Snoopin’ with the Snoop

Since most of my boxes finally arrived from out west (my clothes and another box’s whereabouts are currently unknown by the USPS though they were shipped with tracking numbers), and I was able to snoop through them and find my Netgear USB Print Server (PS121), I finally have my printer wireless again. Sweetness. I tried to connect both my dad’s color inkjet and my black laser to the server with a USB hub but so far have been unable to get the computer to recognize this. I’m sure there’s someway for it to communicate wirelessly with two printers instead of just one!

Took the breaking car into town today. One stop to see my mum, and one stop at the grocery store. Since I’m used to walking around loose footing and rocky soil in the desert, up and down steep slopes, I figure that the 5.7 miles to the grocery store along a flat surface won’t be much different than the exertion I put forth during our tours. Round trip it’ll be 11.4 miles, so I’m sure to keep in shape. Half with no extra weight, half with a bit of extra weight. Don’t go thinking I’m going to be hauling bags and bags of groceries 5.7 miles; I’ll be taking my trek pack to put the groceries in. I figure that as long as I keep the weight 40 pounds or less, I’ll be fine, and it will be a good workout.

Long ago (around 1984) and quite near to where I’m sitting…

a big project was under construction. From cedar wood to cedar planks, scalloped for aesthetics; nail by nail, my grandfather, dad and grandmother put together the wood that we christened “the playhouse.” A pint-sized rectangular cube on stilts for two girls ages seven and four, the playhouse provided adult-sized endless entertainment. With my sister’s love of playing “back then” (may I mention she is now a professional pilgrim out at Plimoth Plantation’s Living History Museum on Cape Cod), our backyard transformed from the modern grass and cornfields to the wilds of the plains in the 1800s, with the cherry tree on the edge of a ravine and the threat of the romanticized notion of Indians. Aprons ’round our waists and a metal bucket and dipper for hydration during the humid summer afternoons provided visual stimulation for our mental playground while our gravel driveway became a shallow river we had to run up and down to lose their trail.

The porch provided a platform for biological expeditions in the form of butterfly hunting with friends, or as a diving board of sorts for water games with cousins.

One summer, a wind storm broke a branch off of one the poplars in the front yard. Stuck into the flower garden, our imaginary landscape had a grand old tree to shade our log cabin from the east. Surprisingly, it rooted…

When we hit junior high and high school, playhouse evenings, weekends, summers and imaginations were pushed to the wayside for activities centering around friends and school activities. Slowly we moved out. Without my sister’s love of back-then, and without her presence, my use of the playhouse waned. Occasionally, we’ have a water fight with buckets and hoses, and the structure would serve as shield and shelter. Or perhaps we’d once again pull out our stilts and use the porch as a mounting platform as we had so many times in the years of full use.

When the black paint had faded to almost the wood, my dad, or maybe George, put on a fresh coat of white.

Fast forward to the summer of 2006, when I set up a reading nook on the table George had installed when he used the playhouse as a workshop for his forge. I took a trip to St. Louis, and forgot about the blankets, and was sick the week I got back. So, two or three weeks from when I had first moved in to when I went out to collect the blankets, a mouse had decided to make the house her home. So I left the blankets alone until the baby mice were exploring the playhouse and I decided the mother needed to find a new residence. I made the playhouse a scary place to grow up, for a mouse, and was able to watch her pick up her youngins by the scruff of their necks and haul them off to a new place.

Now, once again, the playhouse will be filled with minds and imaginations. Or something of the sort. My dad agreed to let my neighbors take the playhouse. Two days ago when I was working in the wildflower garden, the girls next door were out running around their yard. As they crept closer to the property line and hid behind some bushes, I heard the words “house” and “playhouse” squeak out quite often. I dutifully ignored them so they wouldn’t run away and hide.

Yesterday, the playhouse moved. Sawed off from the cement foundation and loaded onto some big machine with wheels, it has traveled to a new home. I was reminded of “The Wizard of Oz,” when the house floats up in the twister. For a while, no more foreheads will knock themselves on the top of the door frame with exclamations of “ouch” and other assorted word choices. Instead, I’m sure I’ll hear peals of laughter from next door. Follow more link for the video: Read the rest of this entry »

My contract with the NCC ended on May 2. While I wait for my Americorps education award to arrive so that I can enroll to get a math education degree, I’m focused on cleaning my parents’ house. They are helping me by offering me the job so that I can not pay rent while working towards my degree, and I’m doing a lot of dejunking/painting/organizing for them. For wanting to be outside all the time, I’ve spent most of my time inside the last few days since getting back from Vegas. Playing Guitar Hero III. Re-leveling up to expert. I’m not sure if I’m having such difficulty because the only TV in the house is from the early 80s and does not even have composite jacks, or if I’m really the out of practice. I have the PS2 system hooked up to my computer via a PCMCIA card that has a jack that converts the composite to a digital. The card inserts where it is supposed to and relies on a program that would allow me to watch TV and VCRs on my computer. Thankfully, it also allows one to play games via game systems on one’s laptop. In addition to only being at Medium at the moment, I’m really good at covering up the IR wireless connection on the guitar as I’m playing, and usually only realize why I failed after I fail the song. Grrr.

But back to the title. Stumping.

Last summer, I tried to eliminate a stubborn tree from the wildflower garden, by cutting off all the shoots and leaving it under a black plastic garbage bag all summer. Guess who’s back. Well, this year, after learning everything that I learned while with the NCC, I took out the gosh darn stump. Not the stubborn one yet, but the stump of the same kind of tree that WAS in the front of the garden. That was a nice little work out last evening. Though the climate is humid here, I barely broke a sweat. And I had so much fun with the pick mattock, half axe, axe, saw, spade, and clippers. I did realize though, this morning, that from May 2 – May 14, when I was getting a lot of cardiovascular exercise and using my legs a lot, that my upper back strength waned a bit. But between gardening and painting, the muscles will stick around.

Speaking of the (vegetable) garden, I’m dumbfounded at the amount of lambs quarters aka pigweed (Chenopodium album L) that has taken root. A green carpet of lambs quarters. At least the stuff is edible (and in the same family as spinach). I don’t really have to buy any salad greens at the grocery store. The entire garden is covered with the green fuzzies. Although I usually let a patch grow, I have a huge task in front of me. The garden is about 30′ x 50′. I am surprised that the mustard didn’t come back though. A few onions came back, but that’s about it. I’m waiting to see if the buckwheat crossed with the bindweed, and what sort of disaster that will be…