When I was writing a check at the dentist's office this morning, I asked the date and realized it's flag day. Used to be, you would see the flag flying all along the street on such a designated day. I didn't see a one on my way home. Even my own flag has been stuck in the closet since the bracket broke years ago. But returning from my walk just now, I noticed a parade of little flags my neighbor had planted along her flower bed. Nothing fancy. Probably not even technically correct because the little flags brush the grass. But it's the thought that counts. And the thought is this: Even in economic decline and hateful, name-calling politics, it is still our country. And after the terrible battle, Francis Scott Key noticed. The flag. It survives. Praze this mixed-up country of ours and its scrapy little flag.
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