There are two weeks of school left for the Vernick kids, and summer starts just on the other side. Each year, that first week after school ends—that delicious week of no alarm clocks and lazy mornings—summer feels infinite.
Also of an infinite nature: revision. It feels like it could go on forever. When I’m lucky enough to have a contract and a deadline, that’s the only time it has to stop. I’m working on a second round of post-contract revision on Screaming at the Ump (in addition to myriad pre-submission revisions). Once I finish this round, there will be little tweaks, I’m sure, but revision will no longer be infinite. It will be done.
Which is good, because I am far more comfortable with forces that have beginnings and endings. Infinity and limbo are a big part of my family’s life right now–we’re waiting for life-altering news, for finality, regarding employment, a much- much- much-desired writing project, a new book out on submission. We are all learning a lesson about waiting and patience, a lesson I’d like to smack in the face. Limbo in small doses—that I can handle. But it feels like the percentage of that which is unsettled right now is out of whack and way too high.
So here’s an ending for those of you reading the blog since the beginning. The curvy-spined girl-child, who lived 22 hours of each day in a brace for nearly two years, had a fantastic year-later visit with her orthopedist. Treatment, aka bracing, is considered successful if the degree of the patient’s angle does not advance beyond five additional degrees from the measurement at which she was first braced.
Not only did hers not advance—it somehow went down by two degrees (considered within the margin of error). There was much hooting. Hollering, too.
And though it felt infinite at the time, we faced an almost-ending of the scoliosis years with that visit. The girl child starts high school in the fall. And was told she’d need one last visit, right before leaving for college. Which, to a not-yet-freshman, seems like infinity.
But her mother suspects it’s really just about tomorrow, isn’t it?
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