1. A Respectable September Thursday

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    September 8, 2017 by admin

    At the entrance to the park, the rose hips have gone deep orange.  Gomphrena and celosia still dominate, but now there is an invasion of wild asters.  They push forward, out from under trees, showing up in the more organized beds and at the feet of Daniel Webster.

     

    The wood anemone is 6 feet tall, and has flower clusters forming at the growing tip of every stem.  The first plant sported 5 open flowers, no more than 3 inches in diameter, among scores of buds; the second plant, farther from the path, was shorter, with only 3 flowers.

     

    Center stage was mine.  After a quarter hour, I got my first tip from a man who’d been there when I arrived.  A song or 2 later, a woman, who’d also been there before me, came up and gave me a dollar.  “I like your backup group,” she said, with a nod to the trio of toy hula girls rocking in the sun on the ledge of the fountain.  She reminded me that we’d met before.  Her name was Carole.  “My mother said we spelled it with an ‘e’ like Carole Lombard.”

     

    A teenage girl, walking by, gave me a quarter.

     

    When a pack of bicyclists entered the area, their leader, a swarthy 20-something man with a radiant grin, gave me the thumbs-up.  I asked if he had time for a hula today.

     

    “A hula?  I’m Mexican, we don’t hula in Mexico.”

     

    “You’re in New York now,” I said.  The other bikers in his group teased him.  They were a mixed assortment of attractive people, like a Benetton ad.  I reeled him in, got a lei around his neck, started telling him about the hukilau, then he balked.

     

    “He needs help.  Come join him,” I said to the others.  A slim blonde Slovakian got off her bike and took a lei.  At the end of “The Hukilau Song,” the man put $2 in my case.  “Thanks,” I said.  “You’re a good sport.”

     

    Later, another pack of bicyclists rolled in.  This time, an Ecuadorian girl ended up with a lei around her neck, but she didn’t want to dance if her friends wouldn’t dance, and her friends wouldn’t dance.  She gave me back the lei and walked away.

     

    On the bench, a 20-something woman, with earbuds, rolled a cigarette.  Through several songs, while involved with her phone, she took one puff at a time, having to relight her cigarette with every puff.  When she got up to leave, she gave me a buck.

     

    It was time now for me to leave.  I prepared to sing “My Little Grass Shack,” when a man, who had been standing to my left, out of sight, put a dollar in my case, thereby closing the day with a respectable $6.25.

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  2. Happy Birthday, Lowell and Martin

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    September 3, 2017 by admin

    Friday was crisp and breezy.  I arrived at Bethesda Fountain just as the cowboy finished his last number.  Before too long, a man dropped 41 cents into my case.

     

    A roly-poly man in his 40’s rushed up to me.  “I have two 2’s here,” he said, showing me the bills.  “Can you sing something for my brother Lowell?  It’s his birthday.”

     

    “How about ‘Happy Birthday?’”

     

    “Perfect,” he said, disappearing behind a large camera.  I sang to Lowell.  The man gave me a thumbs-up, then ran to catch up with his wife.

     

    While singing “Making Love Ukulele Style,” a man set up in front of me and began recording.  He dropped a buck and stayed to talk.  He was from Toronto, and his 12-year-old daughter had just taken up the uke.  He wondered if I gave lessons.  “How much?” he said, reaching for my CD.

     

    “Ten dollars, U.S.”

     

    Lots of people stopped near me to take group photos and selfies at the fountain’s edge.  People came off the benches to give me money.  The park today was happening.

     

    A young couple from the Czech Republic stopped.  This time it was brother Martin’s birthday.  The man and I sang “Happy Birthday” together, while the woman recorded.  The man gave me a fiver.  Looking into my case, I now saw a 10, a 5, and 2 2’s among the singles; it was already a very good day.

     

    Four siblings under 10 came running off the bench to hula.  They were from Illinois.  A few minutes later, 3 young teen-aged girls from Ohio stopped to hula.  They stepped up on the ledge, where my solar-powered hula girls were dancing.  I sang “The Hukilau Song,” while the girls, who seemed to be aping the toys, stiffly rocked back and forth.

     

    I was packing up the leis when a couple, who had been sitting in the northeast corner by the lake, came by to give me a dollar.  “I haven’t closed my case yet,” I said.  “Have you got time for a hula?”

     

    “No, we’ve got to go,” said the woman.  Then, apropos of nothing, “Today’s my birthday.”

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  3. The Last Day of August

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    September 1, 2017 by admin

    It was a warm and breezy Thursday.  The roses at the Women’s Gate have started making hips.  Behind the benches, gomphrena is king.  Farther down the path, past the browning chestnut tree, the wood anemones have started to bloom, each with a single white flower.

     

    The cowboy was finishing up at Bethesda Fountain.  He played “Your Song” (Elton John, 1970), while I waited in the shade.  A 50-something woman standing near me hummed along as she fished money from her purse.  For his final number, “Would You Know My Name” (Eric Clapton, 1992), I moved into the sun near the fountain and began to set up.  People there were humming too.  I waited a bit before starting my set, in order to let the vibe of dead children dissipate.

     

    It was a slow start, but eventually a flock of kids from Mexico ran up to dance the hula.  One of them threw 86 cents into my case.  At the end of “The Hukilau Song,” their mom kicked in a fiver.

     

    A dad with an 11-month-old baby in a stroller was talking on the phone when he noticed his baby’s bobbing to the rhythm of “Get Out and Get Under the Moon.”  He rewarded me with $2.  A woman, who had been sitting near me, threw me some small change as she got up to leave.  A man who had been listening from the benches gave me a buck.

     

    A 40-something woman walked by with her 9-year-old daughter.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  She kept walking, then turned to me.  “Change your mind?” I said.

     

    “No, no hula, but I will listen.  Play me something.”

     

    I launched into “Little Grass Shack.”  After the last humahumanukanukaapuaa swam by, she gave me $2.

     

    A 60-something woman stopped to talk.  “I have to ask,” she said.  “Are you a retired New York City school teacher?”

     

    “Close,” I said.  “I am retired.”

     

    “I could tell that from the smile on your face.  You’re really good with the kids.”

     

    “Are you retired?”

     

    “I’ve got 2 more years.  I hope to be as happy as you are.”

     

    When she walked off, a man approached, opened his wallet and took out his Hawaiian driver’s license.  He was originally from Puerto Rico, had grown up in NYC, and had been living in Maui for the last 7 years.  “Love the hukilau,” he said, then made canoe-paddling motions as he danced off.

     

    Finally, a couple lurking just out of sight around the fountain breezed by and dropped a buck, ending the month with another $12.60 to show for it.

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