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.

Happy (Belated) St. Patrick's Day

Somehow or other, St. Patrick's Day just slipped by me this year. But since some parades are still rolling this weekend, I'll just squeeze this photo in.

If you're still partying this weekend, drink a green beer or two for the kitties and me. We'll be up to our eyebrows/whiskers in home improvement projects.

Longing for Spring

I think I'm not alone when I say I am heartily sick and tired of winter. Bring on springtime.

Last weekend I managed to fake it a little.

Daffodils are popping up in really weird areas of my yard. I suspect my master gardeners may be squirrels. No matter. I was able to pick just enough for a proper little tabletop spring bouquet. Thank you, squirrels.

And since the table looked so inviting, I decided to add to the ambiance with one of the fastest, tastiest and most colorful meals I've ever stolen, er adapted, from Bon Appetit Magazine: BLT Chicken. It's really easy.

First I chopped up about 3-4 strips of bacon (if you're a pork fiend, feel free to add more) and sauteed. Meanwhile, I made the mayonnaise dipping sauce -- 1/2 cup of mayonnaise mixed with lemon zest and chopped rosemary. Yum. I could eat this all on its own.

When the bacon was brown and almost crispy, I raised the heat and tossed some cumin seeds into the skillet (you want the seeds here, not the powder) with a handful of grape tomatoes and cooked in the bacon grease for a couple of minutes until I could smell the cumin and the tomatoes started to wrinkle. I said this recipe was fast, tasty and easy; I didn't say healthy.

Then I tossed several handfuls of baby spinach in with the tomatoes (the recipe calls for mixed baby greens but whatever) and wilted that down for about a minute then tossed the entire mixture with a tablespoon of red wine vinegar, some sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

While all that was going down, I pressed panko crumbs onto some chicken tenders and, in a separate skillet browned them in a few tablespoons of olive oil until cooked through, about 4-5 minutes. The original recipe calls for whole boneless chicken breasts, but that doubles the cooking time. And I'm all about getting it all out there FAST, so I use the tenders when I have them.

Serve the chicken on top of the wilted greens with lemon-rosemary mayo.

The flavors in this dish come together so well -- the brightness of the rosemary and lemon, the tartness of the vinegar, the smokiness of the bacon and cumin, the roasted sweetness of the tomatoes and the crunch of the panko. Good stuff.

Craving Krystal's

You know that craving you would be ashamed to admit to your closest friends? The one that can hit any time of the day or night. And just WILL NOT go away until you give into it.

I constantly crave Krystal burgers. As I type this with one hand, I am reaching with the other into the depths of a Krystal's bag and fingering three empty little cardboard cartons. Damn, I knew I should've ordered the 4-pack!

When you want a sack of Krystal burgers, nothing BUT NOTHING else will do. Not McDonald's, Burger King nor Wendy's. Hardee's? Oh please.

My craving is genetic. It must be. My father's first after-school job was steaming burgers at one of the first Krystal's ever in Knoxville, Tenn. He spent the rest of his life trying -- and failing -- to replicate those square little wonder sliders at home.

When I lived in Bay St. Louis, where there were no actual Krystal's restaurants, many's the night I tossed a coat on over my jammies and cruised the freezer section at the Jitney Jungle. And microwaved the whole boxful of those little frozen 2-burger packs. In one sitting.

Hattiesburg, praise the Lord, still has an actual Krystal's -- with a drive-thru. Not the nice clean convenient one from my college days. No, this one is located in an area I rarely venture into when I am not being held hostage by my craving, one near the highway and interstate adjacent to a truck stop and past a parking lot full of potholes.

The true measure of my addiction is that I willingly schlep myself there on a fairly regular basis and wait in the drive-thru line at all hours with the stoned college students, truckers, and other people in cars lacking mufflers, brake lights and license plates. But then, who am I to judge?

Author Jill Connor Browne, better known as the Sweet Potato Queen, is also a self-professed Krystal fan. She writes that Krystal burgers are the perfect food to sneak into a movie. I disagree. The two unwritten rules of smuggling food into movie theaters (not that I have ever personally done this, but I was formerly a movie concession stand professional so you develop a sense for these things) is that said food must be noiseless and odorless.

Yes, biting into those soft, soft steamed buns, onions, wafer thin meat patties, mustard and soggy dill pickle chips will yield no tell-tale crunch. But that smell. That seductive aroma will wrap itself into a visible arrow pointing straight your head like one in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. That smell will narc you out every time. And let me tell you those theater managers are getting to be real hard asses about it. Or so I've heard.

What will I do if my beloved, yet grungy, Krystal's ever closes?

I suppose moving is a viable option. If I want to be totally honest, easy Krystal access may be one of the reasons I still live here. Then again, I could try to make my own. Daddy was never successful at it, but I came across this recipe that sounds like it just might work (except for the catsup. Seriously, who puts catsup on a Krystal burger? It's un-Southern!)

Now I have to say that the strained beef baby food part is weirding me out just a little. And it's probably a really key ingredient so it's not like you could just leave it out. Tell you what. You try it and let me know how it works.

While you're doing that, I'll make a repeat run through the Krystal's drive-thru. They're open all night you know!