My Mother's Brownies

My father gave me my mother's recipe book when she passed away. It wasn't her only recipe book—not by a long shot—but it was the three-ring vinyl notebook she'd assembled: cut-outs from magazines, handwritten instructions to self, note cards with which she helped my brother memorize multiplication tables in between the stirring and testing and waiting. Water has since washed away much of the ink, as have oil splots and tracks of dark chocolate, and so it's only by experimenting that I can estimate measurements or temperatures; nothing ever turns out quite the same. But when something emerges reminiscent of her, I christen it My Mother's xxxx. Making these My Mother's Brownies, as finally perfected a few days ago.