Not really, that’s just the opening line to “Sunday.” But Mondays can be slow. With the cool breeze in the shade, however, the lack of an audience afforded me time to try out old tunes: “Don’t Blame Me,” “Whispering,” “When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam.” I watched the Canada geese, together with tourists of all nations, glide over the lake, all sparkly with sunlight.

I took in 3 and change, all from kids. The first 2 fit a pattern. The kid is curious, slows, approaches. Maybe he has a toy uke at home or has decided at that moment that he wants one. We lock eyes. A thought passes between us. Is it the shared delight in music-making, or the awe of aloha that crosses his face? He runs to catch up, pulls on mommy/daddy’s sleeve. A brief discussion, and the wallet/purse opens.

The third kid was of a different sort. Young parents, seeking the same breezy shade I do, parked their stroller right in front of me. As I sang, the kid nodded off. Dad had time to make some calls; Mom looked like she was checking email. I sang some quiet numbers so as not to wake the baby.