A childhood memory, distorted no doubt, as all childhood memories are.  My piano teacher, Dmitri Kuvshinov.  I was 11.  He was Russian.  I was told that he had been a concert pianist for a while, but the touring life did not agree with him.  He lived in a nearby San Francisco suburb.  He had high broad cheekbones, hooded icy gray eyes, and a deep voice with a soft accent.  His face was a still slab, but I could detect his love for music underneath. His wife was Japanese and their house was largely Japanese and very calm.  She was graceful, polite, and quiet. 

I loved music, loved the dramatic stuff, Beethoven, Chopin, CPE Bach, but was neither very talented nor a hard worker.  I noodled, listened to sounds, imagined more than I performed.

My goal with my lessons was to convince Mr. Kushvinof to play.  He was so good. I could listen to him play forever.  “What SHOULD it sound like” I would say.  There was nothing more that I wanted than to have him sitting beside me playing astounding, beautiful, music.  He would look at me with his cold gray eyes, knowing that I was a slacker who just wanted to hear him play, but he would give in.

My father lost his job.  My parents cancelled my lessons due to finances.  Mr.Kushvinof offered to continue to teach me for free.  He said I had talent.  I didn’t really. But my desire to hear him play might have been a payment in itself to him. As a professor I know how wonderful it is to have a student who actually cares about the material.

I now have my parents piano. I look at the music for Beethoven’s No.8 in C minor, Op.13 with desire. I can’t play it.  I want to. The piano was damaged a little in the move.  I need to have it tuned and repaired.  Also, I lack the skill. I have desire though. I don’t think Mr. Kushvinoff ever played it for me. It was way beyond my skill level at the time. But I can imagine it. In any case I remember Dmitri Kushvinof, his icy gray eyes, and his beautiful music.

 

Money seems to me to be a lot like pebbles.  Unfortunately they are often necessary pebbles, to keep you lights on, keep your water running, have food and internet.  However it is rarely fun in and of itself.  Some people have a real thing for pebbles and they cover large chunks of their yards with them and it’s just ugly.

 

When my parents died a couple of years ago, they left me enough pebbles to pay off my debts.  So I have been debt free.  It is, of course, much cheaper to be debt free than to have debts, and then there is the pandemic, so my spending is down.  More pebbles.  I should use some for home repairs, maybe put in a second bathroom, but the pandemic has left me unwilling to have anyone in my house.

 

What to do with the pebbles in the meantime?  It is not a large amount of pebbles.  Not enough to retire or move. So as to not be wasteful it should be invested.  Ugh. I have a dislike of the whole pebble industry.  Imagine if the brains and talent of all of those pebble professionals was instead used to actually make the world a better place. In truth I suspect that professional pebble people may run a little stupid.  A scientist want to discover how the world works, and maybe change things for the better, it is a demanding occupation. OTOH it would be really nice to be able to afford to retire to somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, perhaps with a view of the ocean, maybe on the Oregon coast.  I most definitely do not have enough pebbles for that, and in truth I am old enough to no be likely to be able to build a big enough pile of pebbles before I retire. <sigh>

 

The pebbles I have ought to not just sit in my checking account, or my four savings accounts. That is not what one should do.  Why do I have four savings accounts spread over 3 banks?  That’s just silly.  So ok, I will invest some pebbles, with the presumed goal of ending up with more pebbles. I can’t make myself care a lot.  Perhaps I should be homeless and living on the street. I do like my roof and electricity, running water, and heat though.  Internet!  The internet is essential.  I like to sleep to Drone Zone on Soma FM.  I invested some pebbles.

 

Ugh Ugh Ugh Ugh.  I do not want to support the fossil fuel industry.  I do not want to support child labor, or countries that abuse human rights.  No tobacco products please.  I don’t want my pebbles crushing people or the planet. There are socially responsible funds but I can’t seem to access them on the platforms I have currently.

 

OK, so I give up and do some you-invest type things, the sort of systems that delusional day-traders use.  The rules are simple as far as I am concerned.  Buy low, sell high, think about % gains (or losses) likely, focus on biotech because I know that field best.  So cheap biotech stocks, look up the company, look up its history and news, what they make, maybe even employee reports on job sites. What are they like to work for?  I think about what is happening in the world as well. I think about what seems likely and unlikely. It is work. This is truly minor work compared to finding a good recent paper for my graduate class to analyze and discuss.  But still, it is work, and it is work for pebbles.  At least the successfully found research paper will be cool and enlightening and I may learn lots of other things in the paper hunt.

 

Ugh ugh ugh, work for pebbles and no joy.  On the other hand, it does work. A year after starting with a handful of pebbles I have a bucket of pebbles.  More than three times as many pebbles as I started with last year. <sighs>.  It’s a volatile system.  I may have only a handful in another month.  Who knows. I try to feel happy about the expanded number of pebbles.  Instead I wonder about capital gains taxes.  What I am doing is, and should be, taxable. Will I be able to work through it in Turbotax? I started with only a handful of pebbles so I don’t think I have made enough to have a dramatic effect on my taxes. I listen to the news.  I think the market is inflated.  Most of my pebbles are currently sitting quietly, not invested.  My brain says this is perhaps the wise thing to do. I would rather not be thinking about pebbles at all.

 

The increased number of pebbles is still way, way, too few for a house on the Oregon coast.  At this rate I could get there maybe, but I don’t believe it, and in the meantime it is just bucket of pebbles that requires attention and work.  <sighs again>