I have a desire to do another detailed Bruce Update, since his medical situation continues to improve, but the conditions of his personal life are too harsh for me to present in this format, at least for now. Perhaps in time I’ll write something for the permanent record, but, for those of you who read this log and care about Bruce, if you want to know the specifics of what’s going on, please contact me or Dana directly. I encourage you to do so, and then to communicate your best regards to him.
Archive for the ‘Dana’ Category
Too gnarled a realm for this cautious blogger
Friday, January 20th, 2006There’s no people like show people
Wednesday, January 18th, 2006Tonight Dana had her book club, so I took the tickets Jeanne gave me and went to see the Harlem Gospel Choir at Norton Centre with my friend Danny D. The people on stage were very accomplished professionals, but the performance was too loud, too packaged, too “Show-Biz” for me. I get extremely discerning when it comes to worship-based music, but I can’t help it.
Obscure celebrities of Nordic history
Saturday, January 14th, 2006Ian’s face-recognition blog entry is hilarious. I had to try it, too. So I uploaded a recent picture of me that Dana likes.
Who the hell is Christian IX of Denmark?
Sulking, I looked through a few more pictures, and—you guessed it—I selected a picture of my notorious alter ego, Headley Lice.
No picture of Admiral Lice would return a result at the MyHeritage.com site. Very curious. The fear of this pirate’s dreaded wrath extends deeper than I ever presumed.
And so I used my old Muscle Club shot.
—Theodore Roosevelt— YES!
Then I took the big plunge. Uploading a photo of Dana in high school, I sought scientific proof that ever since the night I first watched El Cid, I had spent my youth trying to lure Sophia Loren into the pillows.
—Isabelle Adjani— Hmm, not bad…
Who the hell is Sophia Loren?
Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man
Monday, January 9th, 2006As Dana and I worked our way back toward Danville, we found ourselves near the Kentucky Theater, with the chance to catch a showing of “The Squid and the Whale” during its last week in Lexington. We hadn’t been in the adjacent State Theatre since the screening of Andrew’s movie last summer. Seeing this kind of film reminds me how much I appreciate the full spectrum of cinema, from the huge spectacles like “War of the Worlds,” to small literary pictures like “Squid.” I’m not enough of a groupie to outline any details, but I recognize the quality of the creative output coming from this particular circle of film makers, including Noah Baumbach, Wes Anderson, Jennifer Jason Leigh (Vic Morrow‘s daughter), the Wilson brothers, and others. The nature of the circle’s connection to talents such as Bill Murray, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Kevin Kline are unknown to me, but serves as a clear reminder that the movie biz is a relatively “small world” at the nontechnical level. “Squid” has obvious parallels to “The Royal Tenenbaums,” but it also triggered some reflections on “The Anniversary Party.” Beyond the dynamics of the artistic circle (usually behind the camera, but occasionally in front as well), these kinds of low-budget, quasi-autobiographical pieces tend to fascinate me when well executed, not so much because of the typical, self-reflective focus on dysfunctional relationships, but the way in which the art affects me at an emotional level and stimulates personal objectives. For me, that’s what movie-going has always been about—the lingering internal ripples of the following day (and beyond, if I’m lucky, or did a decent bit of homework before making my choice of feature). For instance, in spite of all the attention to the unattractive snobbishness of intellectual elitism, I come away from “Squid” with the distinct desire to reverse my practice of keeping at arm’s length the major works of great novelists—Dickens, Melville, Proust, etc. It brings to mind the words of Michel Seuphor, which I copied in my journal a while back: “You can never see too many things in a work of art. Itself, the work is a means for discovering what is already within us. The true work of art is more than its creator; it is always behind him; soon it enters another orbit not his, because the artist changes, he dies, while the work lives in others.” Twyla Tharp takes it a step further, examining the potential power of sub-art, with her story about Jerome Robbins: He was “a true man of the theater, who made a point of going to see everything because he could find something useful in even the worst productions. He’d sit there, viewing the catastrophe onstage, and imagine how he would have done it differently. A bad evening at the theater for everyone else was a creative workout for him.” No bad art, only bad observers? I wouldn’t take it to that extreme…
Completing another weekend circuit
Sunday, January 8th, 2006We drove to Indianapolis yesterday to deliver late Christmas
presents and spend some time with Bruce. He seems to be doing quite well at home. I can’t describe how marvelous it was for Dana and me to eat supper with him, seated at his own dining room table, which he hasn’t been in a position to do for almost ten months. Source of all blessings, be praised!
