It\u2019s a beautiful day in New York. There are no longer big crowds in the park. Fewer than 10 people were at the Imagine Mosaic, where the guitarist sang \u201cLet It Be.\u201d<\/p>\n
From a distance, it appeared there were no nuts on the chestnut tree at all, but up close I spotted a few browning golf-ball sized nuts in the upper branches, and the ground was littered with shells. I found a whole nut, shiny brown, and crushed it under my foot. The meat was white and moist, good eating for squirrels.<\/p>\n
Sitting alone on a bench near the stairs down to the fountain, a man sat expressionless, unmoving like a statue. His head was wrapped in white gauze. Wearing a suit, sunglasses, no tie, his shirt out of his pants, legs crossed, he was a living work of art, although I was at a loss as to how to interpret him.<\/p>\n
The accordion player was in the arcade. No other buskers were around. I set up, tuned and started my set with only a handful of people to hear me. A 5-year-old girl looked me over suspiciously. \u201cWould you like to dance the hula?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s shy,\u201d said her dad. I tried to lure her with a lei, made funny faces, sang funny lyrics, all of which drove her farther away. <\/p>\n
\u201cNot going to happen,\u201d I said to dad. He agreed, then dropped 55 cents into my case.<\/p>\n
Another dad and daughter, 2-3 years old, stopped to chat. I doubled the lei into a crown and put it on the little girl\u2019s head. The only sign of a hula was the occasional bend of the knee, or wave of the arm. Dad gave me buck and said, \u201cSorry, she won\u2019t dance, but you sound great.\u201d <\/p>\n
Three women rode into the plaza on bicycles and dismounted. One of them couldn\u2019t take her eyes off me. \u201cHave you got time for a hula today?\u201d She turned her back and consulted with her friends, finally coming my way with a big smile and $3. <\/p>\n
Later, another set of bikers, stopped to listen. These were young men from Ireland. \u201cFrom the west,\u201d one of them told me. \u201cNear Galway.\u201d I told him that Mrs. Ukulele\u2019s family hailed from Tipperary.<\/p>\n
My ukulele was falling farther and farther out of tune. I tightened the low-G string, strummed a few more chords, then twang<\/em>, the string broke. I finished the song on 3 strings, then found a replacement string in my case. My old string maker, Hilo, had gone out of business; my strings now are from Aquila. I took off the broken string and replaced it as quickly as I could. New strings, once stretched, need some seasoning; right out of the package they go flat, so I had to tighten it up after \u2013 sometimes during \u2013 every song until I finished with “Little Grass Shack.”<\/p>\n When I sat down at the end of my set to pack up my stuff, a couple from Poland asked, \u201cHow much for the purple dancing girl?\u201d<\/p>\n Ordinarily, my dancing girls, like my leis, are not for sale. But today I made an exception. \u201cFive dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n They conferred as I continued packing. The man finally pulled out a $50-dollar bill. There was only $5.55 in my case, plus $2 in starter money. I made change from my wallet, nearly doubling my daily take without playing a note.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"