The peonies are late this year. Only one bush has flowers on this late Memorial Day, and just a few of it’s pink buds braved the morning’s unaccustomed heat and this spring’s too familiar fierce wind.
But those blushing blossoms were enough to spark memories of Memorial Day city band concerts and my high school friends. We donned our white shirts and black pants, dug our instruments out from under the pile of three-ring binders and notebooks dumped in bedroom corners after the last day of school, and made our way to the red stone courthouse where the concerts were held.
I walked the four blocks, greeted now and then by peonies waving in the wind, their lovely faces bathed in perfume and ants. Some homes had only bush or two, while others sported long rows bending under the weight of red, white, or pink flowers.
The peonies were my favorite part of the concert, outside of seeing my friends. I was not much of a musician, but oboists are a scarce breed, and the band needed someone to warm the second chair seat. Oboe scores of patriotic music consist mostly of rests.
So I had plenty of time to make faces at friends making music….
Kim and her trilling flute,
Bill and Ann hitting the after beats on their French horns,
Chris standing in the back plinking on the string bass,
Bill, Jacki, and Steve sounding smooth in the saxophone section,
Jane and John playing alto and bass clarinet,
Mary Ann’s bassoon towering above us all.
And more faces at the friends who came to listen…
Cherie,
Roxie,
Katie,
Dean,
Richard,
Lowell,
sitting together on a blanket, swaying with music, along with the peonies, to John Phillip Sousa marches, Aaron Copeland’s swelling numbers, George M. Cohan patriotic show tunes, and the National Anthem.
I haven’t touched an oboe or played in a band for over twenty years. But this Memorial Day, when the first bright pink blossom waved in the wind, I heard the music again. The Washington Post March, Appalachian Spring, I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy, The National Anthem.
I missed the music.
I missed counting rests.
I missed making faces.
I missed those dear, old friends.
Wherever they are this Memorial Day, whatever they are doing, I hope they remember the music. And I hope the peonies are blooming.
