There went the wheels

Last night, some time between about midnight and 2, someone managed to take all four wheels off of the minivan that's been parked in front of the welding place as long as we've been here. I like to think I keep a pretty good eye on things around here but the guy got 'em, all four, and now the van's out there sitting on blocks.

My theory is when the bum was looking at the wheels the other night, he was taking note of their size and model and knew he could sell them not as scrap metal but as actual original parts. I'd even think someone from the welding place did it, except it was done in the middle of the night.

I had my coffee and packed a couple of things, and then realized I had to get going because to be sure to get to FedEx before they close at 6, I needed to get out of here at 5. So I packed two more large things and took off with things on the bike trailer and dropped off the post office and FedEx stuff. I saw a couple of bums with bikes and trailers and unfortunately they too notice of me; hard not to with so little traffic on the road.

My ankle is still bothering me and I had to pedal with my left foot with the arch on the pedal so I could pedal while not moving  my ankle much. The main thing is to not reveal any weakness, as a bum might jump me if they know I can't sprint away.

I felt too lousy to go back out for some shopping, though. Getting the packages out was enough for me. Maybe it's just the sitting around in here without going out doing things, and that's why the bike ride was so tiring today.

I took another look at the van on my way in and the wheel-thief had gotten 3 wheels out of the four, and left two defeated jacks under the van, one on each side. I relaxed a bit and had some eggs and sausage, which made me feel a bit better.

I was going to practice and got the trumpet out and started a few notes, but it was just about 10 and the crackheads were being especially active outside. Darn it, I thought, I'm not supposed to even be here ... and put the trumpet away. I got busy packing things instead.

Who should show up but Ken. He brought in some stuff to sell and some boxes, and wrote me my pay check, and helped me hunt for a booklet that had sold but we never found it. We futzed around a bit with some "ignitron" tubes he'd gotten, and talked a little, but he didn't hang around and I didn't make him tea, which I was going to find a way out of anyway because what if I'm feeling lousy because of the virus?

I cooked up some veggies and more of that low-grade beef I'd gotten at H Mart; at least I'm almost out of it now, and ate that up. At least I like my own cooking pretty well. 

One of the things Ken and I talked about, is he said he'd read some thing where they'd shown that one's success in life is pretty much due to random chance. I mentioned as an example a sport  I did, where there are really not that many national champions because it's only one per year and also the same people tend to win the same slots for a few years. And the whole twisting, random, path that got me there, and how I'd almost quit but a sort-of-friend had encouraged me not too much but just enough to keep going etc. Not that it's worth anything, since it's a fairly minor sport. And not as good as trumpet playing.

That's pretty random too. Kahuku High School, an awful school that's really only good at football and punches above its weight in Band, had Band. And I was chosen for trumpet because Mr. Peyton could give me a nasty smelly old trumpet even people like us could not pawn. But it was $20 for the mouthpiece, and I dropped it for two reasons: I didn't have money for the mouthpiece and felt bad about that, and as a typical 70s teen, I was into guitar music not "that old Herb Alpert stuff".

But it planted the seed, and eventually I came back around to it. And since then music has become very much a walled garden, not for poor people to enter. Not anything using a traditional instrument like trumpet. Now you have to be middle or maybe upper-middle class to get a trumpet education. And I can say with confidence that I'm good enough to be a busker, whenever busking comes back. All through stubbornly practicing even though I'm "too old" and even though I quit many times, I kept "un-quitting". 

I keep wondering what's a good trade for me to use to survive in this world, and between my age, my size, my eyesight, and my lack of financial means there are not too many choices. It pretty much comes down to art of some type or music. With art, you have to have a lot of physical things - paints and brushes and canvases and paper and all kinds of stuff. With music, some of the instruments "eat" strings or bow-hair, or need an occasional re-padding, but generally if you're starting from nothing, music is probably the best way to go. People won't want to buy anything from you if they have to carry it, but if a song strikes them, they'll toss a couple of bucks and keep walking, but they tossed a couple of bucks.