Eleven months out of the year, I make what would be considered an above average, but not excessive, number of cookies.

But come December, when I pretend my baking obsession is just an expression of seasonal glee, I give myself free rein.

Around the holidays, I can legitimize a baking frenzy that, in June, would seem like the flour-dusted ravings of a gingerbread maniac.

While eating the cookies is part of the appeal, so is giving them away, packed by the dozen into tissue paper-lined boxes.

Off they go, to friends, neighbors, teachers, mail carriers — the list is as long as the shortbreads are buttery. And, pandemic be darned, I plan to continue the tradition this season.

Even though I won’t throw a big party or holiday dinner, I can still deliver cookie boxes at a safe distance to my loved ones, a tangible way to spread joy when we need it more than ever.

To keep my yearly baking blowouts at least somewhat organized, I’ve kept a cookie log over the last two decades, noting substitutions, successes and the occasional cookie box failure.

The log is also helpful for remembering which cookies I’ve made so I don’t repeat myself too often, and to preserve the recipes for future baking.

My goal is always to create a visually stunning cookie box with a balance of flavors and textures that tastes even better than it looks. And over the years, I’ve figured out a way to do it that soothes, rather than adds to, my holiday stress — no piping, no arranging dragées with tweezers, no unearthing rulers or candy thermometers (although I do love a spritzing gun).

Bakers should have as much fun making these cookies as their friends will have eating them.