At the turn of the last decade, twelve years ago, we were united with those two little angels who took over our life. All of a sudden, we were thrown in at the deep-end, learning the art of the nappy-change, feeding and ceaseless care, as those vulnerable infants came to define our lives.
Our house would be filled with visitors then, friends and family, descending to welcome those little ones. An opportunity for the reunification of our wider family. And to witness the love of my grandmother once more, always insistent on making the eight-mile trip to see her great-grandchildren, or us to her.
In the spring of 2011, my mother-in-law made her second visit to England, staying with us for months. That summer, we made our first trip to Turkey with the children, staying with relatives, and visiting the highlands. They remained all the way through until winter, as my wife oversaw the construction of our first little house there.
The winter of 2012 brought heavy snow. The kids played in the garden, building snowmen and sledging down the drive. In the spring, we started building an extension on the back of the house, to afford us more room. The same year, we’d spend spring in our new house in Turkey, and only I would return to complete the remodelling of our place back home.
2012 would also have been the year my team at work was disbanded, forcing me to go-it-alone as a one-man-band. As a cost-saving measure, I was instructed to work from home, to avoid them paying the excess travel fees for the relocation of our office 25 miles south. So I have been a remote worker for a whole decade now.
2013 would be the first summer working from home abroad, with the encouragement of my manager. We remained in our little house the full six weeks, with me working from a laptop with views over the Black Sea. The following summer, my parents would stay with us there as well, absorbing that famous Turkish hospitality.
And so the years ebb and flow, a decade rattling past. Our eldest is fourteen now. We’d forget the years that have passed us by if it wasn’t for the burgeoning photo collection, which daily prompts us to look back on this week through the years.
And now another year begins to draw to a close. All of a sudden, it is December, the months hurtling past as if they were just days. Here I look back on my archives, to recall all I wrote twelve months ago. It’s as if it was just yesterday: but no, in the months since then, most that I wrote has been blown out of the water by reality.
And so the years vanish behind us, locked away and out of reach.
Last modified: 30 November 2022
