It\u2019s been a month since I last went a-busking.\u00a0 The heat, a long vacation, then a terrible cold kept me away.\u00a0 The park was verdant when I returned.\u00a0 Red begonias had been planted out for half a block along Central Park West.\u00a0 The swollen ovaries of the spent Stellas were as big as my thumb.\u00a0 Behind the benches, ageratum and allium made a purple apron in front of the dog roses, and, next to the pergola, hydrangea bore flowers just starting to turn blue.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Randy played his dobro at the Imagine Mosaic.\u00a0 I stopped to chat with him; as I left I shook his hand, each finger of which was armed with metal picks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
White morning glories had infiltrated the undergrowth.\u00a0 The jazz combo had crossed the road for the cool breezes off the lake, and the acrobats were making their noise on the promenade, where they belonged.\u00a0 It appeared center stage was mine, until I saw the accordion player sitting on a bench, talking to the Ukrainian artist.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you still playing,\u201d I asked him, \u201cbecause I\u2019d like to set up here.\u201d\u00a0 He answered in a language I couldn\u2019t understand; the Ukrainian was no help.\u00a0 \u201cDo you speak English?\u201d\u00a0 In response another torrent of noise.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m going to play here,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Having laid out my leis and hula girls, I started with \u201cMaking Love Ukulele Style,\u201d whereupon the accordionist squeezed out a doleful melody.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no, no,\u201d I told him.\u00a0 \u201cI asked you, now I\u2019m playing here.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cOK, play,\u201d he said, finding some English after all.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But as soon as I started, he did too.\u00a0 I felt the aloha spirit draining from me and approached him again.\u00a0 \u201cWhat is your problem?\u00a0 You\u2019ve got to stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cTen minutes,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI know what 10 minutes is, do you?\u201d\u00a0 No affect.\u00a0 \u201cTen minutes,\u201d I said, pointing to my watch.\u00a0 I walked back to the fountain and sat down.\u00a0 After about 2 minutes, he packed up his instrument and left.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I stood up and started again.\u00a0 A man asked for a picture and gave me 2 bucks.\u00a0 A few minutes later, a couple danced to \u201cHonolulu Eyes\u201d and gave me another dollar.\u00a0 Another dollar came from a woman who wanted a picture, and 2 more from a woman who wanted to hula.\u00a0 Next came a family of 4 from Georgia who were driving up to the Adirondacks to spend a few days with a friend at his cabin.\u00a0 Somewhere in North Carolina they\u2019d bought a ukulele for the kids in the car.\u00a0 They wouldn\u2019t dance, but dad was interested in a 5-minute lesson.\u00a0 I taught him the D-G-A7 pattern, to which you can sing practically any song.\u00a0 That earned me $1.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Ukrainian artist came by.\u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s with that friend of yours?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNo friend,\u201d he said with a frown.\u00a0 \u201cRussian.\u00a0 Ukraine and Russia no friends,\u201d and he bumped his fists together to illustrate his meaning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I continued to play in the heat.\u00a0 My voice was gone, my throat hurt.\u00a0 I stopped frequently to drink from my water bottle.\u00a0 Then I heard the accordion again; the Russian had set up by the stairs.\u00a0 In a flash, I became Ukrainian.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A man and his daughter walked by with $2 for me.\u00a0 \u201cThanks for the music,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Russian had stopped playing and was filling a water bottle from the fountain\u2019s pool.\u00a0 I had pleasant thoughts of amoebic dysentery, cholera and other water-borne diseases.\u00a0 As I sipped the last of my cool, clean water, I realized I was still sick with my cold.\u00a0 With 30 minutes left in my set, I sang \u201cLittle Grass Shack\u201d and went home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"