Posts Tagged ‘The Hukilau Song’
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There Goes the Summer
0September 5, 2015 by admin
I saw my first acorn today. Fuzzy finger-long magnolia buds fatten in the sun; a pink tissue of flower petals was visible in a few of them. The chestnut tree is mostly black.
As I got to the fountain, Meta was packing up. She told me she’d been there since 9 o’clock, and all had been glorious until the cowboy set up across the way. “He’s so loud,” she said.
“Not too loud for me. As long as I can’t hear him when I play,” I said, “I figure I’m maintaining busker etiquette.”
“That’s my rule too,” Meta said. “I guess you play louder than me, because I can hear him.”
I set up exactly where I’d been Tuesday. A family of Brazilians slowed as they passed me. Dad was interested in my instrument. “Ukulele?” I nodded. He wasn’t inclined to stop, but when first I engaged him over the uke, then his daughter over a hula, they became my first customers of the day.
A Bolivian man was roaming the fountain area with his 2 daughters. Having seen the Brazilian girl dance, the Bolivian girls thought they’d like to try.
Keeping with the international theme, a French girl, in denim shorts and a loose fitting tee shirt, danced free style, with lots of arm-waving, head-banging, and hip-shaking energy. She pranced over a lot of real estate during 2 verses of “The Hukilau Song,” ending up where she started, next to me. She gave me back my lei, kissed both cheeks and walked away.
A man and boy from Toronto liked the music. Neither wanted to dance, but were happy to give me a dollar. All the Americans, it appeared, had already left town for the Labor Day weekend.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song
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The Return of Mr. Ukulele
0September 1, 2015 by admin
I returned to the park on the last day of August, a humid day pushing 90 degrees. A gardener watered what remained at the entrance, still-blooming white aster, cherry pink begonia, annual pink vinca, purple angelonia, and a moon flower vine run amok. There were no roses, but their bright red growing tips were 8 feet high and rising. Bloomed-out cleome and phlox made a last ditch display, their delicate flowers shining in the sun like a bald man’s pate.
The Boyd family singers colonized the arcade; they were using a CD-player for accompaniment. The curséd cowboy also had recorded music playing, even when he wasn’t. The summer is coming to an end and anarchy rules again. The only one who seemed to be doing well was the bottled water man, selling agua fria for a dollar less than the hot dog men at the top of the stairs.
Under the maple tree, all was quiet. Bursts of people came by, followed by long stretches of solitude, when I could practice my new number, “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” and resurrect last year’s new number, “Down among the Sheltering Palms.” A passing 50-ish man, wearing a white panama hat like mine, put 76 cents in my case. Later, another man of similar age, with the same hat, gave me a dollar.
“Have you got time for a hula today?” Two teenagers were walking by. She had close-cropped black hair, black lipstick, and was dressed in what looked like a wedding dress that had been cut down to a sun-dress. He was a handsome fireplug in a black tee shirt. I figured them for New York City kids and was right. She was attending Hunter College, he was studying aviation at Vaughn College in Queens. She gave up her solo hula at about the time we were throwing nets into the sea at the hukilau, grabbed her partner and pushed him around until they settled into something like a waltz.
“Can we take a picture? You’re cool,” she told me, putting a buck in my case.
At $2.76, I figured it was as good a day as I’ve had in weeks. While singing my finale, “Little Grass Shack,” a couple of girls from New Jersey stopped to dance. They floundered at first, then fell into line with a synchronized hula, with a few Jersey-style flourishes thrown in. They contributed a dollar a piece, and I went home feeling as if I’d overachieved.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Down among the Sheltering Palms, Little Grass Shack, My Baby Just Cares for Me, The Hukilau Song
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Mid-Summer Doldrums
0August 20, 2015 by admin
I felt relieved when I saw the cowboy, music stand in front of him, amp behind, all dressed up in his leather Stetson, jeans and boots. He was a 60-something black man with a neatly-trimmed gray beard. When he played, he rocked back and forth on stiff bow-legs. I had started out today eager for center stage, but, by the time I’d walked to Bethesda Fountain, sweat was running down my back; the heat and humidity were suffocating.
Under the merciful shade of the maple, with a cool breeze from time to time lifting off the lake, I raised my voice in Aloha. The park was seriously devoid of people, as if the weatherman had warned everyone to stay indoors. Far fewer rowboats floated on the water. I looked to the east, and not a soul came from the boathouse, or emerged from the tunnel under the roadway. I looked to the west, and no one sat on the rock behind me or the bench up the hill, no one crested the path from the fountain. Even the birds that swoop from the high branches, from maple to mulberry, seemed to have taken the afternoon off.
A half hour later, a 50-something photographer reached into his pocket and dumped 76 cents in my case. The coins lay there, all alone, for a good while longer. A bike rider, who’d ridden past me already, came back in the other direction. “Sounds good,” he said, as he whizzed by.
A young man found 19 cents for me.
A girl and her mother rested against the fence in the shade near me. The girl was dressed all in white for a sweet sixteen. “Have you got time for a hula today?” She put her matching high-heeled shoes back on and walked toward me for her lei. Mom took pictures. The girl was self-conscious and embarrassed. After a single verse of “The Hukilau Song,” I collected the lei and they walked on.
A little girl let go of her father’s hand and put more change in my case. The first and only folding money of the day came a few moments later. Another little girl had stopped across the way and was eyeing me uncertainly. I flashed my best aloha smile. She smiled back, which smile, a moment later, transformed into a tightly folded single.
When a day camp of 6 and 7 year olds stopped to hula, only 2 kids danced. The teen-aged counsellors tried to show them how to hula, but the kids stiffly waved their arms in the air until the second verse, when I speeded it up and encouraged free-style. “Thank you,” I said at the end of the dance. “Mahalo.” One of the kids who did not dance put some pennies in my case.
I always close my set with “My Little Grass Shack,” in which there is a lyric in Hawaiian: “Komo mai no kâua i ka hale welakahao.” I was singing those words when I saw what looked to me like native Hawaiians coming down the path. They giggled to each other as they passed.
“How’d I do?” I asked.
“Not even close,” one answered.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: My Little, The Hukilau Song
