The Case of the Discarded Buntings

A few days before Memorial Day, I returned to my summer home in NW Indiana. One of my first tasks was to locate Old Glory and raise her high on the flagpole in the front yard. To do so, I enlisted the help of my son, a military veteran and Army Ranger just like his father had been. Then I went to the storage area in search of more patriotic decorations. I found everything I was looking for except my vintage collection of red, white, and blue buntings.

And then, I remembered what had happened….

Last year, after the Fourth of July festivities had concluded, I left my husband in charge of the summer house and flew to Florida to take care of matters at our condo. When I returned to Indiana, I noticed right away that the July 4th decorations had been removed from the outside of the house.

I parked the car and smiled inwardly. “Oh, that’s great. One less thing for me to take care of now that I’m back.”

Inside the kitchen, I greeted my husband with a warm hug and kiss, saying, “Thanks for taking down the Fourth of July decorations. Did you stow them in the storage area?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Nope! Those things were so ratty from being whipped in the wind that I just threw them out!”

My hands slid up to my hips. “You did what?” 

He sunk heavily into a kitchen chair and waved me off. “They were an embarrassment. The bunting fabric had come loose from the grommets. The whole mess was being held together by a ridiculous web of green twist ties.” 

I glared at him, struggling to contain the disappointment welling in my throat. “Those were vintage buntings. Irreplaceable heirlooms. My parents had hung those very same swags from the porch at their cottage in Palisades Park.”

He picked up a recent issue of The New Yorker and glanced over at me. “Sorry. I guess you’ll have to order new ones.” 

With nothing left to say, I wandered off to the bedroom. As I unpacked my suitcase, my mind waged a silent argument: I can’t believe he threw them out without checking with me. Yes, the buntings’ heavy cotton fabric was a bit faded. It was true that many of the grommets had separated from the material. But I’d fixed those issues with wire. I loved those old decorations. Each time I strung them up, it reminded me of happy times at my folks’ old place.

I’m not sure what happened. Perhaps, more pressing matters hopscotched to the top of my to-do list, or maybe I chose to bury the hurt I felt over the buntings’ sudden demise. Regardless, nine months elapsed before it occurred to me to order new patriotic decor. Supply chain issues being what they are, the replacement swags didn’t arrive in time to trim the patio railings for Memorial Day.

In late June, I pulled the new buntings out of their shrink wrap and scrutinized my reluctant purchase. The weight of them is thin and light compared to the heavy cotton garlands handed down to me by my mother. Unlike the discarded vintage buntings, the red and blue colors are crisp and true, not faded or frayed. And the grommets are a shiny brass, strong and intact. As a way to honor our country, they would do, I supposed.

So, I scooped up the lot and ventured out to the patio. As I fastened the last bunting in place, out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed something dangling from the last section of porch railing. On closer scrutiny, I realized it was a rusty old grommet held in place by one of the old green twist ties. I laughed aloud as I studied it flap maniacally in a stiff lake breeze. A remnant of my treasured heirloom swags. It survived not only my husband’s careless purge but a harsh midwestern winter. 

In the end, I chose to leave that dangling piece of metal clinging to the metal balustrade where I’d fastened it last year. It hangs next to the new swags, a survivor. Proof to me that the old buntings had more decorating years in them. When it comes to some things, new is not always better. Nor is it preferred.

News & Upcoming Events

June 27th– Fellow Chicagoan, Lanise Shelley, interviewed me for her podcast, When They Were Young about my adoption search and reunion experience and why I chose to write a memoir about it. You can listen here.

July 19th, I will be speaking to Vicky’s Book Club in Hinsdale about Twice a Daughter: A Search for Identity, Family, and Belonging.

In May, The Women’s Press Club of Indiana recognized my writing in their annual statewide contest: 

• My book, Twice a Daughter, received first place in autobiography/memoir category
• Two of my monthly columns, That Girl This Life, written for The Beacher Newspapers received first place: “The Happiest Moment” & “My Mother’s Words.”
• My piece,  “Why Now, Why Not, and Why Wait,” (published on Adoption.com) received first place for personal essay 
• Another essay, “Closed Adoption: A Legal Magic Eraser” (published on Imprint.com) received first place for opinion/editorial. 

These works went on to compete in the national competition hosted by the NFPW (National Federation of Press Women). On June 25th, I learned that my book, Twice a Daughter, took Third Place for Nonfiction Book for Adult Readers in autobiography/ memoir, and the Columns, Personal Essay, and Editorial/Opinion pieces received Honorable Mention.

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