Vicky Ewan: Happy New Year to you all

We had a houseful over Christmas, shared domestically with my dad’s home, across the road. In dribs and drabs, people arrived (sequentially: my brother; my sister-in-law; my younger daughter; my elder daughter and her girlfriend), and, at their leisure, departed (my brother and sister-in-law, my younger daughter; my elder daughter and her girlfriend).

My younger daughter, in fact, bucked the trend, disappearing back to her flat in Exeter at the behest of her employer for the interim Christmas-New Year period - a rude awakening in this her first year of full-time employment.

Expelled from the bosom of her loving family and propelled back into the workplace, she resolved to be better prepared in the future - and promptly booked those few low days off work for the next festive season.

By all accounts, she wasn’t the only one: there was a fair stampede of employees rushing to secure leaves of absence for the same period. When I expressed my sympathy for those unlucky few who were out of the office and therefore unable to jump on the bandwagon and arrange annual leave themselves, my daughter archly pointed out the most likely reason for their absence was that they were presently taking holiday from work - presumably because they had felt the way she was feeling now twelve months ago: all’s fair in love and office politics.

Fortunately for all concerned, my daughter returned to us for the New Year Bank Holiday weekend, and we rang in 2024 in style.

The following day, as my husband and I wended our way homeward after dropping our daughter back at her flat, I succumbed to a moment of reflection, casting my thoughts back over the year whose embers had so recently been extinguished. My beloved and I spoke about the many changes that had occurred in the family since 2023 dawned, some of them truly major: children had found their first homes; jobs had changed; we had bid a final farewell to my mum. Those momentous moments were supplemented by smaller ones, too: travel to new places; our son finally learning how to swim; Miss Pup licking the hand of non-family members (that epiphanous event should possibly feature in the major category).

I don’t imagine we’re unique in this regard: by the laws of probability, most family groups will experience occasions of greater and lesser significance across a year. After all, it’s 12 months: that’s 52 weeks / 365 days (366 this year) / 8760 hours (I won’t go on) - a huge chunk of time during which all manner of things, good and bad, can occur.

The world creaks on its axis; the winds of change blow. In addition to feeling reflective on that car journey home with my husband, I was minded to wonder about the future: what might the next 525600 (ha!) minutes have in store for us? It’s impossible to predict, of course; I certainly wouldn't have envisaged, in advance, much of the content of the past 31536000 sec… (okay, I’ll stop) year; nor, in truth, would I have wanted to. Granted the liberty of choice, I would eschew the ability to see the future - our individual fates are better left undiscovered.

I am certain, for a whole host of reasons, with the potential for disillusion, dissatisfaction, and deep unhappiness their exposure might arouse. I believe that human beings are capable of great strength and courage and resilience in the face of adversity - but I also fear that we may crumble under the weight of portentous knowledge.

Better, perhaps, not to be aware of the fortunes - good and ill - that will inevitably befall us all, and simply trust that God will be with us at our most testing times. Much as I desire it, there’s no guarantee that my family will have a houseful again next Christmas; life moves on apace, and situations change. I hope, nevertheless, that the next 12 months - for me, and for you - have enough blessings to keep us keeping on. Happy New Year to you and all your loved ones.