1. Another Day under the Maple

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    June 8, 2019 by admin

    Remember the bird’s nest in the crook of Daniel Webster’s right elbow?  There is another, in the palm of his left hand, hardly visible behind his thick bronze fingers.  The catalpas up the path are splendidly adorned in clusters of white flowers, with petals lightly stained with pollen, like a tablecloth after a tea party.

    The Conservancy Event is over, but it takes another day or 2 to clean up.  I might have set up by the lake and taken my chances, except for the noise of the truck engines’ idling while volunteers loaded dirty linens and folding chairs.

    Under the Norway maple, I started strumming, wondering, hardly 5 minutes into my 90-minute session, whether today might be the day I don’t make carfare.  There was a skinny 10-year-old sitting with his parents and sister on the outcrop behind me.  About 15 minutes in, he walked around the fence and gave me a dollar.  Another 15 minutes passed and a large group of high schoolers from California walked by.

    “Has this group got time for a hula dance today?”

    “Can’t stop, gotta catch a plane,” said the leader, but one young lady managed to find a dollar and put it in my case before being hustled along.

    No need for concern, I thought, I was bound to get another tip in the next 45 minutes.  And I did:  2 women on bikes stopped to take pictures of the rowboats on the lake, a pretty tableau of sky and clouds reflected in the water, with the towers of the Majestic and the San Remo rising above the park’s green canopy.

    A woman, a man, a woman, put singles in my case, then another large group of high schoolers came up the stairs from the east toward me.  “Does this group have time for a hula today?”

    The leader hesitated.  “Anybody want to do the hula?” I addressed the kids, and of course they did.  I handed out all my leis and off we danced to “The Hukilau Song.”  I stopped at the second verse and had the kids pass the leis to the next troupe of dancers, one of whom was a 40-something buff, bearded teacher who hula’ed with exaggerated moves that made the kids roar.  While he was telling me they were from Grand Junction, Colorado, the kids put the leis back and layered singles, a lot of singles, in my case.

    $14.51 is a good day, especially under the maple.

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  2. Rich Gotta Eat Too

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    June 5, 2019 by admin

    In the 3 weeks since I last visited Central Park, the spent flowers have been grubbed up.  Along Central Park West, the only color comes from the tiny white blooms of Philadelphia Fleabane.  Behind the benches at W. 72nd St., the “dogs” dominate, i.e., pink dog roses and creamy dogwood.  The dogwood extends across the road to the Imagine Mosaic, with a smattering of colorless astilbe and spirea.

    Bethesda Fountain has been fenced off for a Central Park Conservancy event, so once again I made my way to the Norway Maple along the path to the boathouse.  Between the lake and me is a tall White Mulberry tree, the unripe fruit of which is hidden among the leaves.  Trucks hauling provisions, following a man in dreadlocks who clears the way for them, occasionally pass in front of me.  We recognize each other from years past.  “Rich gotta eat too,” he says by way of greeting.

    I got my first donation from a young woman shooting video.  I belt out “Sunday” for her and she gives me a dollar.

    I have no illusions about this location.  After an hour, with only a dollar to show for it, I begin to think that today will be the day I don’t earn carfare.  A teenaged redhead puts 45 cents in my case.

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “Sure,” she says with enthusiasm.  I drape a lei around her neck, but before we go to the Hukilau, her mom comes forward and digs in her purse for another dollar.  They both dance the hula, while dad strolls back from the staircase where they’d abandoned him for me.  They are from Lubbock TX, home of the Raiders of Texas Tech.

    When they’d gone, there was $2.45 in my case, still a quarter short, but not for long.  A man who’d been leaning against the fence and watching the boaters, strode up to me, laid a dollar in my case and strode off.

    I was singing “North Dakota, South Dakota,” when the lyrics caught the attention of 2 70-something gay guys.  They stopped to listen, told me how much they liked my singing, then tossed 2 singles into my case.

    The path where I played is a stopping point for tours.  I play quietly while the tour guide speaks, then ask, “Has this group got time for a hula today?”  They almost never do, and today was no exception.  Nevertheless, a young woman detached herself and gave me a dollar, then ran back to rejoin the group as they disappeared over the hill toward the fountain.

    I needn’t have worried.  There was $6.45 in my case, more than enough to get home.

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