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.