The summer wanes.  When I was younger all I could think of was the coming of fall and “back to school” looming ahead.  Part of this process was always buying school supplies.  Picking out notebooks, pencils, erasers, and folders was exciting, and the smell of these when they were new fascinated me.  I don’t think I was as excited by using these tools as much as being fascinated by the tools themselves.  This thinking leads to chewing on pencils, pens and erasers and actually putting pen or pencil to brand new paper.  It didn’t matter what was applied to the paper, but the act itself was most important. I suppose that learning has to start somewhere. Why not with the tools. This sort of thinking continued off and on until college when I was “freaked out” by the price of all of the large, required books and the tools themselves.  Expense always seems to trump the senses.

For my three years of high school, August meant band camp.  This was a real adventure in music, marching, and social events like games, and campfires and singing and square dancing.  Even meals were social events.  And after a week of this kind of discipline, we were all ready for the coming season of football and the half-time shows.  But, getting to this point required a lot of work.  First – learning the music, second – learning the marching routines, and then – combining the two into playing the music smoothly while marching over rough ground.  Not an easy task.  But, a week of concentrated work made this possible, and actually seem easy later when during the football season it rained (causing the field to turn to mud), or when it snowed (making the field slippery or the yard lines become invisible), or when a multitude of unforeseen incidents occurred (bringing into play a reservoir of creative thinking).  In my case this was all great preparation for a career in various aspects of music and for life in general.

In college August meant wrapping up a summer job and then looking for an apartment in Cincinnati, near to the conservatory of music, with a roommate. Once the fundamentals were once again in place, it was back to a routine of personal practice and study, school concerts and dance jobs, and exams and instrumental boards (playing exams).

August now still leads me into my favorite season of fall with its distinctive colors, and football, with its distinctive sounds and sensory input.  And, once it gives way to winter, I spend the rest of the seasons waiting once again for August, the harbinger of fall.

In the not-too-distant past, July usually started with another parade which meant marching in full, heavy, all-weather uniforms in hot, humid, muggy weather.  I believe that this is a form of torture for musicians.  At least, after the parade, the rest of the day was more casual and consequently cooler.  And, we all looked forward to a barbecue either at home or having a picnic in a park, which was preferable because it was usually cooler in a park with a wooded area.  Lots of trees and damp vegetation.  A very nice place to decompress, (and be on the look-out for poison ivy).

The rest of July was usually a lot different.  More practice on my trombone, private lessons, park concerts and, later in high school and college, playing (paying) dance jobs on the weekends.  Lots of music. And accumulating a lot of variety in experience.

But the most relaxing and satisfying part of July was always unlimited and unrestricted reading.  I have loved reading books from the time I first could go to the library and pick out books. This became a lifelong habit. Reading is a lot like breathing to me.  I can’t imagine living without it. Another habit on a hot, muggy, summer night, when the temperature stayed in the 80’s, was sleeping on the front porch swing, although I didn’t really sleep very much.  Usually I would start a book at 9 or 10:00 at night, and read by flashlight until the sun came up, when I normally finished the book. I read a lot of Zane Grey, Perry Mason, P.G. Wodehouse, and many more during the summer.  I liked to pick out an author and read all of his or her books.  Who needed TV or video games.

The reading, of course, was usually after a day at a swimming pool.  There was one within walking distance and one requiring a bus ride.  We opted most of the time for the walking, starting mid-morning and returning home for dinner at 5:00 or so, very hungry and tanned.  This was not a bad routine, but it only lasted until I got busy with more music projects in high school and then college.  But, early in life, this routine prevented “summer doldrums.”  I was never then, and never have been since, bored. I don’t even understand the concept!

When I was younger, June was freedom.  School was out. No homework.  An unfettered schedule.  Summer doldrums coming up soon. And, finally, free time to practice my trombone.  Several times a day.  And, of course, besides this, there were meals to look forward to every day. Life was much simpler then.  But there are always trade-offs.  Chores.  Overseeing younger kids.  Mowing the lawn – with a “push” mower. (powered by armstrong)… The difficult part is finding a direction, a motivation.  It’s very easy to lose track of time. It slips by very quickly, and all of a sudden the summer is gone, and school is about to begin again.  So it is necessary to manufacture things that say “Wait!  Slow down!”

One of these things was playing in the all-city “park band.”  Rehearse during the week, and concert in the park on Saturday or Sunday. A definite motivation to practice.  And there was exposure to new music from broadway shows, popular songs, and old-style band music.  All of this was beneficial to me by widening my knowledge of musical styles, and honing my reading skills.  This mind-set came in handy when I started playing professionally.  You have to be ready and able to play almost anything at any time.  Any style, key and meter.  Anyway, the summer band was my training ground when I was young.  Those days were important to me.  I’m just glad that I had the common sense to realize it at the time.  It’s easy to miss the importance of something that’s handed to you when its summer and you’re free with no schedule.

Entertainment for me was outside.  Very little listening to radio or records or watching T.V. inside during the summer.  Except for my practicing, all the rest of the time was outside.  We always had a large backyard, and many games and sports were possible.  We played them all.  Basketball, football, baseball, horseshoes, badminton, croquet, archery (I always had a bow with target arrows), bicycles, kites, and other, smaller games played with hoses and water balloons.  My uniform was “cut-offs,” and I used to get plenty of vitamin D, and a deep tan that lasted well into the school year.  And, as the summer heat took over, swimming became a daily pastime.  One of my favorites.

