Out of my gourd (phase)

Carving up the great pumpkin used to be a big deal. Getting to create an obnoxious face was far from a spooky tradition growing up in Coeur d'Alene.
I'd relish the thought of creating a jack-o-lantern that was both good enough to display on the front porch, and bowl down the street.
But just as trick-or-treating became more of a habit than an adventure, so did the enthusiasm of putting an orange orb under the knife. After I moved out of mom and dad's house, it seems I unconsciously put a squash on the whole pumpkin-cutting tradition. I've carved a pumpkin once in the nine years since I moved out.
I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow Halloween shifted more to a costume party holiday than a sugar-high one. I've been clad in plenty of good "Disco Stu" and gnome costumes to help me revel in all the merry good cheer that only a holiday can provide. But all the revelry has come at the price of going without an orange-faced snagletooth, complete with hanging pumpkin guts.
I think it's because holidays tend to sneak up on us as we enter adulthood. There's no midterm or semester to guide us by. I wouldn't even know Christmas was coming if department stores didn't start playing holiday music in July.
But there is one pumpkin tradition that won't fall out of favor no matter what autumn I'm in: Pie. Jack may have lost its place on my front porch, but I'm sure there are plenty of other pumpkin pastries I wouldn't mind holding onto.
And, if memory serves, those pumpkins are carved up too.