Gosh, I've just re-read Alan's poem "No Wait" posted below.  I just can't get over how much he was able to pack in about my brother Frank in so short a piece.  Frank was everything like that, I've just been thinking and thinking about it this last week. 

We spent most of the last week in Holland.  We left on Tuesday and returned on Saturday evening.  It was a good trip, although quite cold.  In fact it was the coldest weather since we have been here.  On Thursday, we decided to take a train trip to Rotterdam. Initially we thought it would be a good day for it because it was cold and blustery when we started out in the morning.  Unfortunately, by the time we got off the train in Rotterdam, it was a full blown gale.  We walked around the block, had lunch and got back on the train for Amsterdam and a hot bath! 

Although we could not get tickets for the Beethoven concert at the Concertgabow on Valentine's Day, we did get tickets at the Musicgabow (I love Dutch names for stuff).  We heard two Mozart pieces, including his 40th symphony, which I'm listening to just now: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvtoqE33iZg  So, so wonderful. 

I've just made plans for another trip with my friends here to walk part of "The Way" Santiago de Compostela http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santiago_de_Compostela in September.  This is my first foray traveling without Alan.  Initially we were going to do a walk in September with friends from the States in Scotland, but that was quite a bit more expensive than we initially thought and we pulled out of that before this opportunity arose.  September looks like it's shaping up to be as busy as last year in September because in addition to this walk, our US friends are going to come to Ireland following their Scotland walk and we're making plans to get a house in the west of Ireland for the following week.  Exciting stuff.

Looking forward to getting back to the normal stuff this week, work, dance, dance and bridge, bridge.  In addition to the two dance classes I've been doing for a while and the weekly bridge game on Friday mornings, I've just started taking bridge lessons on Thursday evenings.  It was strongly suggested that I do so by my bridge companions.  There's a lot to learn about bidding, that's for sure.  Before I knew how much I didn't know, I wasn't intimidated at all to play on Fridays, now, with just ONE lesson under my belt, I'm a wreak.  They tell me that will stop.  I have to believe it's so, because it's just the way I felt after my first set dancing lesson and now I'm passable at that.
 

I got caught up with both set and modern dance classes since our return from Madrid, but now we're off again tomorrow and so will miss the classes for both this week.  We're headed to Holland and will spend Valentines Day there.

While in Amsterdam I'm hoping to get tickets to a sold-out Beethoven concert at the Concert Hall.  Since we've come here, I've only been to one classical music concert and I really miss hearing that music. On Friday we saw the movie Hitchcock and, while it wasn't very good, there was a scene in which "Hitch" was listening to Beethoven and I was reminded of how much I miss hearing the classics every once in a while.  I've been so focused on Irish dance and Irish music in general.

Since we returned from Spain, we saw the films Lincoln and Hitchcock and, although I like Anthony Hopkins as an actor, he's no Daniel Day Lewis.  Not once during Hitchcock did I ever get over thinking "Anthony Hopkins in a fat suit."   Daniel Day Lewis' Lincoln was another matter entirely, he WAS Lincoln.  It was a phenomenal performance.  I would definitely recommend it.  I would not recommend Hitchcock. 

I think I mentioned that Alan is writing more regularly here than ever before.  He's written a poem that is quite poignant.  It's about my brother, Frank.  Any family member reading this who knew Frank will remember his challenges with the Veteran's Administration as a result of his military career.  Its some of Alan's best work and I thought I'd reproduce it entirely here. 

No, Wait

By Alan Balkema

What did you say? I don’t hear too good.

I filled out your form.

That’s your problem, not mine.

Yes, disability payments.

Yes, Vietnam veteran.

My body is falling apart.

I have cysts where they shouldn’t be, and your asshole doctors won’t touch them.

No, wait. I’m sorry.

I’m not drunk.

I’ve been sitting here for hours. How could I drink?

I understand.

Agent Orange.

The worst of it.

Fuckin A I killed people. I was in a war zone.

No, wait.

Sorry, sorry.

I won’t do it again.

They looked like the enemy to me.

Nineteen.

Drafted.

Fourteen months.

They extended me for two months.

Disrespecting an officer.

He was a fuckin asshole.

No, wait.

I’m sorry.

I know I said, but I didn’t promise.

This time I promise.

Purple Heart.

I threw it away.

It was bad luck.

Because it never brought me good luck.

It must be in your records.

Nineteen sixty-eight.

Da Nang. Ever heard of it?

How old are you?

Was your daddy in the war?

I didn’t think so.

The base got shelled while we were sleeping. My hootch-mate was killed, and I got shrapnel in my back.

That’s where the hearing loss comes from.

It seemed like the line of duty to me.

I wouldn’t choose that locale for a vacation.

Seven days in the infirmary. There must be records.

I have a picture of me wearing the medal. See? I was young then.

I was mentioned in my hometown newspaper. There must be a record of that.

My mom cut the article out and sent it to me, but I lost it.

She’s dead. Dad, too.

Don’t you have one of those connections?

Do a search or something?

Fire in St. Louis? That’s not my problem.

How am I supposed to recreate records?

I’ve given you everything I have.

Fuck you.

No, wait, don’t go.

You’re pretty.

What am I supposed to do?

I don’t have anything to eat.