My Life in the Blogosphere

Somehow or other the first anniversary of my life as a blogger quietly slipped by me. My how time flies when you're having fun.

People are attracted to blogging for many reasons, it seems.

Some are looking for fame, fortune and a book deal.

Some just have something to say.

My goal was simply professional survival.

I have always lived on the outer fringes of technology. I only replaced the lap-top I lost in Katrina a little over a year ago -- and I hadn't missed it. But I work in public relations, and with all the industry buzz about social media and at least eight years to go until retirement, I knew I couldn't just ignore it and hope it would go away.

So I jumped feet first into the world of Facebook and Blogger (sorry never much developed an appetite for twittering).

And I was hooked.

At first I had no earthly idea what I would blog about. My Recurring Gentleman Caller suggested I start with something familiar-- like cats. And so it began.

Over the past 12 months, the one blog has grown into three: "The House Where The Black Cat Lives," "Mike and Mary's Kitchen: Recipes and Memories from Point Cadet" (a tribute to my roots), and my Christmas vacation blog "Joyeux Noel, Ya'll: A Southern Girl's Christmas Adventure in Paris." I have become an ardent fan of many, many other blogs.

I have learned several lessons from my year as a blogger:

1.) Blogging is not difficult. I feel silly for letting myself be so intimidated.

2.) I am never going to get rich and famous blogging. I have maintained the same small -- yet dedicated -- core of followers since I started. And that's OK. I mostly do it for myself.

3.) That said, I am amazed at the number of people who have heard of me or who reference one of my blogs on Facebook, their web site or their own blog.

4.) I have met some amazing people via the blogosphere. Like Heather over at "The Duchess of Devonshire's Gossip Guide" who shares my quirky passion for 18th century history and all things baroque. And Cynthia at "Five Months Until Paris" who, like me, will turn 50 this year and plans to spend her big day in my favorite city. A woman after my own heart. What fun to share my own experiences with -- and look forward to living vicariously through her pending adventure.

5.) I've reconnected with old friends and discovered relatives I didn't even know I had.

6.) Most importantly, I've remembered something I'd almost forgotten about myself: I love to write. After nearly 30 years of churning out news releases and technical copy, I've rediscovered my own voice.

And I want to thank you for "listening" to it.

Le Printemps a la Maison Du Chat Noir

Bonjour!

It's springtime at The House Where The Black Cat Lives, and I am in a mood francais -- but then when am I not?

Inspired by the blue doors and red geraniums of Paris, I gave the garage a long-overdue mini-makeover, well at least on the outside. The inside is a whole 'nother matter.

I really enjoy a glass of wine in the evening under the red market umbrella at the bistro table -- until the no see 'ems cruelly remind me that this is South Mississippi, not the South of France after all.

Last year's attempts at a Mississippi style vegetable garden produced less than stellar results, so this year I just put in a small herb garden and a stairstep container garden of tender lettuces, basil and marigolds -- again inspired by the windowbox and balcony potager gardens of Paris. The air is redolent of rosemary and lavender.

And what's a garden without a quirky statue? Monsieur Frog is a Katrina survivor. The obliging recovery crew spray-painted him acid green and left him by my mailbox in Bay St. Louis. Now restored to his original color, he holds court next to the lavender, mint and oregano. The lizards love to sun on him.

Having watched "Chocolat" yet AGAIN, I'm dreaming of putting a vine-draped arbor in my side yard where I can throw rustic dinner parties by candlelight -- something like the one in the May edition of Southern Living. I wonder how long it will take for the vines to get all drapey, lush and secretive. As with a haircut, I can handle the before and the after -- it's the in-between stage I dread. I do not have a green thumb.

As for the dinner party, I think this one will do, don't you?

You're all invited, of course.

Easter In New Orleans

Spring brings out the best in this tawdry lady on the river. I'm not just talking about the azaleas and wisteria adding an extra bit of eye candy to the already lush landscape.

There's so much I love about New Orleans this time of year:

I love the Jello Shots walking (and drinking) their way down the six-mile stretch of the Crescent City Classic with their reality-checking motto ("It's not like we're gonna win!") emblazoned on their matching T-shirts.

I love the little old lady riding the Classic on her battery powered scooter. I especially love that when her batteries wind down, there's always a kindly stranger there to help push her along the route.

I love standing in front of the long-closed Kolb's brasserie on St. Charles and looking up at the balcony outside my old bedroom ...

... en route to the city's current brasserie, Luke, just a little farther down the street.

I love that New Orleans' fabulous seafood -- and wonderful chefs -- make it easy for me to be a good Catholic girl on Good Friday.

I love feeling like a Tennessee Williams heroine while sipping a drink called "Death in the Afternoon" at Cafe Amelie.

I love the Easter brioche with anise at Patisserie d'Or ...

...and the Creole Cream Cheese gelato at La Davina Gelateria.

I love the baby-faced, sailor-hatted bachelor party sweet-talking strangers into buying them a magnum-sized hurricane at Pat O'Brien's.

I love the intimate dining room (and the roast duck ... and the pecan pie) at Brigtsen's.

I love rubbing elbows with students, grandmas, thumb sucking toddlers, and tourists on the 9:30 p.m. streetcar run from Riverbend to Canal Street. I even love the good-natured ribbing from the long-suffering driver.

I love Easter-egg colored dresses and seersucker suits spilling out onto Jackson Square after Easter morning mass at St. Louis Cathedral.

I love taking the scents of New Orleans -- sweet olive and white ginger -- home with me in bath products from Hove perfumer.

I love knowing that no matter how often I return, New Orleans will always have something new -- yet familiar -- to entice and enchant me.

And just like that .... it's spring

It seems like just yesterday, I was curled up here with my laptop, mug of hot chocolate at my elbow, watching fat snowflakes slowly drift outside my window.

Today the white blanket of snow covering my lawn, my trees, my cars has been replaced by a thick mantle of yellow pollen.

Spring has well and truly sprung. Let us give thanks because it's brought with it:

Itchy eyes and swollen sinuses. Thank you, pollen.

Home improvement projects. The ugly floor in my hallway no longer makes me recoil in disgust. Thank you, Recurring Gentleman Caller.

Gardening projects. Lilies, fat pots of geraniums, fern baskets and container gardens of tender lettuces all look pretty now, but doubtless will not survive the first heat spell. Thank you Lowes and Wal Mart for offering a guarantee on your bedding plants.

Company. My sister and her family came on their annual spring break vacation. We ate (a lot), walked (a little less), visited family and friends. Then ate some more. Our usual routine. It never gets old. Thanks for coming, ya'll

--Gross alert--Dead squirrels. I found two of them in the yard this week. Judging by the smell in my garage, I suspect there's at least one more. Thank you, anonymous rat-poison -laying neighbor-whoever-you-are for turning The House Where the Black Cat Lives into The House Where the Grey Squirrels Die. Not!

New kittens (maybe). Peggy Sue, matriarch of the Oak Grove kitties, who had been looking a little plump lately, looked noticeably less so today. Thank you (in advance) to whoever is looking for a new kitten. And to the Low Cost Spay and Neuter Clinic for promising to be there for me when she finishes reproducing.