Quite some time ago, I planned for this summer to be one of peace and quiet, with very little conducting and a lot of time to focus on other projects. For the most part, this is working out well.

On the book front, I have nearly completed a fourth volume of my writings. Primarily a memoir, Words Without Songs fills in some major gaps in what I have written previously about my life, with lengthy chapters about my father and mother as well as one about my brother. Because so many people have asked about my family’s relationship to Frank Sinatra, there is also a chapter devoted to “The Voice.” In addition, I recount various pranks my cohorts and I used to pull, some of them quite outrageous.

For a complete change of pace, I decided to take most of the summer off, starting in June and going through mid-September. I agreed to participate in a couple isolated events, but they are not with the usual suspects. One of them occurred in early June.

I was sitting around, working on the two books—yes, I have almost finished one and started another—when an interesting proposal popped up on my computer screen. To comprehend what it really meant, you must understand that the cultural history of Missouri is quite complicated. We are only 300 miles south of Chicago, but Memphis is just down river. Are we considered part of the South or the North?

With the musical season winding down and summer almost upon us, my last conducting dates took place on behalf of others. Let me explain.

In mid-April, I received a call from the Rhode Island Philharmonic asking if I were available to stand in for Bramwell Tovey to conduct the final concerts of their subscription series. I had filled in for him on two occasions last season, conducting concerts with smaller forces. This time, I had the opportunity to work with the full orchestra. Bramwell’s program included the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven and works by Brahms and Barber to begin. As a guest, one does not often get the chance to do this symphony, as it is usually reserved for the music director.

Highs and lows dominated the opening of the spring season. My old globe-trotting ways have returned, but numerous restrictions, protocols, and health checks made parts of the journey burdensome.

I was in Europe at the end of March, having conducted a fine concert in Dublin. It was a luxury to be able to stay in the city and do a second week with the NSO of Ireland. This booking scheme used to be commonplace for me but is a rarity now. Single dates dominate my conducting schedule these days.

Usually, when I begin writing these monthly essays, I have a pretty good idea as to how they will be structured. The beginning and end are clear, and all that I need to do is fill up the space in between. But March was different, in so many ways. If there was one thought that permeated the time, it had to be the continuing devastation in Ukraine.

Tales of grief and woe, as well as ominous portents, made themselves known through stories on television, in print, and via internet. Amid efforts to censor and exaggerate, a portrait of our mad world became clear. I spent this month working and taking a bit of time off in Europe. Getting perspective away from home is always useful and, for a change, much of the world seemed in agreement regarding the crisis. Where it all fell apart was coming to solutions.