There is something therapeutic when baking. I'm not talking about opening a box, adding oil and egg and then sticking it in the oven.  I'm talking about hauling out the flour, salt, baking soda, eggs, milk and butter.  There is something about combining the ingredients, mixing, waiting, baking, waiting. It's a process. It takes time. Rolling out the dough, cutting it, placing it gently on the baking sheet, taking turns baking, cooling, baking, cooling, rolling in sugar, waiting and rerolling.  It isn't done quickly and I think that's what I like about it. It takes time and effort. It is a commitment, enjoyed by all from the fragrance of the house when the kids walk in to the melt in your mouth taste of each bite. It grounds me. There is no noise while I'm baking except the furnace swinging the vertical blinds, the oven heating, the timer going off, and my mind. It is quiet and soothing.