time. I could even be in the balcony of a theater in the 1940s — a place I’ve never really been — swooning along with all the other bobby soxers.

Hope you’re not sorry you asked. Thanks for jogging the memories!