True Colors

I know hanging curtains with a spouse is dangerous to a marriage, but that is nothing compared to hanging a flag! We had admired the stars and stripes billowing patriotically in the wind on a house across the street, so when I saw a flag set at Lowes yesterday, I suggested we get it. The red, white and blue would be pretty against our white, craftsman-style bungalow.

We got up bright and early this morning and filled our planter in front with red and white flowers, anticipating kids visiting later this month. “Let’s put the flag up, too!” I said brightly. Howard was agreeable, and went to fetch his ladder. I got out the flag and read the simple instructions to mount it. Howard made the pole sections fit when I couldn’t. I carried the flag out with the eager anticipation of a soldier planting it in victory, but I was told to put it back inside until he was ready.

I might have known how the morning would go when he told me the end of a ladder leg had mysteriously broken off. I would have to balance and hold it steady. Then the screws would not penetrate the stubborn board on the house gable, and I was dispatched for thinner screws. I remembered seeing some lying the picnic table and brought them. Those screws kept flying off, and I kept picking them up out of the flower box and handing them to Howard.

“Get me the other drill from the garage!” the “drill” sergeant ordered. Not much better, so I was sent for a pack of new magnetic drill tips he had bought yesterday. Going back on the porch to fetch something, Howard suddenly yelled in pain as blood shot from his finger! An invisible sharp nail had appeared from nowhere as he took hold of a wicker chair as he went in. As the blood stained the white tissue I had in my hand, it dawned on me what the red stripes in the flag were. Yes, courage and valor, which often incurred the shedding of blood.

Finally, my husband said our project was finished. And it looked great! While he had gone to put something away, though, the flag seemed to be dipping curiously lower and lower, as if bowing to someone of importance.

The cheap bracket had bent. “Don’t worry, I can fix that,” my improvising spouse said. All I got was silence to my question of “how”. In fact, the “why” question had been getting me in hot water all morning, as he seemed take it as an affront to his competence. Another trip to the garage and a climb up the ladder, and he had reinforced it. It held this time, and we watched its rewarding billows in appreciation of what it stands for.

The other day at McDonald’s, Howard was having trouble getting a light-haired cashier to understand him. He asked for an empty cup for water, and she uncomprehendingly handed him butter. From my seat I could see him as he pantomimed drinking from a glass, and another employee finally gave him a cup.

The mystery was cleared up last night when the pastor said he was treated with unaccustomed courtesy at McDonald’s yesterday from a staff of smiling, blonde young people lined up behind the counter. He was so intrigued, he inquired of the manager where she got this work force. “They’re from Russia,” she explained, “sent here for training to work in a McDonald’s over there.” What better place to learn than in the land of the free and the home of the brave! And may they see only the good in us while here. After all, diplomacy begins at home, even when hanging the colors!