"Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see," says Linus to the starry-eyed Sally as they hunker down in the pumpkin patch to wait for the mysterious and elusive Great Pumpkin. "No sign of hypocrisy here."

Peanuts creator Charles Schulz mastered the art of rendering an adult sensibility toward the world through the innocent musings of children.  Who else would think to saddle an 8-year-old child with a knowledge of the Bible that few priests probably possessed? Or to give a playful Beagle a penchant for World War I history?

Schulz's Halloween special, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," remains a staple of seasonal programming. I have fond memories of circling the air date in the t.v. guide (an actual booklet of paper in those days) and literally racing my brother to the television set to watch, transfixed by the twenty minute cartoon we certainly knew by heart.  The Great Pumpkin perfectly captured the quintessential kid-essence of Halloween: dressing up, scooting excitedly to each house, where you'd scream "trick-or-treat" over one another, and then rushing home to comb through your sugary loot. It's a holiday of pure pleasure, designed to celebrate thoughtless excess.  Back then, we smugly sided with Lucy about her "stupid brother," waiting in a cold pumpkin patch, missing out on one of the best nights to be a kid.

Though long past trading my Reeses Peanut Butter Cups for my brother's Milky Way bars, I still watch this staple of American pop media culture.  This year I am thinking a bit differently about Linus and his quest to find the most sincere pumpkin patch.  Despite wide-spread ridicule, Linus sticks to his convictions. He owns his beliefs and takes the unpopular stand, alienating himself in the process.  Linus is both an emblem of and cautionary tale against the kind of tenacity that can be used for positive or negative ends.  Moreover, his heartfelt investment in the sincerity of his pumpkin patch evokes a nostalgic desire for simplicity, a place of earnest, integrity, something truthful.

Where are our most sincere pumpkin patches? Where can we go to find those places of simple honesty? I suspect those places no longer exist, at least not in the way that Linus can wander through some magnificent pumpkin field.  I think our pumpkin patches are made, not found.  They are our conscious choices and collective actions to live better, to engage with each other, to, yes, "waste" a night in the name of waiting by simply being in the moment.