In August, my husband flew across the country to visit his father. My father-in-law is eighty-two, and he is our only remaining parent, so time ticks. I suggested this visit might be the time to ship the fish tureen to our home. In my father-in-law’s home, the large, ornate fish tureen fits easily inside his…
My husband walked into the house last Friday evening with a bundle of daffodils, just because, along with baguettes and Italian sausage and provolone because it was Friday, and this is the evening of the week where we give in to total relaxation and easy culinary pleasures. The work week is done. It is time…
Friday, October 13th: the perfect day to launch our annual literary horror issue. Something wonderful happens–a switch, a one eighty, a backwards drive on a roundabout–when I give myself over to the season of horror. To throw a party in spite of the darkness. To claim and reclaim. To lay it out: Here is the…
Greetings, Spring. Here in name and date, yet you still hunker, hail dropping like small, felled birds from my blue sky. But I will greet you anyway, because I love you, and I want you to be here. In Volume 4, Issue 2 of Club Plum, the ones we love are often out of reach.…
Come December, I will bake many cookies–hundreds, I suppose. I try to call these Holiday Cookies, not Christmas Cookies because I am an atheist, though I wasn’t always. Many years ago, I adopted the yearly cookie-baking to which my mother-in-law introduced me. My own mother had never baked, so I reveled in this new endeavor,…
Welcome, April. We are so glad you are here–bringing with you, in some places in our world, vaccinations aplenty, infrastructure plans, a killer cop in court, and for some, the luxury of sitting in a restaurant, at a little table for two, eating beautiful food placed on a surface in close proximity to our very…
Dropping today is the first-year anniversary issue of Club Plum. I state this with calm and little fanfare, though not too much trepidation because with all the bad we’ve had, there is now hope. The Bad Man is almost out the door, and though blood has been shed at his behest, he is packing his…
On the side of my small house, where nobody looks, save our beloved eight-year-old black Lab, Roxxanne (spelled correctly), I planted St. John’s Wort, a plant that grows well in partial shade. In a corner, next to the shed, surrounded by a short wall of decorative bricks, I had placed a starter, not so much…
Club Plum 