Celebrating Independence Day

I hope everyone had a safe and fabulous Fourth of July! I know I did! As I readied my lake house for a long weekend of connecting with family and friends, I couldn’t help but recall what I was doing one year ago….

Last year when I trudged up to the storage area to retrieve my Fourth of July decorations, I wondered, “Why am I bothering to decorate at all?” 

And, as I heaved the first plastic bin of party gear from the dusty shelves, I debated whether the second container holding my stash of red-white-and-blue paper products was even necessary. There were only four of us in the house: my husband, my twenty-four-year-old daughter (she’d been working from our home since April), and my eighty-seven-year-old mother, who we had sprung from her disease-ridden senior living complex in May. 

Instead of celebrating Independence Day, it felt like the four of us were simply greeting another boring pandemic day. Our pod was not in a party mood much less party mode. We were not even socially-distancing. Sequestered, we had literally shut ourselves off from contact with extended family and trusted friends. So far, our efforts meant that all of us had escaped the infection. As I stared at the second party container, I realized that achieving this milestone was cause for celebration. So, I dragged all the July 4th paraphernalia down the backstairs and into the kitchen. 

From the first bin, I pulled out plates, trays, and napkins adorned with our nation’s colors and set the festive items around the dining table. Something about that effort lifted my spirits, until I remembered that a home-cooked, barbecued meal for four was the only thing planned for the entire day. Like cities across the country, our local Fourth of July activities had either been postponed or cancelled. And while I would miss the evening fireworks–elaborate displays that lit up the lakefront as far as the eye could see–it was the suspension of our annual community parade that really tugged at my heart strings. 

Year after year, the anticipated parade had been led by our volunteer fire department. It was a blocks-long stream of convertibles, floats, and neighbors marching with their kids in decorated strollers and wagons. As youngsters, my own kids had ridden bikes and tricycles decked out with red-white-and-blue streamers that had been carefully threaded through the wheels’ spokes. Even though nostalgia had locked me into her embrace, I was resigned to the fact that my family and community were safer without the usual crowded Fourth of July activities. 

And, I puzzled, “Where is this all going to end up? Where is our nation headed?”

With that question, fear and anxiety bullied nostalgia, shoving her aside. Thoughts of the pandemic’s persistence, the shutdown’s effect on jobs and the economy, and the pervasive riots and looting brought on by George Floyd’s murder flooded in. Instantly, I felt powerless. Insignificant. Vulnerable. 

I glanced at the party gear scattered about and thought, “C’mon. Today is important. Make the holiday special. Do what you can do, however small the effort.”

Shoving aside worries about our nation’s burdens, I dragged the second storage bin outside to the patio. As I had always done in prepping the lake house for Independence Day, I strung red-and-white striped buntings with their blue fields of white stars along the porch railings. I snagged the ladder from the garage and draped the last bunting above the front door. I smiled. Our nation’s colors could now be seen far and wide. I stuffed mini flags in the patio’s flowerpots and hung gaudy bows on the entrance doors. When I stopped to survey my decorating efforts, I spied Old Glory on the flagpole in the yard, her stripes undulating like the waves behind us on Lake Michigan. 

“What a show she puts on,” I thought. “She doesn’t need fireworks or parades.”

A neighbor yelled to me from the street below, “The place looks festive! Happy Fourth!” 

“You, too!” I shouted back, waving. 

I put the bins away and realized I was beaming. The decorating and brief contact with someone other than our “Fab Four,” had brightened the day. I stood straighter. Pride slipped in. Hope, too. This year of delayed gratification would surely pay off, wouldn’t it? 

Three hundred and sixty-five days later, I resurrected the same Fourth of July decorations from the dusty storage area above the garage. Just like last year, red-white-and-blue buntings hang on the porch railings and above the front door. The flowerpots sport their tiny flags and similar festive paper goods line my kitchen counters. Instead of last year’s “Fab Four” greeting the Fourth with our worn-out pandemic routine, my husband and I prepared the lake house for Independence Day. Fully vaccinated, we paced the house anticipating the arrival of our adult children, their significant others, and extended family and friends. The fridge was full of proper party food, and yes, Old Glory flew high on the flagpole in the front yard. 

She still looks amazing! Her colors are bold and true. To my eye, this past July 4th weekend, there was a certain magic in her drape and flutter. She didn’t just greet our visitors, she beckoned. And she, professed. Validated: You made it to the other side of “The Year Like No Other;” Time to celebrate that with those you hold dear, as well as our nation’s birthday!

Some wise soul said that it’s the absence of pain that is pleasure. Being free of all that last year represents is pleasurable. And it is very, very liberating, but what we transcended will not be easily forgotten.

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