After my annual wellness visit with my GP on the east side, I entered the park south of the Metropolitan Museum at 11 am, about 90 minutes earlier than usual.  I followed the path south and ended up at the Alice in Wonderland Statue near the sailboat lake.  When all other locales are occupied, I sometimes try my luck busking here; I’ve been asked to leave by Conservancy workers more than once.  Across the road to the boathouse, past my maple, I found Bethesda Fountain free of other buskers.

Since last I played here, they’ve placed the water plants in the fountain.  The day was as beautiful as a day in June can be, warm air, cool breezes and happy people everywhere enjoying New York.  A little girl in her daddy’s arms came up to me with a dollar in her hand.  Another little kid with another dollar soon followed.

Four teens on a school trip from Colorado talked themselves into a hula.  One of the boys said he once danced the hula in Hawaii, so I moved him to the middle of the line and told the others to follow him, but it was the girl on the far end who, like “Honolulu Baby,” knew her stuff.  For the second verse of “The Hukilau Song,” they grabbed hands and did a wave, which pretty much followed my hula instructions: use your arms to simulate waves.  Each of them gave me money in bills and change.

Four 30-something women stopped and rummaged around in each other’s backpacks.  It often happens that I see people reach into their pockets or open their purses.  It’s a virtual certainty that it’s not to get money for me.  Instead, out come phones, mostly, water bottles, sunglasses, and change purses for coins to throw in the fountain.  But after the picture-taking and suntan lotion application, these most improbable women each gave me a dollar.

An Indian man and his wife came up to talk.  “You play very well,” said the wife, as the man gave me a dollar.  “And you sing very well,” he added.

Two 20-something women in hijab played around the fountain.  They struck funny poses for countless selfies.  “Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked.  Giggling “no” with their hands over their mouths, they continued taking pictures.  I engaged with some other people, but saw that one of the women had put a few singles in my case.

A boy and girl of about 5 sat around the fountain with their parents.  The boy came over to inspect the solar-powered hula girls.  “I’m Logan,” the boy said.  “And that’s my sister Lily.  I’m a minute older than her.”

“Hi, Lily, would you like to dance the hula?”

She was a slender child in pigtails and glasses.  “Not really,” she said.  “I’m nervous.”

“Give it a try, I’ll help you,” I said, slipping a lei around her neck.  Logan had already grabbed one.

“We’re going to a big party on the beach in Hawaii, called a hukilau,” I explained, then broke right into “The Hukilau Song.”

Mom and dad remained at a distance, cell phones at the ready.  The twins danced the hula, more or less.  After I’d collected the leis, they ran to their parents, got a dollar each from dad and ran back to give it to me.

Last were a group of preteen Texans who only wanted a picture with me.  I dressed them in leis for the photo.  Together they put over $5 in my case.

My daily total was $28.06.  I have no idea where it all came from.