‘Uncategorized’ Category
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Aloha and Shana Tova to All
0September 22, 2017 by admin
I was counting wood anemone flowers (15-13) when an Israeli woman stopped to admire the blossoms. She looked into my face, then recounted this anecdote. “When my children were young I took them to many free orchestral concerts. One day, while walking home from one of these events, my son said, ‘Mommy, I know why Jewish people like the violin so much.’ ‘Why is that?’ I asked him. ‘Because the violin is the only instrument that cries.’”
“Is that a violin?” she asked.
“It’s a ukulele. The only instrument that laughs.”
As we parted she added, “Shana Tova,” today being the first day of Rosh Hashana.
It was another hot day, with a gray cloud cover. Schools were closed; the park was again teeming with people.
At Bethesda Fountain, Colin the cowboy was ending his set with “Hotel California” (Eagles, 1976). His recorded accompaniment included a string section and choir.
Far up the path, a man and woman listened to me play “Fit as a Fiddle.” Afterward, the man walked down to me and gave me a dollar. “I loved your rendition of that song from ‘Singin’ in the Rain.’”
A mixed-gender group of kids from Long Island hesitated, then, one by one, 4 of them donned leis and hulaed. With their backs to me, they organized $3 among them.
A man and his toddler son sat by the fountain to my left. I offered the child my kid-lei, but he ran back to his dad and hid behind him. I continued my set, pretending not to notice when the boy snuck up behind me and swiped a lei. “That’s not yours,” said dad, who returned the lei, along with 29 cents.
A well-dressed group of moms and kids lingered at the fountain to my right. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
“I know how to hula,” said a dark-haired mom.
“Where’d you learn to hula?” her friend wanted to know. Taking a lei, the woman described her childhood in Seattle and the many Hawaiians she knew there.
To the strains of “The Hukilau Song,” the woman danced using all the proper hand movements I’ve seen native Hawaiian use. Her friend and all the kids were awestruck. “You were terrific,” I told her.
“So were you,” she said, fishing a fiver from her wallet.
“Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked a young woman.
“Why not?”
So we went to the hukilau, after which I asked if I detected an Irish accent. “Scotland,” she said. I was abashed. “No worry, it happens all the time.”
A contingent of 20-something Brazilians danced next. They danced energetically through 2 verses, only to find that the girl with the smartphone hadn’t figured out how to record the dance. After some brief instruction, we reprised the second verse, for which I received cheek kisses and a 10-spot.
A man with dreadlocks came by and gave me a fiver, asking for $3 change. “That ever happen before?”
“All the time,” I said.
“Money will be no good soon. Listen to me, I’m from the future.”
“Maybe you should give me the $3 back.”
“For the present, I still need it, but soon,” he intoned.
Two women, one 70-something, the other perhaps her daughter, would not hula, but asked if they could take a picture with me, for which they gave me $2. I asked the older woman, who spoke with an accent, where she was from.
“Brooklyn.”
By the end of my set my case had filled up nicely, totaling $30.67. Aloha and Shana Tova to all.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Fit as a Fiddle, Hotel California, Singin' in the Rain, The Hukilau Song
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Fourth of July in September
0September 21, 2017 by admin
The wood anemone bent out over the path sporting 15 open flowers; the smaller plant, 9. The park seemed more populous than recently. The cowboy, Colin, had already packed his gear when I arrived at center stage.
A man asked if a dollar would buy a picture, as indeed it would.
A trio of girls from Maryland wandered by, looking for a good place to sit and eat lunch. “Have you got time for a hula today?” One of the girls, Emily, wanted to dance, so I fixed her up with a lei and told her about the hukilau. After the first verse, she signaled her friend to come over and take a picture. In the distance, I noticed Carole, her camera nearly obscuring her face.
At the end of the second verse of “The Hukilau Song,” Emily ran back to her friends; Carole came forward and gave me a dollar. “You don’t have to give me money every time,” I told her.
“Not every time,” she said.
Emily returned with a dollar and my lei.
A man approached from the benches and gave me $2.
