1. A Perfectly Adequate Thursday

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    July 31, 2018 by admin

    Thursday was neither too hot, nor too humid.  The reds, purples and pinks of begonia, ageratum and allium dominated the entrance at 72nd St.  The arrival of white cosmos, just beginning to show, held the promise of more variety in the future.

     

    Randy sang “Imagine” at the Imagine Mosaic.  Farther down the path, red and pink dog roses made a nice show across from the plaque of peace, a tribute to John Lennon from the nations of the world.  People climbed the rock to get a better look at the contributors; without irony they snapped pictures of the list, which began with Afghanistan and ended with Zaire.  Across the path, a giant jewelweed waited to be pulled, and a nearby nettle’s burr-encrusted branches stuck out like a rooftop tv antenna.  New life was evident in a clump of astilbe, and farther still down the path, under the pin oak, the wood anemone thrived.  I resisted the impulse to count the flowers.

     

    At Bethesda Fountain, Colin, the singing cowboy, told me he’d be done soon, so I set up and waited.

     

    The first contribution of the day was 51 cents from a pre-teen girl who watched while I waited for Colin.  A 20-something from Wisconsin happily danced a hula for a dollar, followed by 2 more badgers for $2.  “Are you with a tour from Wisconsin?” I asked.

     

    “No, just us,” was the answer.

     

    Two Argentinian women danced next.  As they walked off, having dropped a dollar in my case, I started to sing “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone.”  After 8 bars, my low-G string broke.  A guy walking by said, “I hate when that happens,” and walked on.

     

    I dug a new string out of my case, sat down and put it on.  For the rest of my set, I had to tighten it after every song – sometimes during a song – until it settled down.  With about 30 minutes to go, the park seemed to empty out.  During that time only 1 person chipped in a dollar, a 40-something from Huntsville, Alabama.

     

    “Are you a rocket scientist?” I asked, exhausting my knowledge of Huntsville in a single question.

     

    “Yes, I am,” he said.  “How did you know?”

     

    “Is it supposed to be a secret?”

     

    “I’m going to have to turn you in,” he said.  “Just kidding.”

     

    My take for the day was $7.51, not great, yet not too bad.

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  2. A Fast Day on Center Stage

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    July 22, 2018 by admin

    The weatherman promised a fantastic Friday, so I went to the park and was glad I did.  The platoon guitarist played “Imagine” at the Imagine Mosaic.  Colin, the cowboy, quickly wrapped up “Hotel California” (Eagles, 1976), and yielded center stage to me.  My first dollar came from one of the begging Buddhists who presses prayer flags in the hands of people and asks for money.  My second dollar came from Colin.

     

    A Chinese teenage girl couldn’t wait to dance.  Her friends roared with laughter as her hula burst forth to the strains of “The Hukilau Song.”  At the end of the song she collected coins from the friends to give to me.  A 20-something hipster handed me a dollar, and a couple of kids threw in some change.  The teen-aged son of a family walking by pulled a dollar out of his pocket and threw me the shaka sign, the Hawaiian equivalent to thumbs-up.

     

    A group of bicyclists rested on the bench.  After listening for a while, one of the men, tall and broad, came forward with $3.  He was from Germany, near Lake Constance.  “Ah, der Bodensee,” I said, channeling Herr Hannes, my German teacher in junior high.

     

    Next came a girl from Virginia, who danced a charming hula, acting out the net-throwing and eye-rolling I sang about in “The Hukilau Song.”

     

    A 20-something girl in black watched from the shaded path; I spotted her again, standing around the fountain to my left, and a third time on the bench to my right.  While I serenaded a couple of little kids, she snuck in behind me and tossed a dollar in my case.  “Thanks,” I said, catching her in the act.  She smiled and was gone.

     

    Carole, the photographer, stopped to say hello.  She hadn’t seen me in a while and thought I might be playing somewhere else.  As we chatted under the blue sky and billowy clouds, with people milling all around us, and the sound of the fountain splashing, the children laughing – even the Russian accordionist somewhere out there – I felt I was home, among friends.

     

    A 40-something woman put a handful of change in my case.  A different begging Buddhist gave me a dollar.  He faced me, clapped, put his hands together and bowed.

     

    Two pre-teens from Chicago gave me a dollar.  They didn’t want to hula, they wanted to talk about ukes.  “That’s a tenor ukulele, isn’t it?” said one.  She was teaching herself to play.  I handed her the uke; “Let’s see what you can do?”

     

    The other girl was taking lessons too.  When it was her turn, she picked out a little tune and was quite pleased with herself.  An adult standing by insisted on pictures.  Afterward, she tucked a ten-spot under the capo in my case.

     

    At the end of my set I folded $24 in bills into my pocket, and pushed $1.70 in too-hot-to-handle change into the shade of my ukulele case to cool.  A man in a business suit, complete with tie and suspenders, walked up, took out his wallet and extracted a single for me.  “I used to dress like that,” I said.

     

    “I wish I could dress like you.”

     

    “Some day you will.”

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  3. A Slow Day under the Maple

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    July 20, 2018 by admin

    The park foliage drooped in the heat.  Nothing new seems to have been planted this week.  The big surprise was a dusty pink wood anemone in bloom under the pin oak by the road.  In the shade by the lake, the jazz combo was reduced to a bass, drums and keyboard.

     

    It looked as if center stage was mine.  Past the big bubble man and snakes on segways, a woman had set up a table with manual typewriter, ready to write poems to order.  I let her know I would set up near her before I saw the erhu player, scratching out “Besame Mucho.”

     

    “Never mind.”

     

    Under the shade of the maple, I began my set with “Making Love Ukulele Style.”

     

    “Hey,” a man shouted as he walked by, “Can you spell ukulele backward?”  I did and he kept walking.

     

    A young family with 2 daughters walked by.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”

     

    “Absolutely,” said mom.  The elder girl, about 7, was shy, but the younger was full of energy; she romped through 2 verses of “The Hukilau Song.”  Dad coughed up a buck.

     

    A 50-ish woman stopped to give me a dollar, followed by a woman whose kids were being drawn by a nearby caricaturist.  Another caricaturist set up on the other side of me.  He watched my act for a while, then packed up his stuff and moved on.

     

    A young woman gave me a smile and a dollar.  She had no time to hula.

     

    As I wrapped up, 2 families with 4 kids under 5 agreed to hula.  Draping leis around their necks, I gave them a quick lesson and sent them off to the hukilau.  They started with enthusiasm, but before I got halfway through the first verse, their arms fell to their sides, smiles faded, boredom set in.  Across the path, the moms started dancing, encouraging the kids to follow their lead, but it was no use.  I brought the song to a merciful end. One of the dads made a dollar donation.

     

    I played “Little Grass Shack,” stuffed 5 singles into my shirt pocket, packed up and went home.

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