A Moveable Feast

My friends from south of the border has started the annual ritual of fighting through departure gates, rushing home, dreading about being home, feeling depressed about not being home or salivating about mom’s turkey. I partook in this activity for most of the eighties and the nineties, although I was always going to someone else’s home as guest. One thing I never quite understand is the timing of their Thanksgiving. Sure, I understand its historical reasons but time has changed. It is only about a month before Christmas, another rush-home sort of holiday. Why not give thanks in the summer when the weather is nice? Instead of going through the same anxiety in bad weather, why not does something different in perfectly manicured yard? Plus, kids will have no excuse to go skiing for Christmas. It may have made sense years ago when families lived and died near each other and when there was nothing to do once harvest was done. Now, things have changed and may I make a humble suggestion to my American friends—give you thanks in early summer after the TV season. Plus, since advertisers have been moving the “shopping season” earlier and earlier, why not summer instead of fall?