Outside the bounds of your culture, holidays become both extra important and easily dismissed. They become flexible, about a mood and feeling that either haunts you deeply or is ephemerally lost in the day to day of your new home.
Practically, it means I ate Thanksgiving dinner with friends on Sunday, and we had an organic chicken instead of turkey (plus stuffing and cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes and green beans and pumpkin pie) And it means that tonight, I made fajitas in 20 minutes, though we did use Thanksgiving napkins, light some candles and say Happy Thanksgiving.
And that is just fine. Today was a work day. Thanksgiving is not a Swedish holiday.
But as the snow melts into slush and the sun sets earlier and earlier, I still love Thanksgiving and the football I am not watching and the shopping I will not do tomorrow. It echoes in me.