I'd already sold everything I had of value (my wedding ring bought the groceries the month before) and after carpal tunnel surgery, I was having a hard time meeting typing test requirements for job applications. The welfare check had paid the rent, utility bills, and nothing else. We had to wait a few more weeks until we could collect food stamps. What to do?

Truthfully, I don't remember exactly how I came up with the idea, but I was at my children's school the day after Halloween and asked for the leftover pumpkins in the office. At two cups of pie filling per pound of pumpkin, I had scored enough for more than a dozen pies.

Before I could change my mind and chicken out, I quickly made the rounds to the local businesses where I knew the tellers and sales people from church or Little League. I ended up with a dozen pumpkins in all, and I cooked them all down, one at a time.

The abundance of pumpkins gave me a great leverage to deal with some other deficits. I brought pies to my church for various occasions, which led to orders. My pumpkin pie profits bought a pair of shoes for my youngest son, groceries and gas. After a while, baking became a way to barter for haircuts, babysitting, and all sorts of things I couldn't otherwise afford.

My ability to make good pies built my confidence, and pumpkins and baking became the cornerstone of my successful effort to get off of welfare. To my surprise, my kids never tired of pumpkins. To this day, they start asking me every October, "when will you start making pumpkin pies?"

Fast forward to about 13 years ago. I'd worked my way off welfare, gone back to school again, and was working as a tech writer in Silicon Valley. There I met a shy and very nice engineer who didn't run the other way when he found out I had three teenagers in my house.