While on the road today, we had lunch in the highlands of Louisville, at an eatery recommended by Brendan and Bob H, too. Although we had to wait awhile for a table, it was a tasty meal and a unique setting. There’s only one word that can adequately describe Lynn’s Paradise Cafe— PSYCHEDELIC!
Lifetime friends and fallen timbers
Saturday, January 7th, 2006I hope everyone knows what it’s like to enjoy the continuity of a
friendship which effortlessly picks up where it left off, no matter how much time has passed—that’s the kind of comfortable bond that I have with Mike Menke—and I probably don’t need to say much more than that about spending a day with him and his parents at the cozy home Mike grew up in near Greenville. I don’t know if he came to love my folks as much as I came to love his, but I wouldn’t doubt it. In any case, I’ve been privileged to participate vicariously in many of the Menke family developments over the years, especially since I lived with his brother Tom for a year before I got my design degree and left Cincinnati. We drifted apart during my time in Chicago, but had an opportunity to solidify our “buddyship” when I got a job at Wright State without knowing that Mike was there getting a graduate degree in behavioral science. Mike’s life has had some strong connections to our Clan. At an age when we both should have known better, we were still climbing trees together at the Blue Bank Farm. He took a severe fall that directly influenced his pursuing a new career in chiropractic care (a legitimately outstanding one). In recent years he sold a successful private practice in Silicon Valley and moved to the Southwest, where he formed an association with Andrew Weil, became an expert on smoking cessation, and began working on another doctorate. Last night Dana and I were part of a family dinner in town and stayed awake ’til late to catch up on news. I spent most of today helping Mike and Tom cut firewood with their father, Stewart, who, despite some recent health challenges, can still drop a desirable tree precisely where he tells us it will fall. The brisk day was perfect for the task, and there still aren’t many things as satisfying as looking at a big stack of stove wood that wasn’t there a few hours before.
Various & Sundry, part twenty-nine
Sunday, January 1st, 2006— Year of 2005 workout totals: Swim-73; Bike-28; Run-41; Lift-22; Yoga-9
— Month of December workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-0; Run-4; Lift-3; Yoga-8
— I’m satisfied with how I was able to maintain a good momentum of swimming during an unsettled 2005 that didn’t exactly lend itself to regular exercise; plus I’m pleased with how I managed to regain regular yoga practice at the end of the year (it helps to be watching Lisa Bennett-Matkin). Nevertheless, an odd tenderness in the right knee will cause a delay in my return to running form, but I’m expecting it to be a huge year for cycling instead. Brian M gave me his “hardly used” Shimano pedals—look out!
— Once again, my family had its annual Hot Wheels car race. When I try to explain this event to the uninitiated, the listener nods politely and probably can’t get past the idea of little boys playing with toys. My description fails to capture the rich generational traditions, the competitive repartee, and the comedic tone, not to mention the feast of delicacies, snacks, and tempting junk-food delights. And we have our announcers—two of them—so jaded and sarcastic that “real-life” fans would have long ago beaten them to a pulp in the parking lot after their summary dismissal by speedway executives.
— I humiliated myself last night by making the classic blunder of bringing a movie that I’d never watched to a get-together with friends. William H. Macy let me down with his dreadful “The Cooler,” and who in the world wants to see his saggy buttocks anyway? I suppose we salvaged the evening to some degree by attending the wildest midnight scene in Danville—the annual three-inches-of-confetti-on-the-floor bash at the Hamlins. It’s rowdy, loud, and lots of fun, if you don’t mind digging the little colored stuff out of all those personal nooks and crannies that WHM so gratuitously displayed to the whole world.
