1. Lucky Eights

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    August 9, 2018 by admin

    On August 8, the temperature in Central Park reached 88 degrees.  The triumvirate of begonias, ageratum and allium provided color.  Not a rose could be found behind the benches; instead the bush was littered with brown leaves and wilting tips.  In the shade of Strawberry Fields, the guitarist finished “Let It Be,” then immediately launched into a dark rendition of “Strawberry Fields.”

     

    Colin, the cowboy, dressed in black, motioned to me as I walked past.  “I’m ready to call it a day,” he said.  “This is brutal.”

     

    “Not for me today,” I said, looking toward the sun-drenched fountain.  “I’ll go play in the shade.”

     

    There weren’t many people in the park.  I played to the sky and water, and to the towers of the San Remo on Central Park West.  The boat rental business just across the path, on the other side of a chain-link fence, looked slow.  One of the attendants, his back to me, danced a lazy hula.

     

    I took a water break after 30 minutes, and another, 30 minutes later.  So far, except for the 2 singles I use to give people the right idea, priming the pump, so to speak, my uke case was empty.  While I sang out lyrics I’d sung 10,000 times before, I started to compose this blog in my head.  After 11 years of busking, nothing, nil, bupkis.  Then, literally at the 88th minute of my 90 minute set, a woman, who had been taking pictures of her young teen daughter, plopped a fiver in my case and said, “Picture, please.”

     

    “I have one requirement,” I said, reaching for a lei and draping it around her daughter’s neck.

     

    “Requirement?” she said.  “Ok, we accept.”

     

    After the picture was taken, I invited the girl, who was in New York from San Diego, to hula.  “Go ahead,” said mom.

     

    “You go ahead,” said the girl, taking the camera and putting the lei on her mother.

     

    So mom danced to “The Hukilau Song,” while daughter took the pictures.  “That’s worth some more money,” mom said.

     

    The set over, I unfolded another 3 singles, for a total of — what else — $8.

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  2. 90 Minutes of Bliss

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    August 6, 2018 by admin

    It poured all Wednesday morning, but around 11:30 the sun peeked out, promising a steamy, rain-free afternoon.  At the Women’s Gate, vines prospered.  Tangles wound around the fencing, morning glory reached out of the undergrowth, and wisteria launched itself from the pergola all the way to the pavement.  The only song at the Imagine Mosaic was sung by cicadas in search of a mate.

     

    No guitarists today, no jazz combo, no acrobats.  What do they know that I don’t know?

     

    At Bethesda Fountain, no cowboy, no accordion, no erhu.  What do I know that they don’t know?  I know that the ukulele is a happy instrument, that the hula is a happy dance, and that singing my heart out makes me happy.

     

    I opened my set with the usual tunes, and before long a Spanish woman with a bicycle group dismounted and danced the hula, after which she gave me $1.25.  A thick-necked bruiser of a boy added another buck.  An assortment of walkers dropped change.

     

    A dad with a baby stroller rolled up and parked in front of me.  He wife and daughter were out on a boat while he stayed with his young son.  He lived in Israel now, but spent the first 25 years of his life in New York; his wife was from Minnesota.  They were in the lady’s underwear business.

     

    At the end of my set black clouds started rolling in from the southwest.  I counted up $7.64, then headed for the subway; I got there just as the storm broke.

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