Last summer, I had a night to myself (my wife was away) and I wanted to do something atypical, so I packed a sandwich and took my junker uke and a sand chair to the local beach just around dusk.
I'm good enough at the instrument now that I can noodle around with some "pretty" chord changes and produce a pleasant effect. The beach was fairly empty, but there were a few people scattered about. I made sure I was far enough away from them all so I wouldn't intrude on their peaceful sunset. Then, I began to play, softly.
My fantasy, as I drove to the beach, was to attract a little crowd, light a campfire, and have a singalong until the Public Safety people chased us away. Instead, people just sat and stared at the water - never even acknowledging that there was live music playing. Eventually, I sensed that it was time to pack it in and let them all have their peace.
To my surprise, the minute I stopped playing and there was a period of silence, heads started popping up from blankets and voices came out of the dunes saying "Don't stop!" "Ahhh, that was so soothing I was just falling asleep" and "Thank you, that was beautiful!" Suddenly, I didn't feel like the annoying jerk on the beach with his instrument anymore. I decided to stay and play for the seagulls and the waning tide until about an hour after sunset. As people left the beach, they all thanked me for a calming end to their day. One Asian man, obviously new to America, saw my empty iced tea cup and put a dollar in it! I gave it back and told him I stopped getting paid to play music many years ago. He smiled and translated for his wife and children and they all laughed.
That night, by the beach with my $40 ukulele, I remembered why I started playing music in the first place.
Me with my first ukulele, a Junior Beatles model, in 1966. After Mom threw it down the stairs in a fit of rage, I became a drummer for life. At age 43, I bought my second uke...