Time, flying

 

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Sometimes time seems to trundle along at walking pace, sometimes it seems to stop altogether – think of those moments when your watch told you it was still only 3pm and yet it seemed like the last maths lesson of the day had been droning on for hours and hours. But sometimes life is more like a mad car chase – straight from the Bourne Identity!

I’m finding things more skewed towards the latter end of the spectrum at the moment: weeks seem like hours, weekends blur by like Stoke-on-Trent on an intercity train, months have become theoretical. Can you believe that it’s almost the end of February? Surely it was just a week or so ago that I was thinking that I couldn’t possibly eat another slice of turkey?

The shop is frequently tranquil: wool shops are rarely bustling places and high streets are a wee bit, um, under-used these days, but nonetheless the hours pass quickly and I seem to be shutting the shop just moments after I put the sheep out!

Is it just me? Is the fast pace of my life due to marking out each year as a smaller and smaller fraction of my total life – e.g. – when you’re 10 one year equals 1/10th, when you’re – ahem, 54 – one year is 1/54th of your life. Is this blog posting deep or what, by the way!

Anyway – life lived slow or fast, goes by.  At the weekend I was at the 25th anniversary party for friends,  and as I watched their grown-up children chatting with my grown-up boys (and remembering the little balls of  Baby-gro and knitwear they used to be) I thought that I should value and note each and every hour – even as they flash by. What about you?

sheepish1

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