Three willowy blondes strolled by. I tried to convince them to hula, but they smiled and kept walking. Just before exiting the plaza, however, one turned back. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No, no,” said the woman, stooping to drop a dollar and change in my case.
A pack of Italians rode in on their bikes. They enthusiastically accepted my offer to hula, each kicking in a buck afterward.
A woman of a certain age, having finished her lunch, handed me 2 singles. “Very entertaining,” she said.
A couple had been lingering on the bench in front of me. The man stretched out, with his head in the woman’s lap, while she scrolled through her phone. From time to time, the man looked up at me, then, after a few songs, he appeared to be napping. At last they got up to go, and the man veered off in order to make a donation.
“Thanks,” I said, “I thought you were sleeping.”
“Love your music,” he said.
“Thanks for the show,” said another man, shortly before I ended my set.
I was surprised to count out $17.76, a number more suited to the busy summer season, July, say, than these slow days of September.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song
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Hurricane Hula
0September 20, 2017 by admin
On a humid Tuesday morning, with hurricanes in the Atlantic driving powerful winds and moisture at New York City, I sallied forth to Bethesda Fountain with my ukulele. On my way, I counted wood anemone flowers. The plant along the path had been invaded by boneset, yet still managed 13 flowers; the other, 8.
My paraphernalia started blowing away before I even set it out. First the plastic hula girl packages, followed by the plastic bag I store leis in, then some leis themselves. I anchored the leis in the outside pocket of my case, still allowing them to drape over the back so people could see them. I protected the hula girls by standing them in the lee of my case and the ledge of the fountain.
A little kid watched at a distance. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
She ran to her family, who were sitting around the fountain to my right. As I sang my opening numbers to a largely empty plaza, I frequently turned to her and made beckoning motions. She would not hula, but before the family moved on, she ran over and tossed some small change in my case.
Two Swedish women had been eating their lunch by the lake. As they walked by, one of them dropped a dollar and change. “Thank you so much for the entertainment.”
Carole stopped by to chat. A photographer, she often came to the park with her camera. “Why isn’t anybody paying attention to you? Won’t anybody hula?”
I offered her a lei, which, as usual, she refused. She stood with me while I busked, and watched all the people who walked by without a glance at the man with the uke. “I don’t get it,” she said, giving me a dollar, then went off to find something more interesting to shoot.
An Israeli man came off the benches with $2.
A woman smiled broadly as I played. She asked lots of questions about my ukulele and told me she played guitar. I offered her my uke. “No strap?” she said, then sat down at the edge of the fountain and started to play. This woman had no idea. Her fingers flopped all over the fret board. “Every chord is minor!” She mumbled lyrics.
I took the uke back and began to sing “My Baby Just Cares for Me.”
A strong gust of wind whipped through the plaza. My case blew closed with a thud; leis, business cards, cocktail umbrellas went flying. The woman got up to help collect things nearby. The leis and a section of AM NY had blown all the way to the niche where the eastern wall meets the stairs. I picked my stuff out of the jumble of dead leaves, drinking straw wrappers and single ride metrocards.
While I was gone, the woman had taken up my uke again and brought forth a tortured tune. I battened things down, pleased to find that the lid had closed on my money before it could escape. But where were my notes? I always jot things down so I can write this blog. Leaving the woman with my uke, I walked off to find the 3 ½ x 5 inch piece of paper. It was not by the stairs, it hadn’t blown over the wall to the lawn. There it was, at the feet of a woman on the bench. I walked up to her, excused myself and retrieved it.
With everything restored, I took back my uke. “Would you rather I not sit here?” the woman said.
“You’re free to sit wherever you want,” I said, “but it would be better if you listened from over there,” pointing to the benches.
She got up and stood 10 feet in front of me, through several songs, applauding after each. When she finally walked away, I felt a weight lift, and the return of joy.
A young woman gave me a dollar. She had to catch up with her family, or she would certainly hula. “Bring them back here and everyone can hula.”
At the end of my set, I sat down to make some notes. A 40-something man with a red handlebar mustache walked up with a dollar. It was s $7.91 day. I got everything packed up but the leis. The plastic bag I keep them in was gone. For the third time, I searched downwind, this time without success.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: My Baby Just Cares for Me