— I finished another Grandy-bo piece this morning (my tenth) that Caitlan ended up getting during the Clan’s Chinese (Chine-Yine) gift exchange. I’m finally achieving the loose, spontaneous style that I’ve been after for quite a while. Rita’s photo show was particularly moving for me, as though my torch had been passed to a new generation of documentarians. She’ll get better at editing down her images to a more focused presentation, but it was the kind of montage that I used to have such a passion for, and I’m happy that someone else wants to pick up where I left off. Now, if I can only convince her to take over the Seitz Reunion portrait…
— Our family gathering today was filled with much love, perhaps more that usual, if that’s possible. The gesture of generosity that was extended to Dana and me took us by surprise, and brought emotional closure to a holiday season that had seemed somewhat diminished by an inability to carry out our usual traditions at the Town House. What a thoughtful, caring thing to do! It made us realize that a tough, draining year was behind us at last, and how much everyone has missed Bruce.
My 2005 Highlight Reel
Friday, December 30th, 2005
— Josh comes home to his Clan for a mid-deployment visit.
— Mack stops by the Town House and we talk about my old saxophone.
— Gov. Fletcher appoints me to the Kentucky Bicycle Commission.
— A major international Arts and Crafts exhibition unexpectedly comes to our attention.
— We hike back Horse Lick Hollow for Marty’s first visit to the Clan’s little “Pine Forest.”
— Seth and I complete the long-overdue “Pirate Revenge” video.
— I experience my first artistic fellowship with a group of Layerists.
— The exalted Plastic Mullet Series honors yours truly.
— I have the opportunity to design the poster for Sheldon Tapley’s painting.
— David treats me to another great hunting weekend in the Knobs.
— Jay and Glenda make their vows at a wedding ceremony in Liberty.
— Dana and I thoroughly enjoy listening to Gates of Fire on tape.
— After Aunt Alma’s funeral, Dana, Jerome and I pray at the Shrine of the Holy Relics.
— Caitlan takes us all to Oxford with her captivating England Blog.
— I discover the extraordinary young writer Paul Watkins and hook myself on his work.
— Marty and I conduct our first camp-out on “Widow’s Knob.”
— The Clan gathers for Mombo’s 80th-Birthday tribute at the Boone Tavern and Hotel.
— Dana and I celebrate our 23rd Anniversary in Augusta, Kentucky.
• • • and the top highlight of 2005 • • •
— Bruce battles through kidney failure, septicemia, and the various complications of severe pancreatitis to defy—by the grace of Almighty God—the medical odds against his survival.
It was some blonde… I don’t know who she is
Saturday, December 24th, 2005I laugh to myself every time I think about it, and I’m not sure if I should, or whether a bit of angst is the more logical response—as if angst ever had a thing to do with logic. When I was finishing my last stint as a 2005 Red Kettle bell ringer, Jeanne saw me at the Wal-Mart grocery entrance. She told me she was thinking of Grandy-bo because I was wearing the Hudson Bay coat that originally belonged to William Breidenbach, and she remembered that Dadbo wore it for a few years after Dana gave it to him. She didn’t realize it was me at first. We were having a sweet brother-sister moment when my Rotarian replacement arrived, a lady who’s a top employee at one of our client businesses. Jeanne put her arms around me and gave me a kiss. I said, “See you tomorrow night.” It wasn’t until later that I recalled the odd look on the woman’s face when I handed her the bell and wished her a Merry Christmas…
Dr. Tam — Paging Dr. Simon Tam
Tuesday, December 20th, 2005With less than a week ’til Christmas, it’s not happy news to find out that Bruce is being admitted back into Methodist Hospital tonight. He started to run a fever after Dana left this weekend, and his temperature climbed above 103 degrees by the end of his dialysis treatment today. Something undesirable is clearly working again on the inside, so it’s best they get to the bottom of it promptly.
Clean and shiny
Saturday, December 17th, 2005Day started out great when I got tricked into an eight-miler, even though my head meter was stuck on six. By the time I got home, I was psyched to make some art, and then I found out the good news—Dana had just blown town and would be back to Danville by evening, which means Bruce has improved enough to say “Go home, Mom.” Better tidy up the kitchen!
And the nominees are
Monday, December 12th, 2005Dana made the trip back to Indiana today so she could help Bruce get acclimated at home again, hoping there’s truth in the old saying, “third time’s a charm.” Uncertainties about the security of his pain medications required her to personally sign and take responsibility for the powerful drugs, but I won’t be going into all that here. Suffice it to say—the long saga continues in Hoosierland, and this woman deserves to receive the 2005 “Mother of the Year” award.
