Friday started chilly and overcast, but by the time I reached Bethesda Fountain the day had warmed and brightened. The water in the park has been turned on since yesterday; the gentle splash of the fountain mingled with the sweet sounds of the harp and dulcimer. Arlen and Meta had drawn a good-sized crowd, a promising sign of throngs to come.

I donned my lei at my second favorite location, on the path to the Boathouse. With an enormous maple to my back, which gives great shade in summertime although nothing now, and an outcropping of Manhattan schist to my left, I stood to sing. In front of me was an old mulberry tree displaying several fresh cuts; the Parks Department has been busy lopping off dead limbs. At the lakeside people got in and out of rowboats, while at the easternmost end of the lake other people ate on white tablecloths, taking in the view, like me. Across the lake, I could see through the bare bushes a timber-lined path. Is that new? And to the northwest, the taupe towers of the San Remo, made famous in Ghostbusters, stretch skyward.

I start with “Making Love Ukulele Style,” in G, simple chords requiring no great range, followed by a medley in C, “Sunday,” “Fit as a Fiddle” and “I Saw Stars.” Lots of people walked by, ignoring me. After 15 minutes, a young woman dropped a dollar in my case. They were all dollars after that, 11 of them, and most from women too, none of whom danced the hula.

I got my first hula dancer about an hour in. A girl of 6 or 7 was very enthusiastic, as were 2 adults, but the 5-year-old boy preferred not to. He wandered off to sit on the rocks and watch the show, which turned out not to star his sister, but rather the adults. Under the pretense of showing the girl how to hula, they shook and shimmied up a storm.

After 90 minutes, I took off my lei and packed up. I’d played and sang more confidently today than I had yesterday. Callouses are starting to form on my fingertips. I got a little sunburn on my balding pate. Thus the Aloha Spirit transforms us.