When I was in college, summer was a time for finding a job to help finance the next year.  I usually lucked-out with painting – houses, buildings, our whole high school (both inside and out) one year, anything that had a paycheck attached. Since painting is boring, I would spend my time working out arrangements for bands all day, then write them down when I got home.  This was also a good habit to develop. Everything I did seemed to involve music.  And for that, I am very grateful.

My memories of May during my school days are of practicing march music with various bands for various parades at the end of the month. Memorial Day was always very exciting, colorful, noisy, energetic, and usually very hot.  The first parades I was in were with the Boy Scouts.  We really didn’t march, but kind of walked to whatever music was nearest.  A little like a herd of cats.  But with junior high school and then high school, I was always playing trombone in a marching band.  And, if you haven’t done this, it does take some practice – playing an instrument and marching at the same time.  Next were a few stints marching with a drum & bugle corps – playing a one valve bugle. The band music was always energetic and usually military marches, mostly by Sousa.  Rousing & patriotic.  I remember those same marches, before my own marching days, when I was very young and just watching the parade go by.  I was always most impressed by the big bass drum in any band.  As it went by, my whole body would vibrate.  This became lodged in my memory  and surfaced whenever I was in or near a marching band.  (thump, thump, thump, thump)…

The parades, in those days, always ended at the main cemetery in town with a patriotic program of songs and speeches, and ending with a lone trumpeter playing taps.  Those veterans who had served in the military and those who had died for our country were honored and respected.

When the program was over, it was time to visit the family graves and place flowers on them (the one time I didn’t have to be concerned with carrying flowers).  Then it was time to get changed and prepare for a picnic, either at home or at a park somewhere.  This was always very festive.  The food was basic & tasty – burgers & dogs & potato salad & baked beans & all of the sides. And there were games such as badminton & horseshoes, and, of course various things involving water.   Sprinklers, hoses and water pistols were very popular. It was always very hot.

After sundown, we would lay on the cool grass and look at the stars under a clear sky.  This, with the night sounds of crickets and other insects was relaxing until the mosquitos started to get hungry.  That usually signaled bedtime.  An end to an enjoyable but exhausting day of patriotism, fun, and music.  Not too bad a memory.  (and then the sounds of the sunburn sufferers started – rarely myself)…

It has been said that April showers bring May flowers.  But in my experience, growing up, most of these flowers appeared in April when the showers started, coinciding instead with spring.  My Hungarian grandmother had an acre of land in Middletown, and on this land grew many varieties of fruit, berries, trees, vegetables and, in great abundance,…..flowers.  In particular I remember her peony bushes upon which grew huge flowers.  At least they seemed that way to me when I was in elementary school.

I went to a small Catholic school which was staffed by Franciscan nuns.  Stereotypical nuns with black habits and white head pieces and white ropes with knots which hung down their sides.  My job in the spring, usually in April, was to deliver enormous bundles of peonies to a nun at the church for use on the altar as decoration.  This was usually done until the peonies finally ran out.  The tortuous part, to me, was that I had to walk to school carrying these large bundles of flowers, unable to escape the smell, and barely able to see for the half-mile walk to the church (and school).  As a result I developed a lifelong distaste for flowers of all kinds. Especially their sickening sweet smell which I also will forever relate to funerals.

When my grandmother died, I experienced those exact same flowers and their smells at her funeral when I was still in elementary school. A brief freedom followed until I was in high school and playing with dance bands.  The height of the season was playing proms, and most of the time the band was presented with flowers, usually carnations, to pin on their band jackets.  Whenever I raised my trombone to play, the flower was also raised, and with every intake of breath I inhaled the same sickening sweet smell I grew up with.

So, my association with April showers to flowers to songs is such that I avoid flowers like the plague (much to the consternation of my wife).  Showers (rain), on the other hand, I love.  And songs are a part of who I am.  So the bottom line is that I tolerate April, but I am passionate about my love for rain and music.

The month of March, to me, has always been transitional.  It’s either the end of winter or the beginning of spring.  Or neither.  Sometimes it’s just in a holding pattern, even though spring officially begins on the calendar.  The weather remains unpredictable.  And the only holiday is St. Patrick’s Day, and sometimes Easter.  At least these are both musical…

If you think of the year as a succession of holidays, it really goes by quickly.  You are either anticipating one or celebrating it, or going on to the next one.

As a trombone player, beginning in high school, I really appreciated holidays.  They meant work; jobs with various bands (gigs).  In those days there were a lot of jobs (and bands), but they didn’t pay much.  But, of course, we could also get by on less.

My sight reading of music improved rapidly from playing with many different bands.  I would arrive at a job, put on a jacket, and play for 3 or 4 hours with 10 minute breaks in between.  The leader would call 3 or 4 more songs by number, play those, get up more, and so on. I learned to read many styles, rhythms, etc., by repetition, and in the process, acquired discipline – not only of the moment, but in the process of preparation and practice (routine) that it takes to be ready to play whatever music is put on the music stand.

This experience turned out to be invaluable later when I played night club acts of all kinds, ice shows, circuses, and many other events. Rehearsals, for lack of time, were sometimes short or sketchy or not at all – just a talk-over.  But the one thing all of these had in common was that they required the discipline of practice and preparation.  Regularly, constantly, and without fail.