:::: “Thank you. Merry Christmas. God bless you.” :::
Saturday, December 10th, 2005I’m tired. It was a long day that started out with Dana preparing to drive to Indianapolis, but I found out after I’d been in Liberty for a while that it was a false alarm, and Bruce wasn’t really going to be released, because his blood pressure had dropped too low during dialysis. I spent a lot of time on my feet in the cold ringing the bell for the “no shows,” but it was nice to see members of the Clan, and the red kettles felt heavy at the end of the day (especially the Pamida one), and I also had a good conversation with Kyle Durham, Seth’s mentor, after we’d shut down our Saturday operation for another week.
It’s a grand slam
Tuesday, December 6th, 2005Dana and I decided to just go all the way with a “biopic grand slam,” and so we borrowed “Ray” from the library. Every so often I watch an Oscar-winner at work (Nicolas Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas” comes to mind) and I think, “Is this truly a performance that deserved an Academy Award?” This was definitely not one of those times. I’ll leave it to others more gifted than me to characterize Jamie Foxx’s phenomenal achievement.
As far as the movie goes, it makes “Beyond the Sea” look anemic by comparison—the difference between an obvious indie project and a big commercial picture with the highest production values. “Ray” is one of the best sounding Hollywood products in recent memory. The sound mixers deserved their awards every bit as much as the lead actor. Superbly directed, designed, and edited, the film is a technical masterpiece, but was it a better picture than “Million Dollar Baby?” No—because Clint delivers the full package that your heart is yearning for when you choose a movie like this. “Ray” has its moments—quite a few, and they’re exceptional—but failed to sustain a deep emotional connection for me. I cared more about whether Johnny Cash overcame his addiction in “Walk the Line,” and I really don’t think it was a function of who Ray Charles was or how good a job Jamie Foxx did.
I’ll continue to contemplate the similarities and contrasts of the four musical biographies I’ve discussed in my last two entries, and why one or another excelled in a particular area. In any case, each one of them is well worth the time, but now I plan to accept a couple new assignments in the spare-time department—the complete “Firefly” collection plus an early Paul Watkins novel…
The Manifesto
Saturday, December 3rd, 2005Someday I’ll have to detail the story of how Dana and Pam, exasperated by the red tape and bureaucratic idiocy of the Medicaid system, decided to pick up the phone and call the Governor of Indiana. Long story short—his office cut through the nonsense and Bruce got the help he needed. My take on it was, “This is how government should work when government doesn’t work.”
Not long after that happened, I read George Will’s column about Mitch Daniels and the possibility that what he’s doing with Indiana state government is the wave of the future in the political world. I suddenly had this consuming desire to reassess my role as a Kentucky Commissioner—to develop a comprehensive vision and philosophical position with respect to my advocacy of bicycle and pedestrian issues. If I don’t have a coherent stance in support of non-motorized infrastructure enhancements, I run the risk of coming off as just another pork-barrel Republican or free-spending Democrat. I have to be able to articulate the advantages of increased exercise as a disease-reducing activity worthy of public investment versus the unchecked explosion of costs to maintain the Medicare/Medicaid entitlement promised to aging baby-boomers.
The way I see it, we have a window of opportunity to be proactive. If we don’t address the current and future demand side of the equation, we’ll never be able to handle the supply side commitments without screwing our combined standard of living and quality of life in America. We’ve concocted a scheme to overwhelm a health-care system that’s already too expensive (read my log entry from Thursday).
I’ve got to make sense of this. Maybe it could become a Clan project!
• Uncle Jerome could summarize the latest empirical evidence on exercise.
• Caitlan could investigate the macro-economic cost/benefit relationships.
• Brendan could explore how to communicate the practical aspects of alternative transportation.
• Ian could reinforce it all with an easy-to-digest philosophical paradigm that would fit on a 10th Planet T-shirt!
Relax, Uncle John… You’re really getting carried away this time.
Expecting a decision
Saturday, November 26th, 2005It looks like Bruce will find out on Monday how soon he’ll be having surgery, so I’ll be returning to Indianapolis with Dana tomorrow.
The augury of birds
Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005When I saw huge crows crisscrossing above me, settling noisily into the tallest tree at McDowell Park, I knew that there was more than crisp November in the air.
…three, four, FIVE—the numerological indicator of change.
