The cleome is having a second blooming, pastel pink and white explosions beneath the rose bushes.\u00a0 The long-lasting asters thrive, while the horrible boneset, a weed in anybody\u2019s book, has established a beachhead and begun its invasion.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s not nearly as nice a day as yesterday, though still warm.\u00a0 When I get to the fountain, I find a woman in an encampment, including beach chairs and umbrella.\u00a0 She has a hand-lettered sign, with the headline:\u00a0 FAMILY DESTRUCTION, subheads REPEAL Title IV and ABOLISH CPS\/DCF.\u00a0 It went on to denounce \u201cfascist family courts\u201d and the foster care system.\u00a0 There was a guitar case at her feet.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you going to do with this?\u201d\u00a0 As if I didn’t know.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to play it.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I walked off to my maple and started my set.\u00a0 Gray clouds swept the sky.\u00a0 Fewer boats were on the lake; fewer people walked the paths.\u00a0 For a full 30 minutes, the only money in my case — excepting my $2 seed money — was a Canadian penny that I missed yesterday.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Feeling aggrieved, I threw all my paraphernalia in my case and carried it back to the fountain.\u00a0 The protest singer was seated behind a music stand, strumming her guitar.\u00a0 I walked to the south side of the fountain, 180 degrees from her.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A crew in black tee shirts set up a photo shoot by the lake.\u00a0 I asked a heavily tattooed man if they needed silence, because I intended to do my hula act nearby.\u00a0 \u201cNo problem, we\u2019ll be done soon.\u00a0 Do your thing, man.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Two young women sitting on the rim of the fountain near me gave me a dollar.\u00a0 A passerby tossed in another.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Four-year-old Rilynn strayed from her parents.\u00a0 \u201cHave you got time for a hula today?\u201d\u00a0 The question was directed to her parents.\u00a0 I pulled out my baby lei.\u00a0 \u201cThis will fit just right.\u201d\u00a0 She started by dancing a graceful hula, but when she focused on my solar-powered hula girls, she began to imitate them, stiff-armed, and with a little hitch in her hips.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Three film students from Hawaii gave me a dollar and stopped to chat.\u00a0 They didn\u2019t know how to hula and had never heard of a hukilau.\u00a0 \u201cI thought every kid in Hawaii learned to hula in school.\u201d\u00a0 They looked at each other blankly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My low-G string snapped, again, during \u201cI Can\u2019t Give You Anything But Love.\u201d\u00a0 I continued to play through to the end.\u00a0 Without low-G, my tenor uke sounded like a soprano uke.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Speaking of sopranos, a large woman in black, costumed in fur and a floppy hat, set up 90 degrees from me, facing the arcade, and belted out a few arias at a very high decibel level.\u00a0 She soon disappeared.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
With 10 minutes left to play, I stood up with my newly strung, and tuned, uke.\u00a0 Four teens in school uniform took pictures of themselves in every combination.\u00a0 As they ran off, one of them gave me 50 cents, bringing the day\u2019s take to $6.51.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"