Devonne Brown

My boy’s in grad school and pulling all nighters like a freshman in college. He’s twenty-six and studying to be a CPA. He’s almost finished with his first semester and his feet are being used for kindling. I’ve never seen a boy work so hard for anything in my life. Smarts-check, work ethic-check, winning attitude-check, he’s got it all. He’s overwhelmed too.

After being out of accounting classes for three years, it’s hard being thrown back into a lion’s den of advanced accountancy, and keeping your head above water at the same time. It’s no wonder he has panic attacks. He’s doing well, with a glitch here and there, not sleeping sometimes, or forgetting to eat. 

I make dinner for him when I come home from school, however humble, so he will remember to eat some kind of protein, even if it’s a pizza made or a flour tortilla, which is very good done in an air fryer, by the way. Last night’s chicken shouldn’t have been baked for an hour and a half though. It would have been good for skipping across a lake, but the sauce I made for it was good.

I belonged to one of those meal plan things that shipped meals to the house a couple of times a week a couple of years ago. I couldn’t keep up with the chopping and the fresh veggies. I was too tired to cook for myself, though the food was good. One dish had a nice cherry and mustard sauce for meat, I found a reasonable facsimile recipe of it on the internet. Cherry preserves, horseradish, dijon mustard, and soy sauce heated and combined make a fancy dipping or pouring sauce for the worst chicken I can dry out, probably turkey and pork chops as well. 

I have a roast I intend to wrap in pastry, and follow the roasting directions for a Wellington for it at Christmas time. The cherry horseradish sauce will compliment it nicely too. By then, the semester will have ended, as will the panic attacks and all night work and worry sessions. The other brother will be home and I can drink spiked eggnog while I prepare my pastry, and a good time will be had by all.