America, America

Two small things.

First, I was in Ireland on July 4, Independence Day. (American Independence Day, obviously, as opposed to the Poblacht na h√Čireann declared on April 24, 1916, although that one didn’t work out quite as well as our own experience in 1776.) I had two separate kind folks in Ireland wish me a happy day. Otherwise, it was nice to be away from the craziness that is our neighborhood back home, when the local fireworks start just before dark and go on for hours & hours. Terrifying.

In contrast, I was walking home from ballet last night, along East Capitol Street, Lincoln Park. Right there at the corner of East Cap and 12th (or was it Kentucky?) was a small flag hanging on an iron fence. Or, maybe more accurate to say that it was leaning against the fence. It maybe had been planted in the ground there, on the corner, just inside someone’s yard. But now it had tilted over, no longer planted, and the flag itself was touching the ground. And that bothered me.

Funny. I’m a big believer in free speech and your right to burn the flag if you want. But a flag, even a little one, touching the ground, just bugs me. Bugs me too when the US flag is hung vertically and the canton is to the upper right rather than the (perhaps counter-intuitive) upper left. But bugs me way more having the flag touching the ground.

So of course I stepped right on over and propped it back up. Had to do it.