Earl claims that September and October are his favorite months, although I’m not sure why he feels that way. I’ve never asked.

For me, each month has its qualities, so I just take them as they come. In September, I look forward to cooler evenings after the summer’s scorch and to less yardwork after the growing season’s flurry. The days are shorter, but they are still long enough. I can weed after dinner and not be in the dark. But . . . I don’t have to weed as often as in the summer months.

September also brings schoolbusses onto the roads again. And crossing guards and falling leaves and campfires. Autumn doesn’t officially begin until September 21, so the month holds the vestiges of summer but not the promise. If things haven’t bloomed by now, they aren’t blooming this year.

September also holds the birthday of my older son, Kevin. He was born on September 11 long before that date held meaning for most Americans. I can remember that particular month and day as if it were yesterday, and I’m saddened that he now has to share a private birthday with a most public event.

My friend, Carol, whom I’ve known since I was ten years old, was also born on September 11, a coincidence I relished in the years shortly after my son was born. But now I feel for her too.

So September arrives and I remember what I like and don’t like about it. Mostly, I’m glad to be here to enjoy the month once again.

I live in the upper Midwest, while Hurricane Katrina and her aftermath rages in the southern states of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. We couldn’t be farther apart. At least geographically.

But before this is over, I believer that, regardless of where Americans live, we will all feel an aftershock from the ruin and devastation that has hit our country. We may still have our homes, but our wallets will be affected at the gasoline pump, the grocery store, and the mall. That’s because so many products are a creation of oil, and our oil production has been reduced by ten percent almost overnight.

This finds Earl and me making a list of things where we could economize. For starters, we could gang errands since we live in a community with no public transportation. We could use my car, a modest stick shift, over his, an SUV. We could wash our own clothes, instead of sending them out. We could even hose down our own cars.

Over the past few years, we’ve taken to having everything done for us: lawnmowing, house cleaning, gutter clearing, you name it. It’s not that we’re lazy; we’ve just subscribed to the theory that it’s cheaper to hire work done if you make more per hour than you pay the subcontractor. But now, with the devastation of New Orleans, things are going to get dicey . . . and more expensive.

So I think this is a good time to ride the pricey bikes that sit in our garage, to kayak on the river like we’ve said we always wanted, to do our own weeding (Yes, weeding). It’s also time to read those books we’ve bought on a whim, to review the upcoming television season, and to generally hunker down while the world out there sorts things out.

With this in mind, I see 2006 as the year of economizing, of enjoying what we have while not acquiring more, and a year to give thanks that we don’t live in a place that Hurricane Katrina can level.

Professor Harold Hill of “The Music Man” fame and I have a lot in common. We both believe in the think method of music. Of course, there is one difference between us: my method works, at least for me, and his was a scam artist’s dream.

If you’ve seen the Meredith Wilson musical, you know that Harold Hill entices the people of Gary, Indiana, to purchase musical instruments with which to create a brass band for their young. It doesn’t matter than finding teachers or conductors for the band is a crucial element for success; nor does it matter that it takes great time and patience to weave a uniform sound from discordant musicians. Hill subscribes to the think method of music; that is, if you think the tune, you can play it. Basically, he’s out to sell instruments and then skip town.

I’m not planning on skipping town.

But I do use a variation of the think method when it comes to practicing for my weekly piano lesson. Case in point. This week I’m to practice a simple C major piece whose melody moves from the left hand to the right and back again. It’s different from most of the pieces in my lesson book, because they have chords in the left hand and the melody in the right. And I’m a whiz at chords in the left with melody in the right.

So I approached this week’s homework with skepticism, assuming it would be difficult. At the same time, I also approached it from a thinking point of view whereby I spent the first couple days imagining how my fingers might approach such a difference in style.

And it worked. I managed to move from left to right and back again without getting too offbeat. I managed to pretend that my two hands were really one giant hand that hit notes from the F below Middle C to the A above it. And I managed to think of Harold Hill, the music man, and give him some slight credit. After all, if it weren’t for him, I might never have considered the think method.

Today is Sunday; and, as is my pattern, I watched the morning program called “Sunday Morning.” I like it and its moderator, Charles Osgood, because they remind me of the kind of television show I’ve always liked best: the variety hour.

But this essay isn’t about variety shows. Rather it’s about the commercials that paid for “Sunday Morning.” As I ironed (a mindless task on the par of watching television), I decided to take notes regarding the commercials. It seemed like another mindless thing to do.

By the end of the hour and a half that “Sunday Morning” occupies, I’d come to the conclusion that we are a nation of hypochondriacs. Either that or we are suckers for allowing pharmaceutical companies to invade our lives, promise us nirvana, and make big bucks in the deal. If we took all the commercials in that hour and a half seriously, here is a composite of what the traditional American would look like:

We would need a sleep aid to get a good night’s rest. (Read Ambien® here.) Then we would need a soothing aid for our esophagus because we’d been neglectful of its tender nature. (Read Nexium ® here.) We’d also need a calcium supplement (Caltrate®) and a fiber supplement (Citrical ®) to get through the day. Then there are the allergies medications (choose from Claritin® or Benadryl®), the headache medicine (Tylenol®), the toothpaste for sensitive teeth (Sensodyne®), and the Icy Hot Patch® for back pain.

Finally, if all this information gives you heartburn, there’s Pepcid Complete®.

Don’t get me wrong; if a medication is warranted then I take it. However, it seems that the pharmaceutical companies have declared an advertising free zone in order to sell their products.

Time was when those same companies had sales reps who visited doctors’ offices and provided free samples in the hope of encouraging the physician to prescribe their product. But today, it’s the other way around. Television entices viewers to make note of specific drugs and then demand prescriptions for them from their doctors. It’s the tail wagging the dog.

On top of that, I’m willing to bet that the advertising dollars pharmaceuticals spend are reclassified for tax purposes under research and development. So it’s a win/win situation for the drug companies, but probably not a win/win for the general public.

This said, I still like “Sunday Morning,” but it makes me even more vigilant about drug companies.