All plant life behind the benches has been grubbed up except for the 2 new flowers fronting the dog roses, which, so far, I haven\u2019t identified.\u00a0 One has tall stems with pink button-like flowers, the other sports a conical catkin-like flower which started out as white fuzz, but is now pinking at the tip as the tiny white petals fall off.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The guitarists are back at the Imagine Mosaic; the cowboy, clad in leather, crooning to his recorded backup of \u201cCracklin\u2019 Rosie,” is also back at Bethesda Fountain. \u00a0So today I set up in the shade of the maple, far enough away from the caricaturist on the other side of the path so as not to obstruct his operation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
For the first 30 minutes or so, I sang to the sky, to the rowboat wranglers on the other side of the fence, to the family of cardinals busily shuttling from the mulberry tree in front of me to the mulberry tree behind.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A group of pre-teen girls from the Caedman School stopped to hula.\u00a0 \u201cBrooklyn?\u201d\u00a0 No, I was told, the upper east side.\u00a0 They danced with uneven enthusiasm; their adult supervision seemed distracted.\u00a0 After the dance, the kids lined up against the fence and marched off.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At this point I began to wonder if today, for the first time in my busking career, I would make nothing.\u00a0 A very old woman stopped a few feet past me. \u00a0With her back bent to hide her money, she pulled a quarter from her change purse.\u00a0 The coin bounced out of the case onto the asphalt.\u00a0 I picked it up and tossed it in.\u00a0 \u201cThanks,\u201d I said, happy to have averted a busking schneider.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that a ukulele?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, a tenor uke.\u00a0 That\u2019s why it\u2019s bigger than what you\u2019re used to seeing.\u201d \u00a0She seemed please to have her suspicion confirmed so cheaply.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Another small group of preteens, from Harlem, had time for a hula.\u00a0 \u201cDoes it cost anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNot a thing,\u201d I said, handing out leis.\u00a0 After a little hula instruction, we were off, through both verses of \u201cThe Hukilau Song.\u201d\u00a0 The adult supervision, in this case, cheered the kids along, took lots of pictures, and managed $2 between them for Mr. Ukulele.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At $2.25, I was still 45 cents shy of break-even, $2.70, the cost of 2 senior rides on the subway.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A young redhead with a bright, open face, strolled by.\u00a0 \u201cHave you got time for a hula today?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou bet I do,\u201d she said.\u00a0 Her name was Ori, a native New Yorker.\u00a0 She danced to \u201cThe Hukilau Song,\u201d then gave me a fiver, and stuck around to hear me play \u201cI Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Passing back through Bethesda Fountain on my way home, I saw that the cowboy had been replaced by the accordionist, there was do-wop in the arcade, and Lady Liberty, atop her pedestal, was scrolling on her cellphone.\u00a0 Thanks, Ori, I thought, and Aloha, New York.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"