Posts Tagged ‘Little Grass Shack’
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After Labor Day
0September 8, 2016 by admin
Returning to the park after Labor Day, I found another 2 weeks of drought had taken a toll. Red fuschia and begonia languished in the shade; a small patch of cornflower looked like abused badminton birdies, brown and broken. Amid the dependable roses, fat yellow rose hips formed. The last of the cleome under the dogwood bloomed white, while the great mass of them behind the benches had burned up.
The crowds were thin. The guitarist sang “All You Need is Love” to a small audience at the Imagine Mosaic. At the road, where, amazingly, bike riders stopped for the light, the spent spikes of Lady’s Mantle were 4 feet high, sedum showed some pink florets and the astilbe, like the cleome, was burned to a crisp.
I approached the cowboy. “When’s quitting time?”
“I have no idea.” He looked at his watch and said, “15 minutes.”
So I moved on, past the portraitists under the maple, to my #3 spot, under the sheltering bush across from the boat rental kiosk, where I sang, for the most part, to myself. At one point a group of 5 young people from the Czech Republic stopped. “I’ll dance the hula if you teach me how,” said a 20-something woman. I did, and off we went to the hukilau. After the dance, I told her of my visit to Prague “before you were born, in 1970.”
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“That’s before my parents were born,” she said. “You have such good memories of my country,” she added. “Now you have given us good memories of yours.” With that, they walked off.After 30 minutes, I tossed all my paraphernalia into my case and went back to center stage. By this time, a rock trio had set up near the lake and were shouting lyrics rather than singing them, like a Seattle grunge band. The doo-wop group was making great use of the acoustics in the arcade. Despite the ambient noise, however, I set up again. As long as I played, I couldn’t hear the competition.
A jolly man and his jolly wife gave me a dollar. The man said my music was making a wonderful day even more so. A lady walked by and tossed a dollar in my case. Two women, who had been sitting on the bench, tapping their feet to my tunes, finally picked up their belongings and made ready to leave. But first they put $2 in my case and chatted about the old songs.
A bride and groom, with entourage, appeared at the fountain. It was already past quitting time, but I sang out “The Hawaiian Wedding Song” for them, then closed, as usual, with “Little Grass Shack.”
Category Uncategorized | Tags: All You Need Is Love, Little Grass Shack, The Hawaiian Wedding Song
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Under the Shady Maple
0August 7, 2016 by admin
The routine maintenance on the Imagine Mosaic is done. One of the platoon guitarists sang “All My Loving” as I excused my way past him through the crowd. On the lawn to the left, moms and babies sat on blankets and clapped in rhythm to a ukulele one of the moms strummed; she marched and sang about a bus’s wheels.
There was loud angry barking. A young man restrained his German shepherd. Mothers scooped up their babies. “It’s ok,” he said. “It’s only a squirrel behind you.”
Did I mention the ballerina? A few days ago she danced, in white, en pointe, between the big bubble man and the stairs leading to the fountain. The music came from the arcade. She did not interfere with me; I turned my back and played my uke. Today she is in red, on my stage, and her music is recorded. The aloha spirit vanquished my inner policeman; I just kept walking.
Under the maple, it was shady and cool. I set up between the woman selling cold water and the portraitist. An Italian family was picnicking on the rock behind me. Papa gave me a buck when they left.
After 30 minutes, with a dollar in my case, I asked an eastbound passer-by if the ballerina was still at the fountain. He didn’t understand me, but a girl overheard and said, “Yes.” So I played on, enjoying the cool breezes, blue sky, puffy white clouds. A man in the passing crowd, my age, Bermuda shorts, madras shirt, panama hat and a bit of a belly, caught my eye. We locked eyes, exchanged smiles. He crossed over to me and put 2 quarters in my case. “You’re good,” he said.
A 70-something woman studied my case. I asked her if she had time for a hula. “My name is Hula,” she told me. “Not shortened from anything. It’s a Polish name, like Don Shula.”
“Then you must have done the hula all your life?” I put a lei around her neck and took her to the Hukilau. She gave me a dollar.
A woman and child walked by. The child, about 9 years old, was happy to hula. As I sang about my Little Grass Shack, she sang her own words. At first I thought it was Hawaiian, but I soon observed that she had developmental problems. “Ok, let’s do this your way,” I said. I played, she sang and danced, until the last humuhumunukunukuapua’a swam by. The woman gave me a fiver.
A mob of French girls did an extravagant hula, then kept walking.
Three tall, blonde camp counsellors, in the US for the summer from Holland, Sweden and Belgium, argued whether the building with the 2 towers was the Dakota. I set them straight, telling them about the San Remo, “Ghostbusters,” and Emery Roth. We made a joke about Hungarians. They gave me $2 for the information, but would not dance a hula.
A woman put some change in my case. Walking away, her husband asked if I knew “Tiny Bubbles.” That’s the second time in 2 days; I really ought to learn it.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: All My Loving, Little Grass Shack, The Hukilau Song, Tiny Bubbles
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My First Day in May
0May 12, 2016 by admin
After a 2-week bout of bad weather, I returned to the park to find the tulips in collapse, with forget-me-nots, bleeding heart and pale pink wild geranium in ascendance. The chestnut tree is blooming white; for the next week or two it will be at its best, then slowly, once again, succumb to blight. Columbine, covered with drooping amber flowers, are visible here and there along the path.
Dominating everything, however, are the azaleas. First to my eye is a glorious magenta mound. Farther into the park, at Cherry Hill, the salmon and white shrubs appear. At Bethesda Fountain, pink and red join the chorus. The 2-string Chinese cello is there, as is the cowboy, but I seemed to have arrived just as he was packing up. From a distance I can hear some amplified bass, but it is out of sight, and not too loud.
“Coming back?” asked the big bubble man.
“Never left.”
Shortly after starting my set, I caught the eye of young woman bopping by to the rhythm. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
She started to walk away, then turned to dance. “This is my last day in New York,” she told me, donning a lei. After a single verse of “The Hukilau Song,” she gave me $2 and returned the lei. She was on her way home to Orleans, France.
While I tried to lure some young children into dancing by waving leis at them, a young man tossed in a dollar. A 40-something photographer took lots of pictures, then unburdened herself of her backpack and dug out a dollar. A moment later, 2 small children dropped some small change into my case.
Marcel and Maggie the dog walked by for a brief visit. As they continued their walk, another dog, Lola, came by with her owner, a petite woman of a certain age whom I’ve talked to many time over the years. When she asked me about my winter, I told her I’d broken my leg.
“I was sick this winter,” she said in her slightly accented English, “and I told my friends, ‘It could have worse; I could have broken my leg.'”
A dad and his two young daughters rolled up in a double carriage. He took them out and set them loose on me. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
“Sure do.” The girls were shy; the younger ran back to dad and nuzzled his leg.
“I think you’ve got to set an example,” I told him, handing him a lei.
He hesitated, then put on the lei and led his kids in a lovely hula. “In for a penny,” he explained.
By the time my set was over, the park seemed to have emptied out. I sang out my final number, “Little Grass Shack,” to the sky and trees. With $8.30 in my pocket, I headed out, past the Chinese cello. I was curious to see how such a simple instrument made so loud a sound. There, between his feet, was a small amplifier. I should have known.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Little Grass Shack, The Hukilau Song
