The post-marathon park seemed out of season. Annuals were torn up; past peak, many trees were bare. Despite the 70 degree temperature, people were wrapped in scarves and sweaters. The cowboy was in his proper place in the northwest corner of the plaza, allowing me the uncontested center stage.

An Australian family started me off. One daughter wanted to hula, the other hung back to watch. After a verse of “The Hukilau Song” I invited the second daughter to reconsider, and soon the sisters were dancing in tandem, clomp-clomp right, clomp-clomp left. Dad got the picture, and I got a fiver.

A woman with a huge camera gave me a dollar and asked for a photo. Before she could get me in focus, a man with an equally huge camera took his photo from another angle.

An old man lurked, watching and listening first from the bench, then from the lip of the fountain, then back at the bench. After a half dozen songs, he approached with a dollar and asked, “Who besides you and me has ever heard of these old songs? ‘Tiptoe through the Tulips,’ ‘All of Me,’ ‘I Can’t Give You Anything but Love,’ ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me.’ Great job,” he added, returning to the bench to hear some more.

Mothers with small children took advantage of the warm weather. Two moms, with 3 kids between them, let them run freely, which eventually led them to me. I folded the leis in half so they would not trip over them. The 4 year old girl danced. The 2 year old boy, alert to the fact that people were watching, stood stock still, not wanting to call any more attention to himself. The third child clung to his mom’s leg. The dancers were each given a dollar for me.

While all this was going on, Marcel and Maggie came down the path and into the plaza. A 70-something woman, introduced as Marcel’s wife and Maggie’s mom, told me how cute it was to see little kids dance, and how much Maggie enjoyed the ukulele.

As a woman walked by, our eyes met just as I got to the lyric in “Sunday,” “…so sweet, the moment I fell for you.” She doubled back and dropped some change in my case. “You got me,” she said.

A small girl broke away from a group photograph at the fountain and handed me a dollar. Two women from the bench, an 80-something and a 60-something, who had been chatting through my performance, approached with a dollar too.

Counting my take at the end of the session, $12.35, I sent a silent prayer of Aloha into the warm blue sky. What’s weird is that this unseasonably warm weather is likely to reprise tomorrow, as am I.