When you find yourself baking the same pie three times in a two-week period, and serving it to over 30 friends, it's safe to assume this is one special pie.

But first, I really want to thank all of you who reached out, whether in person, over email, or here on the blog. The amount of support flooding in has been incredible. I'm really glad to be part of this blogging community; as one food blogging friend wrote, that it's kind of inevitable that "we’ve been blogging for so long, our personal lives bleed over to our posts about food." So thank you also for giving me a forum to not only share recipes and trade cooking tips but also write about the the other important things in life. I've been told, and it seems accurate, that you never heal from losing someone close, but maybe just continuing on with daily tasks with your head held high is a good step forward.

I've always thought baking to be therapeutic, but over the past couple of weeks it has become so much more. When I find myself unable to concentrate on work at the computer, or otherwise making a serious dent on the Kleenex box, I sometimes get up and gravitate toward the kitchen. And flip open the Joy of Cooking or New York Times Cookbook to the baking sections. Following exact instructions, making precise measurements, and kneading dough, with Johnny Cash or Postal Service or Springsteen or whoever playing in the background, all of that combined, has a potent uplifting effect. So too, does the smell is pie bubbling in the oven.

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