I have an inflatable turkey in my front yard.
I will not apologize for this.
Listen, it's not like I have Thanksgiving themed lights in the tree in my front yard.
I just have a large, inflatable turkey---with lights in it.
I know it's corny. I don't care.
My mom loved decorating her house for the holidays---all the holidays.
The last month of my mom's life she became concerned that we hadn't put out all of our Halloween decorations.
Once I realized what was going on, I went out and spent a small fortune on Halloween decor so I could do it up right.
We managed with some difficulty to get her outside on the front porch one evening so she could see the colorful lights, pumpkins and other decorations.
So when the time came to do some decorating for Thanksgiving--I lit up the turkey, and we filled the house with harvest-themed decor.
One of the prayers that I recite at every funeral I officiate goes something like this:
You only are immortal, the creator and maker of all.
We are mortal, formed of the earth,
and to earth shall we return.
This you ordained when you created us, saying,
“You are dust,
and to dust you shall return.”
All of us go down to the dust;
yet even at the grave we make our song:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia...
When I plugged in my inflatable turkey last night and watched it unfold in all of it's glorious, cartoonish, illuminated glory, this thought went through my head:
"Death, you do not get to win. Even when you arrive to cast a pall upon our whole family, we'll plug in our inflatable turkey and tell you to shove it."
Because even at the grave we make our song... and light our lights... and celebrate.
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