Most of you who read these monthly musings know that I am big on preserving the heritage and legacy of composers from the United States. Our tradition is rich and full. There was a time when many of these creators were heroes, part of the ongoing march of cultural history.

It is important to understand what orchestras are doing next season and more importantly, why they are doing it. Some programming decisions needed to change in light of what we have experienced over this past year and a half. Placing emphasis on female performers and composers is long overdue, and pretty much every orchestra has recognized this, at least for the 2021-22 season. The same is true for musicians from minority communities. Black artists have, in some cases, been absent from programming aside from special observances placing them all together on a single concert. We should applaud the boards, staffs, and musicians who are working to balance the scales.

Although we have not yet arrived at the “dog days of summer,” temperatures have been warm enough to cause some of us to wonder when they will hit the century mark. Meanwhile, much of the world has started returning to regular performance routines.

I am going to write about two main points in this month’s column, both related to events that occurred in June. One is specific and the other general.

If it’s June, it must be time for opera. Or at least that is how it usually works in St. Louis. In 1976, a group of passionate advocates for the artform got together and decided it was time for the city to have its own company.

Their first foray was a success, and Opera Theatre of Saint Louis has been thriving ever since. Housed at Webster University in the suburb of Webster Groves, the company presents around four productions a season, hires almost exclusively American talent, boasts an outstanding young artist program, and presents operas in English. More on that a bit later.

Looking at me, you would never know that I was once a skinny, underweight teenager. And before that, back in the ’50s, I was served a malted milk a day to get my girth up to snuff. Those days are long gone.

With the ever-present battle of the bulge raging, the pandemic provided an opportunity to try and get myself into decent shape. For starters, I would not be dining out for quite a while, which was good news for my waistline. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle and diet was difficult on the road given the lure of late-night gastronomic delights at parties, receptions and fine restaurants. Most of the establishments I ate in did not have salad bars.