1. A Gray Tuesday

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    May 18, 2016 by admin

    The day was cool and gray. The only color at the entrance to the park came from the English daisies, tucked into a corner, and the pink and white bleeding heart, near the pergola. Solomon’s Seal grew in clumps at the Imagine Mosaic, and the streamlined orange columbine flowers balanced precariously on slender stalks. A cluster of 6-petaled purple flowers with bright yellow stamens, new to me, brightened up the pathway. The abundant chestnut flowers were tinged with pink, and on Cherry Hill a huge tree covered in purple blossoms had started to drop its flowers on the lawn. A park employee, designated a Discovery Guide, later identified it as a Royal Paulownia.

    The Chinese man was sawing away on his 1-string instument by the fountain to the south, and the cowboy was at the path to the east. I walked toward the boathouse, only to find the doo-wop quartet and bass fiddle at the intersection of paths, so I headed back to the fountain and waited for the cowboy to finish.

    A young man started me off with $2. Another man gave me a dollar and then took several photos. Next it was the women’s turn, with a dollar from a passing lady and a quarter from another. That did it for donations, although I had several hula dancers.

    The first dancer was from NYC. She waved her arms lazily, while her friends, barely amused, stood by chatting among themselves. I didn’t even get to the end of the first verse of “The Hukilau Song” before she took off her lei and handed it back.

    The second dancers were a mixed group, two 20-something girls from Los Angeles and Seattle, and a 20-something boy from Israel. Theirs was a vigorous hula, with lots of spinning, hoots and hollers. At the end of the second verse, they gathered up their backpacks and walked off in search of new adventures. My set over, I did the same.

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  2. Adding to the Chaos

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    May 13, 2016 by admin

    The guys who play the box and guitar have added another guitar to their ensemble. They occupy the space on the steps, facing the fountain. The big bubble man is between them and the arcade. Although I can’t see her, the lady with the accordion is in the arcade and is taking full advantage of the Guastavino tiling to amplify “Lady of Spain.”

    I sat down at my usual spot, opposite the path leading to the Boat House. As I set up I assessed the noise level. I’ve played through worse. On the bench in front of me were two women, their palettes, paints and paper spread around them. No way would I obstruct their view. Tuned, hydrated, I checked the time, got to my feet, and added my voice to the chaos of the place.

    There were the usual dog walkers, moms’ pushing strollers, selfie stickers, guided tourists, brides and birdwatchers. When a school group passes by, I spot the leader and ask, “Has this group got time for a hula today?” This particular leader was a stylish, Ukrainian 60-something lady, who, erect and commanding, addressed her charges. “We have been requested to hula dance. I believe we shall do so.”

    The kids were high school age, a little reserved; only one rushed forward to take a lei. But as I dangled the leis in front of them, and the leader quietly called out names, more and more stepped forward. “Lots of leis left,” I said.

    A kid came forward. “One for our teacher,” she said. I gave her the lei from my neck. I quickly lined everyone up, teacher in the middle, explained what was about to happen and started in on “The Hukilau Song.” The students without leis also danced; we created a sensation and everyone had a good time. The teacher gave me $10, and various kids chipped in.

    Walking down the path toward me, I watched a man reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. I’m singing “Tiptoe through the Tulips.” He’s heading straight for me, drops a buck, throws his arm around me and joins in on “knee deep in flowers we’ll stray,” in a Tiny Tim falsetto. As camp as Tiny Tim was in the 60’s, no one under 40 ever heard of him.

    A grizzled old man dressed all in black walked by and eyed me, eyed my case. A while later he came by again in the other direction. The third time he came up behind me, threw a tightly folded bill into my case, and walked off.

    With about 15 minutes left in my set, the ladies on the bench started packing up their painting. One of them walked up to me and put $2 down. “Thank you,” she said, “you provided a lovely accompaniment to our work.”

    On my way out of the park I heard a carriage driver point out the statue of Daniel Webster, senator and orator. It was pleasing to hear the driver get it right; so often they say Daniel Webster wrote the dictionary. Too bad he added, “not to be confused with the man who wrote the dictionary, Nathaniel Webster.”

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  3. My First Day in May

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    May 12, 2016 by admin

    After a 2-week bout of bad weather, I returned to the park to find the tulips in collapse, with forget-me-nots, bleeding heart and pale pink wild geranium in ascendance. The chestnut tree is blooming white; for the next week or two it will be at its best, then slowly, once again, succumb to blight. Columbine, covered with drooping amber flowers, are visible here and there along the path.

    Dominating everything, however, are the azaleas. First to my eye is a glorious magenta mound. Farther into the park, at Cherry Hill, the salmon and white shrubs appear. At Bethesda Fountain, pink and red join the chorus. The 2-string Chinese cello is there, as is the cowboy, but I seemed to have arrived just as he was packing up. From a distance I can hear some amplified bass, but it is out of sight, and not too loud.

    “Coming back?” asked the big bubble man.

    “Never left.”

    Shortly after starting my set, I caught the eye of young woman bopping by to the rhythm. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    She started to walk away, then turned to dance. “This is my last day in New York,” she told me, donning a lei. After a single verse of “The Hukilau Song,” she gave me $2 and returned the lei. She was on her way home to Orleans, France.

    While I tried to lure some young children into dancing by waving leis at them, a young man tossed in a dollar. A 40-something photographer took lots of pictures, then unburdened herself of her backpack and dug out a dollar. A moment later, 2 small children dropped some small change into my case.

    Marcel and Maggie the dog walked by for a brief visit. As they continued their walk, another dog, Lola, came by with her owner, a petite woman of a certain age whom I’ve talked to many time over the years. When she asked me about my winter, I told her I’d broken my leg.

    “I was sick this winter,” she said in her slightly accented English, “and I told my friends, ‘It could have worse; I could have broken my leg.'”

    A dad and his two young daughters rolled up in a double carriage. He took them out and set them loose on me. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “Sure do.” The girls were shy; the younger ran back to dad and nuzzled his leg.

    “I think you’ve got to set an example,” I told him, handing him a lei.

    He hesitated, then put on the lei and led his kids in a lovely hula. “In for a penny,” he explained.

    By the time my set was over, the park seemed to have emptied out. I sang out my final number, “Little Grass Shack,” to the sky and trees. With $8.30 in my pocket, I headed out, past the Chinese cello. I was curious to see how such a simple instrument made so loud a sound. There, between his feet, was a small amplifier. I should have known.

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