1. You Never Know

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    August 10, 2014 by admin

    It was another hot one; I set up in the cool breeze on the path. After a while, a young Indian couple stopped near me. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “I danced yesterday,” the woman said. “Don’t you remember me?”

    “Mumbai,” I greeted her. “That was yesterday. What about today? Did you already hula in your hotel room this morning? Besides,” I went on, “he didn’t see you.”

    They turned their backs and conducted a private discussion; I turned my attention to the people walking by. I started singing “Ukulele Lady” for my next number. Somewhere about the time the wiki-wakis wooed, Mumbai girl walked forward and grabbed a lei. I transitioned into “The Hukilau Song.” As she danced, she sang the words, “huki, huki, huki, huki, hukilau.” Her hula was much improved; maybe she had practiced in her hotel room.

    A photographer spent some time setting up his shot. Unlike most folks who find me photogenic, he gave me a dollar. There was an egregious hula walkaway, and almost immediately afterward a videographer walkaway. Fact was, no one was paying any attention to me. Then Maggie the dog came by with her owner. Humans exchanged pleasantries. He told me how much he liked the accordionist, whom I could just hear over the hill near the fountain. Maggie took a seat.

    “Sorry, Maggie,” I said, starting to pack up. I wasn’t going to spend my last 10 minutes in the park serenading a dog. I had better things to do.

    Having done them, I boarded an M104 bus. I had to take my uke case off my back to sit down. “What is that, a violin?” the woman next to me asked. She was older than me, with a European accent.

    I told her it was a ukulele. She asked me what kind of music I played, classical? In fact, what I play is classical uke music, but I didn’t want to get into those kind of distinctions, so I described my act with a few titles.

    “I have a television show on cable,” she said. “And I’d love to have a guest who was over 20. My name is Martine.”

    I gave her my card. You never know.

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  2. Suffer the Children

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    August 8, 2014 by admin

    The white nicotiana is close to 3 feet tall; its cigarette-shaped blossoms brighten the undercover near the wall. A green-shirted park worker is weeding around them. “What happened to the wisteria on the pergola?” I ask. “It didn’t bloom this year.” She shrugged. “There were a couple flowers on the north side,” she said, “but otherwise nothing.”

    Once again, I took up my spot on the path. I wasn’t there long before a little boy in a stroller, holding a beat-up uke with 3 strings, parked a few yards away. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” I said, handing him my uke in exchange. I tried to tune it up, but it was pretty far gone. His mother told me his name was Henry, and that he called the instrument a guitar, not a ukulele. “In British Columbia,” I said, “they’re using ukuleles to teach music, not…”

    “Not the recorder?” she finished my sentence. “I’m a third grade teacher, and let me tell you, the recorder is worthless, no one ever gets good at it, or continues to play it.”

    “You hear that, Henry, the uke is for life.”

    A man with a baby dropped a buck as he walked by. Three girls from Mumbai did the hula. Some bicyclists stopped to take pictures of the boats on the lake, then scraped up some small change for me. There is no bike-riding on the paths, although, like so many other park rules, it goes for the most part unheeded. Later, a man filmed me singing “Little Grass Shack,” from beginning to end, gave me a thumbs-up, and nothing else.

    Vasiliy came by, pushing his bass fiddle in front of him. “Nice day,” he said, “not so hot.”

    “You wouldn’t be so hot if you didn’t dress all in black,” I said.

    “But I must wear black,” he answered. “I am a classical musician.” We both thought about that for a second, then burst out laughing.

    Three teens, on their way home to Illinois after their stay at a Christian camp in NJ, stopped to listen. They had a few hours before their train and were planning a boat ride on the lake. A tall girl with a mouthful of orthodontics was carrying a uke; I prevailed on her to take it out. It was equipped with an amp pickup, and had, strangely, no soundhole. She started playing a simple song, something like “This Little Light of Mine,” with uplifting lyrics and only 3 chords. I found her key and strummed along. One of her friends took out a trumpet and played a soft accompaniment, while the third kid sang harmony. At the end of the song, they packed up and headed toward the boat rental.

    It was a $5.82 day. As I headed home past the fountain, I could hear the plink-a-plink of a ukulele wafting across the water.

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  3. Overcast Wednesday

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    August 7, 2014 by admin

    Dark gray clouds obliterated the sun for long stretches, and a cooling breeze blew in from the north, over the lake. When the clouds rolled on, bathing center stage in noontime clarity, I put my hat back on until the next gray wave rolled in. I’m trying to work the hat into my routine; it’s not a good idea for me, or anyone, to stand in the summer sun for 90 minutes.

    A couple of kids came by to hula, yielding $2 from one parent, $1 from another. “Can we do it again?” one squealed. “Why not?” I transitioned from “The Hukilau Song” to “My Little Grass Shack.” Together, the parents coughed up another $2, as if buying tickets for the carousel.

    A woman of a certain age checked me out, as she and her friend headed toward the water to chat. After a few songs, they got up to leave. The woman walked past me and dropped her dollar in my case. “You’re great,” she said. “Thanks for what you do.”

    Three young women stopped to hula. A man from Würzburg, now living in Woodstock with his American wife, said he liked my music. A bride and groom wandered by with their photographer, looking for the perfect backdrop. I, of course, burst into “The Hawaiian Wedding Song.” The couple continued to wander around the fountain, impervious to the music meant for them. There were lots of tween boys and girls with loose change, and the usual number of walkaways. A distinguished man with a gray beard and a neck-load of camera equipment managed to record the complete “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone,” gave me a thumbs up, and returned to his family in the shade. Later, when I looked his way, he was gone.

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