Today is pie day. For my entire adult life the holiday season has started with pie day. It’s the day before Thanksgiving. And I am the pie maker. Doesn’t matter where Thanksgiving is happening, I make the pies. Conveniently, it’s worked out that where ever Thanksgiving was happening, pies have been needed. I make four of them. Whether dinner is for five or fifteen. Four pies. Two pumpkin. A pecan. And an apple. I can still remember the first time I made an apple pie. I was a young adult. In an apartment. I don’t know why I had to make an apple pie. I’m fairly confident that I had a reason. Just not one worth remembering apparently. But I do remember the process. Clearly. I was an adult. A woman. I could follow directions. I could make a pie. That’s what women did. I had a great cookbook that I got from I have no idea where. I probably knew that back then, too. Today I can tell you that I still have that cookbook. So, whoever gave it to me (probably my mother) thank you. On that holiday more than twenty years ago, I opened the book to…