The wind was blowing so hard last night that it woke me.
We live in New England, at most we get snow. No flooding, no hurricanes, no crazy tropical storms. No real wind storms. So when we do, it's like snow in Georgia. It's noteworthy.
On my tiny little 18 house sidestreet, fully half boast a flag in front of their houses. Not set in the ground like a vfw post, but mounted to the porch. And for a bunch of people who can't be bothered to talk to one another, present company excluded, folks are remarkably cheery in terms of flying the flag. It's like 10 years ago, someone joined the flag of the month and all the other housewives joined in.
I hate to be the last holdout actually. Me likes me a leprechaun flag come March 17.
So this morning across the street, through the kitchen window, we saw the American flag down. Laying on the snow.
Doug mentioned it in passing.
I fretted.
"You can't just LEAVE it there" is what I said. "It's like...mean or something."
My husband said it was too early to tell the neighbor.
So me, obsessively, every 20 minutes looked at the clock.
"Seriously?" he said.
"Seriously"
So with a sigh he put his shoes on.
"It's like, it's like the last hallmark of respect" I said.
Out he went.
In he came.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I rehung it" he gestured into the air, indicating the mounting gear on the side of a pole.
"Isn't it not supposed to ...?" I paused searching my feeble third grade memory banks "Aren't you not supposed to hang it after it's touched the ground?"
And he looked at me, coffee in hand, bemused.
"Yeh well, technically you're supposed to burn it but why don't you explain to the neighbors why we're out burning their flag at 8 am Saturday morning."
Good point.
No more looking o'er the ramparts of the window sill.
1 comment:
We're compulsive about our flag. So much that we must light it at night and bring it in BEFORE bad weather. Like you, I think its an important vestige of American pride. There ain't much left out there. I'm clinging to the Stars and Stripes.
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