I bought an American flag yesterday. It cost $1.29 plus tax. It is the first American flag I have ever purchased. It was my husband’s idea, since I was out and about and near the kind of hardware store where they might sell flags. I think he thought I’d come home with a larger one, but the next size up was three feet by five feet, and I wasn’t quite ready for one that big, this being my first flag ever. But give me a few days. Because that’s how life is right now: I am feeling more patriotic by the hour. And I know I'm not alone. For millions of Americans, last week was just one big patriotic crescendo. It’s as if all the language of patriotism—especially that one word, freedom—and all the symbolism—especially the flag—and all the music, especially the national anthem—have been released from some kind of nefarious captivity and returned to us. To the people.  It’s as if, on Night One of the Democratic National Convention, Hillary Clinton’s rhetorical transformation of the glass ceiling into a filigree of cracks through which we can see the sunlight of freedom ahead set the scene for the week, and allowed the light to just keep pouring in, via Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Shawn Fain, Steve Kerry, the dazzling Obamas, Oprah, Tim Walz, Doug Emhoff, and dozens and dozens of others. And the signs. And the balloons. And the roll call. And the great-nieces, teaching the world to say “Comma-La.”   And Kamala herself. She was radiant. She was [...]