The tortoise and the hare.

img_3668Between the bustle of school and the pace of life lately, I’ve constantly been reminded of the story of the tortoise and the hare.

This week marked the end of my midterms, and two very lengthy papers were handed in after many hours spent reading, researching, and writing. During that very chaotic period, I felt like pulling my hair out–days were going by so fast, little work seemed to be getting done, and life in general felt as if someone had pushed the fast forward button. It was awful.

And then last weekend, as soon as I left the school library, I decided against waiting for the bus, and walked home. Normally, this wouldn’t be any sort of accomplishment: I love to walk, keep a fast pace, and typically come upon my destinations very quickly. But relative to Cambridge, my home in Boston is a little over four miles away. And when you’ve got a million things to do, time should be spent wisely. But I couldn’t help feeling like it would benefit me to spend a little time walking instead of sitting on the bus for half an hour. And so, on one of the loveliest, sunniest days Boston has seen in a while, I did it. I felt amazing afterwards–the rush of wind in my hair while crossing the Charles river was invigorating, and I was able to tackle my work from a fresh perspective. That bit of slowing down during the race to hand in my assignments was crucial to my success with them.

And now that all of that is behind me, I have a tiny break before another onslaught of work. Of course, I do have to finish up Silent Spring for next week, but I get to take it in while curling up beneath the lovely blanket that is slowly, but surely, nearing completion. I started this afghan at the beginning of the summer on a whim; I wanted something that would keep Scott warm while cuddled up on the couch during winter nights without heat. Dense wool was the obvious solution. I’ve spent small pockets of time here and there adding on a couple of hexagons, and it has gone from a small, hand-held piece to something that warms our laps.
I’ve often caught Scott in the position of having one cautious hand on the blanket before softly squeaking out, “Are there any needles in it?” And when I assure him that no, there aren’t, he swiftly pulls it up over his legs and settles in for a nap on the couch. When I see his comfort and warmth beneath it, I become extraordinarily happy and feel an overwhelming urge to just.knit.faster and finish it off already. But this is my tortoise project–slow and steady–and eventually, it will be done, complete with edging and blocking and ironing. Until then, we’re still reaping the warmth it has to offer.

Now for some chai tea and a bit of Rachel Carson on a rainy day.


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