I found out Dana had called 9-1-1 so Bruce could be rushed to Methodist Hospital, and later I learned from Mombo that he was back in the critical care unit.
My prayer request is for stability and the resumption of his steady improvement.
Various & Sundry, part twenty-seven
Saturday, November 19th, 2005— I reconfigured the screen saver on the Mac G4 Mini to display a sequence of abstractions by Kurt Schwitters. I can’t say why, but, as far as motivating me to make art, nothing of late has been more inspirational to me than the rule-shattering creations of this early 20-century master. One could say he basically invented the medium we know as collage (he certainly was the first to perfect it), and it won’t hurt if I can subconsciously absorb a wee bit of his genius. Did KK really go to Newcastle? My God, that’s the repository of the Schwitters “Merzbarn,” one of the most genuinely innovative artistic concepts of the last hundred years! I may never get to see it myself… Go back there, Caitlan; it’s in the Hatton Gallery at the University of Newcastle!
— Don’t know any details, but it seems as though conditions are imploding at the school where my sister Joan has worked for many years. I feel bad for her because I think I know what she’s going through. Dana and I still refer to the “Golden Age” at Wright State University Communications (where we first met) before that department went into a nose dive. Things were never the same. Some of our coworkers saw it coming early and escaped most of the madness. Dana and I saw the handwriting on the wall before many in our group, but we still had to endure six months of collapse until we made the leap and started our partnership and studio. Several of our friends tried to make the best of it and had to experience a lot of nastiness before what was left of our creative “dream team” had been totally dismantled. A few of us from those years started our own companies and continued to work with each other sporadically, and we keep in touch as friends to this day. Since then I’ve learned that good working relationships and situations can rarely be sustained indefinitely. Everything always changes. Undesirable situations can improve, but, unfortunately, great situations inevitably decline, or even crash and burn. There’s been quite an ebb and flow in our clientele since those days (26 years ago). It’s not that existing relationships will sour, but it’s more often a matter of the natural, dynamic flux in any organization’s personnel equation. Never underestimate the wake of change that can occur when outstanding people move on with their lives. It can cause a “brief, shining moment” to fade into personal mythology. The silver lining for me—I still have my “partner in all things” and my Clan, and that’s as close to permanent as I’ll ever know.
— Today Dana told me that Bruce had a bad night, but pulled through without having to go back to the hospital. He gets into vicious cycles of fever, nausea, low red cell count, weakness, low blood pressure, and then sometimes passes out when he tries to stand up, if he has the energy to move at all. I don’t know the actual sequence of it, but he manages to will himself forward, or he relies on his mother or Pam for the encouragement to ride it out when this happens. It apparently has something to do with dialysis, or the lingering infections, or another factor I’m not aware of. He told Dana this past week how much he wants to feel good again, and that he’s not giving up. Dana will stay with him until he improves enough that she can turn her role over to someone else. Until then, she must be there while Pam is at work. Meanwhile, I continue at the home-front and make my effort to get work, be productive, juggle the volunteer commitments that have a momentum I can’t control, and resist the kind of distractions I’ve always invited to avoid facing—right now—the full emotional impact of bearing life’s load (for example, making overly long blog entries).
The exigency of excellencies
Tuesday, November 15th, 2005• First excellency — Bruce gets released from the hospital today. Let’s hope and pray that it sticks this time. Dana has responded with another trip to Indianapolis. What a mom!
• Second excellency — I got a called from Liz the Advocate-Messenger reporter, and she wants to meet with me soon to discuss the issues and concerns I raised at the open meeting last week. This could be taking shape nicely—after sensitizing elected officials, work with the media to boost public awareness.
• Third excellency — During a long conversation with Dr. Williams about his brand identities and our ongoing professional relationship, he assigned to me an extraordinarily good design project—create a new image for Burkmann’s premium equine nutrition that will stand toe-to-toe with any other product in the competitive environment.
Not a bad day.
Wood smoke and orange hats
Sunday, November 13th, 2005After the Gallery Hop in downtown Danville on Friday night, I went to David’s cabin to prepare for the 2005 deer hunt. Before sunrise on Saturday morning, Greg and I crouched below the rocky outcrop and saw a doe move around the point. I thought the visibility was too dim for a clean shot and was comfortable watching her move on. Not long after that, David shot a doe at the front tree-stand with his antique double rifle. That position proved the place to be throughout the opening weekend of rifle season. Stuart took his eight-pointer there Sunday evening, but that’s a whole story in itself.
