Summer arrives

My father grew up in Springfield, Massachusetts, and blamed being cold all his childhood for his love of summer, even in Atlanta, even without air conditioning.  He also loved classical music, which peopled my childhood with legends and stories. I didn’t even know the titles of much of the music I grew up with until I worked at an NPR station in graduate school, and a piece would throw me back into my parents’ living room, sitting on the floor in front of the record player.

It is going to be in the mid-90’s today in upstate New York, and I know my father would have loved to be in the backyard in the shade with a glass of iced tea.  Today I will play his favorite pieces, from Symphonie Fantastique to Adagio from Spartacus, and strive to enjoy the heat, in his honor.





2 thoughts on “Summer arrives”

  1. Isn’t it amazing how a bit of music can conjure memories we otherwise might not pay attention to? For my father it was big band music and the Grand Ole Opry. I can’t hear Johnny Cash without thinking of my dad.

    *lifts glass* To Dad.

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