After a 3 week hiatus, I returned to the park.  Most of the daffs were shot.  Silvery rose-colored tulips dominated the hillside by the hundreds, giving way to purple pansies and multi-colored South African daisies at the entry to the park at 72^nd Street.  Above the corpses of white tulips now rose pale yellow fritillaria imperialis, their shy flowers peeking up from a cover of spiky green leaves.  Next to the still bud-less rose bushes was a single bleeding heart.

The area around the Mosaic Fountain was in deep shade.  There, Solomon’s seal and buckeye bottlebrush dominated.  One pink wild geranium was also having its moment.  The pallid white conical blooms on the chestnut tree masked the disease we know is there.

The park today was full of families, dogs and bikes.  Local school kids, under the watchful eye of their gym teacher, ran relay races to a big tree and back.  What started as a cool day had turned delightfully warm and clear.

I set up at Bathesda Fountain, center stage, where I soon attracted the attention of a toddler.  She could barely walk, but with a lei around her neck, she could hula.  Her father gave me a dollar.  Soon a young man got up from his bench and dropped a dollar bill and some coins into my case  A young woman from Michigan, who danced her first hula ever while her boyfriend documented the event, netted me another $1.

A trio of Greek girls got hold of my leis and frolicked around the fountain.  They asked me to play something Greek; all I could come up with was “Never on Sunday.”  They had never heard of it, nor of Melina Mercouri, the Greek actress and politician who’d made the song famous long before they were born.  That notwithstanding, each gave me a buck.

A stressed office worker from 55^th St. had come out to the park on her lunch break to enjoy the beautiful day.  Not long after we started to talk, she was swaying to “The Hukilau Song.”

About an hour into my set, a young man with a broad grin and straw hat, approached.  His name was Jonathan.  In about 45 minutes, he would be conducting a wedding. Since live music is always better than pre-recorded, he’d checked out the buskers and chose me to provide the processional over the kids playing guitar and mandolin.  “Because you looked more like a professional musician,” he told me.  I assured him I was not, but that didn’t stop him.  “Can you play ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ the Iz version?”

“No, but I can play the Judy Garland version.”  That seemed fine to Jonathan; we struck a deal for $25.  I moved to the far end of the fountain, facing the lake, and started to entertain the wedding guests as they arrived.  Between songs, surreptitiously,  I rediscovered the forgotten chords I would need, so that by the time I got the nod from Jonathan I could pretty well croon the tune without mistakes.  As I sang “why, oh why, can’t I,” Marielle and Ray had reached Jonathan and the ceremony began.

Afterward, everyone gathered for pictures while I sang “The Hawaiian Wedding Song,” followed by “Making Love Ukulele Style.”  It was a fun gig.  With $34.72 in my pocket, I exited the park.