My favorite time of the weekend was Saturday evening, before the weather changed. I watched two squirrels frolic for over an hour among the dry leaves until they retired to tree-top clusters, each of my senses acutely aware of the woodland environment in all its minute detail. Venus pierced the gloaming as a fiery sun finished painting the autumn colors a more vibrant shade of orange. I saw no deer, but it didn’t seem to matter.
On Sunday morning, sitting in the rain at the rear stand, I saw two does heading away from the knob-top clover field, no closer than 50-60 yards. Since I held a lever-action carbine with no telescope, it wasn’t a good shot for me (for the second time in as many days). Later, David was observing the area from the same stand at dusk, without a rifle. Firing his .45 revolver into the hillside, he attempted to spook a big buck moving on the same trail I saw my does. He was hoping to push him toward Stuart’s position at the front of the knob. It worked. As a result, enough meat became available that Dana and I filled our freezer and more, even though I had no personal kill this year.
When I was back in town someone wanted to know if I’d “shot Bambi,” and I sensed more clearly than ever the gulf between people who hunt and those who disdain it.
I went for decades without going on a traditional hunt, after putting it aside in my twenties when I chose to give up eating meat, but I never lost a respect for the tradition gained from Dadbo. Eventually I reintroduced flesh to my diet and became a fisherman. A profound reconnection with the natural world and an evolving appreciation of the shooting sports opened my mind to the idea of harvesting meat firsthand in the woods.
I honor the philosophical purity of strict vegetarianism, but anyone who consumes meat consents at some level to the killing of animals to sustain their life. Participating in the act with full consciousness, attuning the senses to a wild environment, experiencing the synchronicity of engaging a particular creature, and valuing it as a gift of nourishment from the Great Spirit is an activity that puts me directly in touch with ancestors—my hunting namesake, his Appalachian frontier forefathers, medieval Slovaks, first-millennium Norsemen, tribal Neolithics…
There’s no way to explain all that to someone who was never vouchsafed the hunting tradition. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to understand it myself.
Tales of the Graybeard Prospector II
Wednesday, November 9th, 2005• Went to the Community Arts Center with Dana for the Great American Brass Band Festival’s annual recognition luncheon. Mary Q told everyone that Dixon Design was honored with a “Traverse Award” from the Kentucky Tourism Council for our brochure design promoting the Festival. The distinction was announced recently at the awards dinner the Council hosts in conjunction with the Kentucky Department of Tourism’s annual meeting.
One of the nicest things to happen was to have both John A and Vince D stand up to compliment us personally and salute our work on behalf of the Festival. Vince’s tribute was particularly warm. Although I expected that our award would be mentioned, I did not anticipate his kind remarks about our long-term influence on the image of the Festival. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a public endorsement from anyone at his level of talent. It was a rare moment.
We’ve won the “Traverse” twice previously (in 1997 and 2000) for tourism pieces we did for the local Convention and Visitor’s Bureau. Perhaps this time we’ll make a better effort to capitalize on the special recognition.
Of thimbles, therapies, and thore pinkies
Saturday, November 5th, 2005Have you ever noticed that no matter what digit you injure, you find yourself thinking, “I didn’t realize how much I used that finger” or some other lame thought?
When a husband lives alone for two weeks when his wife is gone—well, he tends to notice how many routine, practical things get done when he isn’t typically paying attention.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total deadbeat, but it didn’t take me long to appreciate the disproportionate amount of cooking, cleanup, and laundry that Dana fits into our daily lifestyle. Covering for her share of those duties went well for me; I also tried to do some mending, which did not go so well.
I thought the use of a thimble was optional and learned the hard way that I was wrong. I slipped and jammed the blunt end of a sewing needle deep into my cuticle and within days my right middle finger was horribly infected.
When Dana arrived home last night I found out how much I also rely on her useful knowledge of natural healing. She hit the herb books and suggested a poultice of raw garlic, golden seal, and slippery elm. Although initially it hurt like a you know what, the remedy, along with some extract of golden seal taken orally and an epsom-salt soak, had the painful hand nearly back to normal within a day.