My mother’s questioning became more urgent as the weeks progressed. “I still have the pumpkin. Can we make the kolokithopita when you visit? Do you think you’re coming soon?” The great pumpkin had been sitting in the dining room corner, as if in time out, since Thanksgiving. It was now well into March. Would it even still be edible? My dad was the biggest skeptic. We cut it one afternoon, not long before I had to leave NJ to get back to Philly for class. We were all pleasantly surprised to find the meat inside okay.