Thanksgiving memories. As you get older, those memories become more and more a part of you observance of the holiday. Christmas is like that, too, but so much of Christmas is rush, rush, rush. With Christmas, there is relief when it is over. Taking down the decorations is almost as festive as putting them up. But Thanksgiving, if you can avoid the craziness that is Black Friday, leaves you with a pleasant glow of family, peace and thankfulness. And the memories are part of that glow.

         We all have our memories. Good and bad. Where I come from, the ‘bad’ usually revolves around the weather. We had a massive snow storm blow in one year that took power lines with it. I kept the fireplace going and Marsha made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for our Thanksgiving meal. The dog was happy. She loved peanut butter and jelly and I was happy because there is just something about staying warm by a fire. But Marsha was on the sofa under every blanket in the house complaining because our son hadn’t come over. (Twenty miles away in a storm that left two feet of snow with drifts five times that. He had called his mother’s cell phone and said he would be out at a certain time. I told him not to bother. Too dangerous and we didn’t have power. He did have power, so he stayed home.) Depending which one of us you talked to, it was either a good memory or a bad memory.

         There are memories of gatherings, again both good and bad. For many of us there are memories of solo Thanksgivings. But for most of us the memories bring back a feeling of warmth, even on a cold day.

         And then there are weird memories. Memories that are unique to you and you alone. Oh, yeah…….

         I was pastoring in a place called Warren, Ohio. A city of about 50,000 at that time. From Warren you could drive on state route 442 and go right through Girard, Ohio, an industrial city of 10,000 people at that time and about the same number of factories. As you passed through Girard you were in Youngstown, Ohio, a metropolitan area of about half a million people. You could make that trip and never know when you passed from one city to the next. It was all concrete and factories. The only thing that tipped you off that you were in Youngstown was that the steel mills were larger. We preferred to live outside of the city crush, so it was a drive every day.

         It was getting on in 1987 and Marsha was wanting extra money for Christmas. I suggested a part time job at night so I could stay at home and be with our son. (She worked in the office at a plant in Warren during the day.) She started looking.

         As it happened, there was a huge cemetery just at the bottom of our hill. Beautiful, rolling hills, large ponds, wonderful trees. Picture perfect. In addition to the outside graves, they also had a mausoleum on the grounds. This is a place where they place the deceased, in their caskets, in openings in the walls. Once in, they seal that door up and the deceased is forever in a climate controlled environment. This place was enormous. I mean, you wouldn’t believe it until you walked into it. A large room when you walked in that was for graveside funerals on nasty weather days or if you were going to put someone in a wall. From that one large room There were halls that ran for a couple hundred yards each. The places for the caskets ran ten high. If you were going to go and pay your respects to someone, you were given a map as you walked in at the little office. Then you hunted. I had done several funerals there and I had looked down the halls and had seen mourners there to grieve at Uncle Frank’s final resting place, standing on the floor with their heads tilted back as far as humanly possible trying to read the plagues on the containers.

         This place was hiring someone just to sweep the floors and vacuum the office and to straighten up. That was it. There were back rooms where the bodies were prepared and such like, but someone else did that. It was very close and, except for the size, the work wasn’t overwhelming and Marsha took the job. I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t like the people who ran the place and it was big. Just pushing a large sweep up and down those fake marble floors was going to be pretty strenuous for Marsha. But I was just being silly (she said) and she took the job.

         First night. She calls in hysterics. She had to go to a particular place in the building to get the sweep broom and the vacuum. The cleaner’s closet was in a prep room. On that first night there was a body they had left on a prep table, partially done. She hadn’t expected it (and as I learned later, you are not to leave a body overnight in that condition) and when she saw it she freaked out. Now, this is the Monday before Thanksgiving. I get Adam up and load him into the car and head over there. It really wasn’t a pleasant sight, but she was going to have to get used to it. I sent her home with Adam and I stayed and did the job. It was one of those out of season nights that was unusually warm. I say that now because it explains something later.

         Second night. Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Marsha was finding out how much work there was to do in those long, long hallways. The place was giving her the creeps, but she wasn’t going to call me. With the fake marble floors, even your footfalls echoed. Still, she was holding it together until a sound like a cannon went off. She called me, terrified. I couldn’t even tell what she was saying. I woke up Adam, got him into the car and went over there.

         We walked around until we saw what had happened. One of the bronze plagues that they inscribe the name on and then seal into place over the place where the casket goes had fallen off. It had dropped about fifteen feet. Yes, it would have sounded like a cannon and it was lucky she hadn’t had a heart attack. Never did know why it fell.

         Third night. Wednesday before Thanksgiving. She was refusing to go. It had gotten really cold and she figured it was the perfect night for zombies. She wanted me to go. I told her it was her job. I hadn’t wanted her to take that job. (I didn’t see the need for any part time job) But she went ahead and took the job anyway. Just go. There can’t be something every night.

         The place closed for business every night at five, so she would get there at six and start. By that time it was nearly dark and she was scared and looking for zombies, so I wasn’t surprised when she called at 7:15. When the phone rang, Adam went and got his coat. He knew the drill already. When I answered Marsha whispered, “They’re trying to get in! They’re out there and they’re trying to get in and eat me!” So, over Adam and I went.

         Marsha unlocked the door while brandishing a steel rod. I didn’t even ask where she got it. She said that she was sweeping and all of a sudden there was knocking coming from every hall, getting louder and louder. At first she thought it was from the stained glass windows that went from floor to ceiling, but it got so loud and echoed so bad it was from inside the walls. THAT WAS WHY THAT DOOR FELL OFF THE NIGHT BEFORE! THEY WERE STARTING TO EMERGE THEN!!

         I was trying not to laugh and Marsha was getting mad at me. Then I heard the first knock. Then another. And another. Then everywhere. Echo, knock, echo. It was getting pretty loud. I will say, it was very unsettling.

         We were standing in the big room they used for services. Big double doors led to outside. I glanced that way and saw several geese pecking the windows. I walked over and they went nuts. The unseasonably warm weather had kept them from flying south, but that day had turned so cold the ponds were icing over. They wanted in. When I had pulled up they had scattered and I hadn’t seen them. But now they were pecking all the windows, trying to get in. They were freezing. The noise inside was terrifying.

         I ran the geese off with the steel rod and Marsha and Adam got in a car and went home. I finished up. I got home after midnight, Thanksgiving morning. I didn’t even have to try and talk Marsha into quitting.

         Thanksgiving memories.

         I know this year was different, but be blessed. Read Mary’s blog if you haven’t (http://urbanayokeparish.com/blogs/mary-marys-moments) and be grateful.