Lake Maurepas Memories

If you take the Manchac exit off of Interstate 55 south, you'll pull off onto a service road that appears to be barely above the water level. At this point, I-55 is up on pilings over the swamplands and lakes just northwest of Kenner and New Orleans.

Turn left off of the service road under the interstate and you'll be in the gravel and oyster shell parking lot of Middendorf's, home of arguably the best fried catfish in the world. Perched on the shores of "beautiful Lake Maurepas," Middendorf's serves two kinds of catfish - thick or thin, alongside fresh homemade slaw, dreamy oyster bisque and some seriously bad-a** hushpuppies, all delivered to your table by a waitress who will smile genuinely and like as not call you "hon" or "cher" at least twice during your stay.

Okay, so you have to stand in line, and on certain days, the crowds might be so big you will have to get out of line and go to the "other" Middendorf's, situated just across the parking lot and built to accommodate the frequent overflow. The wait is worth it and the price is always right. Just don't go on Monday or Tuesday, because they're closed.

This is a view of some rotted out pilings on the edge of the lake from early July 2006. This was taken three weeks after my dad's funeral. He loved Middendorf's. We loved him. We still do.

A sleepytime photo

I caught this lovely fellow napping at the Memphis Zoo in March 2006. I'd love to be able to crash like this in public!

All beginnings are difficult

Years ago, I read that the first line of the Talmud is "All beginnings are difficult." Coming from a decidedly non-Jewish background, I can't honestly say if it's really how the Talmud starts, but it has been my experience that beginnings can be trying. After reading blogs of friends and strangers for the past few years now, I thought it might be time to try my own hand. It's been quite a while since I wrote anything except memoranda, checks or the occasional note to a teacher. But I've always loved writing, almost as much as I love reading, so I'll give this a whirl, at least for a while.

There's not much to tell about me--I live in a house. I have a job. I love my family and my country, but neither blindly. My life is in the south, but my heart is in the far north. I vote my conscience and urge others to do the same. I don't eat organ meats or anything with tentacles.

There will be more to come, eventually.

Photography is a minor hobby...I don't have any fabulous equipment or training. I just like recording what I see. This first photo was made in a small cemetery in New Orleans in February. I'd gone to visit my sister with the Loved One and Dear Daughter for Mardi Gras. This particular afternoon was stormy and we went out between showers, as the Loved One had never seen the city's unique burial grounds. We went to the BPOE cemetery near City Park and the west end of Canal Street. I've always loved this place--it's not as well-known as the St. Louis Cemeteries, and has managed to avoid being included in the ubiquitous Hotard tours popular among package tourists. Guarding the gate is a larger-than-life monument to the founders of the place, topped by a regal elk that is at least twelve feet tall. At Christmas, the caretakers illuminate the nose of this noble beast with a red light bulb at night. In New Orleans, the dead have a certain droll sense of humor.

Anyway, I love funerary statues. This angel caught my eye as we blinkered in the afternoon sunlight. The contrast between the blue sky and the white stone and the shadows of her face and robe works rather nicely. I hope you like it as much as I do.