A chili weekend.....

I guess if it's the first weekend in April, then that means there's a Chili Cook-Off at our local college. And that is just what is happening on the college campus today--- pots and pots of every chili recipe that the student groups can download from the Internet or copy from their mothers' cookbooks.

Thankfully, I didn't have to do the chili thing this weekend. My husband went to the college with Miss C's dad, who has the same taste for chili that my husband has. They rode there on the motorcycles-- one more reason for me not to go. I don't do chili (I never did). I don't do motorcycles (not since I was 20-something). In my opinion, neither is good for one's health. (To this, my husband would say "And I suppose kettle corn is?!")

So the guys went to the chili cook-off, and I went to the local resale/consignment shop. Always fun to look around there, and they always have different displays of new items. They seem to do a lot of business at that shop because what is there one week is usually gone the next. I've also brought items there for them to sell for me, and the two checks from them have been surprising--- more than what I would have gotten for the items if I had sold them in a yard sale (which I don't want to take the time to do). I probably could have sold the items on eBay, but that is always such a pain.... between the ever-complicated selling page, and the sometimes ornery behavior of my computer, my patience for listing items on eBay is running thin. So when I have to adhere to my "one thing in, one thing out" rule, I bring the "out" items to the consignment shop and let them sell them for me.

Last night, I was up at the High School to see Miss C and her Color Guard group perform their competition routine. C and one of her friends are co-captains of this term's CG group, and the new routine was wonderful.... happy and vibrant with great music and creative dancing. This is C's last year of Color Guard--- she won't have time for it next term, her Senior year. (How did we get to be Seniors already?) I have to say that C was beaming last night.... she truly loves to perform, and she loves dance and gymnastics, and she's excellent at both. Watching her nearly broke my heart last night...... to see her performing so well, and blowing me kisses as she ran from one side of the stage to the other..... makes me regret not having children of my own. I sat there watching her last night and my eyes filled up with tears.

After the performance, C ran up into the seats to thank me for coming to the school to watch the routine. Her parents were there also, but I have to admit that while C was hugging me, and I was telling her that I was so very proud of her, I was pretending that she was my child.

Speaking of "my child...." -- AngelBoy has been banished (yet again) to the screen-porch. I swear, that cat will be the end of me one of these days. The other day, on a perfectly quiet afternoon when neither ShadowBaby nor Mickey Kitty was bothering him, AngelBoy pranced and purred his way to a corner of the living room when his destination should have been his litter box. And heaven knows, between the laundry room, the screen-porch and the bathroom, he has enough litter boxes to choose from. But he didn't... and the result was a little puddle on the carpet that I had to clean up, disinfect, rub and scrub and spray.... and hope that I got out every last drop.

So AngelBoy is on the porch. My husband says I should leave him there "for good." Well, that always seems to be my intention, but I always cave. Just wait until the next thunderstorm, when AngelBoy is meowing pitifully by the door of the breakfast room. Or the next time the lawn-guys come with their cat-menacing noisy equipment. Or how about when we get a frigid day in December and I can see AngelBoy's little whiskers shaking in the cold breeze on that porch--- do I keep him out there then? "Put him into the laundry room on those days," says my husband.

Easy for him to say. When AngelBoy is in the laundry room, his blue eyes peek out in the two-inches of space between the door and the archway... and that meow grows louder and more pitiful for every hour he's sequestered in that room. And then AngelBoy raps his paw up against the door in a kitty-rhythm that breaks your resolve to leave him in there "till kingdom come."

One day at a time. For now, AngelBoy is in the porch. And when I'm in the breakfast room or the kitchen, he looks at me through the windows and I know those blue eyes of his are asking me why he's in jail. I just don't understand this cat. And I don't understand why we named him AngelBoy, of all things.