Birthday Wish
Flag Flying
It’s my birthday and I’ve been up since 4 a.m., trying to be patient until Dane wakes up. I have a birthday wish!
Finally, I hear him moving around. I’m so excited for the day, I could self-combust. Instead, I hide behind a closet curtain, standing as still as I can until Dane comes down the stairs and walks past. I reach out and grab him and say, “Hello!”
He screams and pulls away. “You do know I have a heart condition?!”
“I’m just making sure it’s working properly!”
After a quick morning hug and before Dane has even had his coffee, I’m rattling off birthday plans, which include taking the pups for an early walk. I’m taking advantage of my birthday, knowing I can only get away with this on special occasions.
People ask why we don’t live together, and this is an example. I love hitting mornings full on, with conversation, a cup of decaf, and getting the dogs out on an early hike. Dane loves mornings too but prefers to ease into them with an established routine: caffeinated coffee, reading, scrolling, breakfast (either oatmeal and an orange at my house or one egg, toast, and an orange at his), followed by a shower, clean clothes, and quiet. I often complain, “Daylight’s burning,” at 4:30 a.m. in the summer and 6 in winter. Breakfast? No time! Shower? A little dirt never hurt anyone. Clean clothes? Why, when I can keep my PJs on?
But today is my birthday, and I know Dane will accommodate me. As he gets his coffee, I tell him my big wish: “I want to put up the flagpole!” We both know what this means: Dane will measure the area, dig the hole, double-check everything, and pour the cement, while I oversee. I’ve even found an instructional video for him!
I’m most excited about the waterless concrete, because I know Dane doesn’t like messiness. “We’ll pour the dry concrete in the hole and sprinkle water on top. The earth does the rest,” I parrot from watching the video.
I continue shadowing Dane as he makes breakfast, sharing my family’s flagpole stories, which he’s heard before. They’re one of the reasons I’ve bought myself a flagpole—I’ve always wanted one.
Dad, like Dane, was particular and precise about home projects. The erection of the Schmidt flagpole was no exception. While Mom, Jill, and Jack slept. I joined Dad in my PJs and watched him sip coffee as he measured, dug, used string to mark off a square, and yelled at Fat Albert, our dalmatian, for lifting his leg on our project.
By the time the rest of the family woke, I was pestering them to come outside. Dad was already mixing the cement in an old wheelbarrow and was ready to pour. We kids got to press one hand in the wet cement at each corner of the concrete square that would hold up the pole. Then Dad used a stick to meticulously carve our names there for eternity.
Raising the long, heavy flagpole was an ordeal, with a lot of directions, some cussing, and too much tomfoolery for Dad’s liking. But then, there it was: the flag flying high and proud in our yard.
Now the dogs have been walked, we’ve been to Nelson’s and back, and Dane has dug a perfect hole, without running into any rocks. On hands and knees, he’s used the level and made adjustments, and now it’s time for the concrete. I’m still amazed that it’s as easy as pouring powder into the hole—but we’ve come up short. It’s a Sunday, and we race back to Nelson’s and buy another bag of cement minutes before they close.
I’m disappointed when Dane places a rock over the opening for the pole, saying, “Now it needs to dry until tomorrow night.” What? I thought it would be a one-day project.
As Dane heads home, I look for Maude the turtle. She’s been brumating all winter (turtles’ version of hibernating) and I hoped she’d come up for my birthday, but she seems to have other plans.
When Dane calls to say goodnight, I assure him this was one of my best birthdays ever. I’ve loved watching and helping him prepare the flagpole space. He made my wish come true! I go to bed thankful that both of us love a good project—and that he does most of the hard work. I hope tomorrow we’ll see Maude!