Summer So Far

So far Summer 2013 has been about:

Cleaning
This week was all about getting control of our house again after being away at camp for two weeks. I got up at 6 AM on Monday and started in on the dishes. Five days later, we still aren't finished. (Although the pace of our efforts has diminished considerably as we've made progress against the mess.) We scoured the countertops in the kitchen, scrubbed the sticky kitchen floor until it was once again smooth and clean to bare feet, ran endless loads of laundry, rummaged through the storage boxes of the laundry room, threw away two garbage bins of junk, moved book stacks back to their rightful places, paid old bills, answered old emails, dusted, vacuumed, held James at a safe distance from the terror of the vacuum, sorted the toy box, put away outgrown clothes, gave away outdated ties, installed more baby-proofing equipment, and even scrubbed the carpets. My favorite project, however, was the total transformation of the Neon. I emptied the backseat of all the gigging debris that had accumulated over the course of the year (old choir music, bits of wire-stands, spare mutes, parking receipts). I scrubbed the passenger side carpet where a milkshake had spilled and left a sticky (and stinky) mess. I vacuumed out half a driveway of pebbles. I wiped down all the glass surfaces, scrubbed the dash, and completely reorganized the trunk. I had a brand new car at the end of the day. It was a wonderful feeling to sit inside of the Neon and think "Wow! This is what rental cars smell like!" Of course, the outside still looks terrible--the paint on the hood is peeling away in huge stripes, and it looks like the front of the car caught on fire. But still, I've been proud of my clean car, and I've really enjoyed driving back and forth to Buffalo in it.

Gigging
I've been driving back and forth to Buffalo a lot. This is a very good thing, since there was no summer work whatsoever in Rochester this year. I've played a couple of tent concerts on the harbor front, a lunchtime show at M&T plaza, an anniversary celebration for Artpark, and tonight a "Classics" concert at Kleinhans. Every summer there seems to be a piece or two that show up on every concert I play. Perhaps the music library gets to choose one number that they never have to take out of the folders? In years past it's been the Victory at Sea suite in Rochester, or the Brahms Hungarian Dance no. 5. (I take it for granted, by the way, that 1812 will be on every concert.) This year it's American Salute in Buffalo. J and James came to the lunchtime concert, and it was a lot of fun to watch him react to a real live orchestra. (He begged for a few minutes to be allowed on the timpani, then spent the rest of the concert wandering over to homeless people and trying to climb into the fountain.)

Camp
We spent two weeks in Houghton, NY at the Csehy Summer School of Music, where J taught flute. We stayed up late with lots of great musician friends, and James was fascinated by people riding bicycles. (We may need to borrow a baby seat and take him for a ride sometime soon.) I was in and out with orchestra work, but J taught some great students and had some solo playing opportunities. We juggled childcare (thank goodness the camp has someone on staff for that) and tried to stay cool in the unairconditioned dormitories. Fortunately, there was Perry's ice cream available at every meal.

Auditions
Well, one audition. For the Virginia Symphony. I drove ten hours to Virginia with all the windows rolled down, then spend two days going back and forth to a Jewish temple in Norfolk playing excerpts and waiting to hear the advancement notices. There were two spots open, and out of the three of us that made it to the very last round of playing, I was the one that didn't get a job. To be honest, it was awful. And I still feel awful about it. I played really well, and I don't think there was anything I could have done differently--in fact, I got to talk with the music director afterwards, and she assured me that there was nothing else I could have done. But it still stinks. It was my third visit to the finals in the last year, and I'm simultaneously elated with encouragement and sick with disappointment. But for now, back to the practice room.

James
James really likes to have Daddy home for the summer. We're bouncing around quite a bit outside, and he's turned a corner with his "talking" recently. I suspect that camp had quite a bit to do with this, because he was surrounded all day by conversation, and he's started to imitate it. He's now pouring forth torrents of nonsense syllables not only in response to our questions, but without any prompting as he plays, cries, takes baths, throws things, eats, and does all the things little boys do. Two days ago, we even got a real word: Basketball. Basketball might be his favorite thing right now, in addition to rocks, balls, dogs, drums, tractors, driving, sidewalk chalk, Chika-chika boom boom, conducting, and forks. I think his life was made complete the other day when we found a Youtube video of a dog shooting basketball. (With drums in the background music.)