Speech Season

Speech season.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  Mayhap you have, yet you have not understood the full entirety of it's meaning.  The above is a picture taken at a recent tournament at the Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego.  Speech season is exactly how this picture appears: crowded, full of kids, full of talent, and overwhelming.  But don't get me wrong, I love these tournaments.  In fact, I look forward to them and relish every moment of my being there.  It is an opportunity for me to meet and watch like-minded homeschooled kids.  We thoroughly enjoy it.

As it is my first year in speech, I only have three events to give (a duo interpretation done with my sister---we are giving it on Peter Pan---a humorous interpretation---on a girl learning how to drive---and impromptu---where I get two minutes to prepare a five minute speech on a random topic).  Olivia and I have done relatively well; we have qualified to go to the National Invitational Tournament of Champions (NITOC) in our Peter Pan duo.  However, in the four tournaments we have gone to, we have failed to make it into the final eight of the duos at the tournament.  We have one last tournament in Modesto---we shall be leaving for that this coming Tuesday---and that is our goal.  As it is unlikely that we shall go to NITOC because we've only qualified in one event, this Modesto tournament shall be the last one of this season.  We are anxious to do as well as possible.

SO the last few days have been filled with revamping of our speeches, looking over our ballots and figuring out how we can do better than we have in the past.  Wish us luck!  

The Olympics!

For those of you who are not aware of this simple fact, my family is addicted to the Olympics.  And when I say "addicted", I mean ADDICTED.  The moment we hear the thrilling drumbeats on the television, I do not exaggerate when I say that ALL. LIFE. STOPS.  It wouldn't matter if you were going through a midlife crisis and were contemplating suicide, we would tell you to wait for the commercial break.  (Perhaps this is unkind of me.  What I mean to say is, we would be fully sympathetic and reference you to some sort of psychologist, and then turn back around and continue watching the Games.)

The air-time of these Olympics MUST have been designed with our family in mind.  From midnight till about one o'clock in the afternoon, they do not air any of the competition and---as frustrating as this is---it offers us the opportunity to actually get stuff done.  But the TV is almost always on, just in case some sort of special extra coverage appears.  We don't want to miss ANY detail.

Last night, my mom and I were the few, the faithful, and the brave in the Andrade house, as everyone else was sleeping.  We masterfully stayed awake till the very end, watching the Americans receive four medals already!  One gold, one silver, and two bronze.  The most exciting race of the night without a doubt was watching Apolo Ohno and teammate, J.R. Celski, race in a short track speed skating event.  If you have not watched this event, I strongly encourage you to.  It is one of the most thrilling during the Games.  I will not tell you what happened DURING the race (because you should have stayed up to watch it), but you know that the two Americans medaled.  Yay!  

During a commercial break (that is the only time we speak), my mom and I discussed the difference between winter and summer athletes.  The biggest thing is that all the winter sports are dangerous.  They all involve skating over ice on knives or plummeting down a steep slope at speeds that surpass 90 mph or flying into the air at the height of a five story building.  And there is always the possibility of dying.  In the summer Olympics, the most dangerous thing is probably marathon running, where you can get dehydrated.  The winter athletes deal with possible death EVERY time they go for a training run.  As I have never been skiing or snowboarding, I cannot say why they do what they do.  I only know that the athletes love what they do and always are ready to get back on their skates or skis and defy death again.

Rain, Rain, You're Here To Stay

What had been an abysmally dry winter is so no longer. For the past week we have experienced and almost continual outpouring of rain. Perhaps what's even better is the fact that it should continue to rain well through Sunday afternoon. There is something about just sitting back on a couch, wrapped in a warm blanket with a glass of hot tea in hand, watching the droplets dash themselves against the windowpanes. A sense of utter peace settles over one. We feel content and perfectly comfortable spending the entire day indoors, going nowhere. Rain has the ability to make us slow down our frantic pace of life and sit back and take a breather. Perhaps that it one reason of why I so enjoy it when it rains.

Ah, I see I truly am born in the wrong century. It is times like these---when the house is dark with nothing but the fire to light the rooms and calm and soothing music ("rain" music) is playing---when I am seized with a desire to put on a dress and either bake some culinary delight or sit down and scratch out a few paragraphs of my story on yellowed paper with a quill pen. (I have no idea where one can even find a quill pen these days; it has always been a great ambition of mine to learn how to make my own pen and ink. How gloriously old-fashioned that sounds!)

Now, for some exciting news. My mother and I went to an old bookstore and found a treasure: eight books written by Louisa May Alcott with sweet, pale green binding and ink illustrations. The best part? We only paid $24 for them all! I am excessively pleased with this find. Nothing is better than reading an old book, except for reading an old book with tea and a scone.

Rain always puts me in a bookish mood. It never fails. Perhaps that would explain why I just requested two books from the library ("The Railway Children" and "The Story of the Treasure-Seekers", both of them by E. Nesbit). They have been favorites of mine since I heard them read aloud in fourth or fifth grade. (They also happen to be set in England in the 1900s about the escapades of the children trying to win a fortune for their family.) So here I blissfully sit, mug of tea beside me, listening to the patter of the rain about me and waiting for that mechanical call from the library.

I love rainy days!