CobaltBlue~
transplanted to New Orleans from Wisconsin at an early age. i ended up back here, but my father has stayed on.
we lived in the quarter [on Esplanade and Burgundy] which was an odd mix of people and including many fellow transplants. transients, artists and what not were the core group at that time. my parents didn't drive, and worked in the quarter, so we walked the quarter constantly. i knew it like the back of my hand.
i remember one night, late, we discovered our alarm clock was broken. my mother and i decided to walk to the Walgreens [open all night] at the other end of the quarter near Canal. we took our dogs, two poodles with us for company more than protection. back then in the late 60's it was fairly deserted at night except for Bourbon and Decatur streets. as we were walking back on Royal we suddenly came upon a corner pavement covered and dripping in blood. the dogs were prancing in it before we knew what it was. it scared the hell out of us and we ran all the way home. i still can feel the shock and horror i felt seeing that, knowing it had just happened.
it was a strange city and had a dangerous element even back then, more so now i am told.
i don't know why i told this story other than it just popped into my head :-) i have good stories too, but maybe more bad than good i suppose.
at any rate, we've always called them crawdads. my brother-in-law, the swamp rat, used to trap them. great crawdad boils !!! num num
i always cajole my father into bringing some up when he visits too.
i found society to be quiet layered down in New Orleans, more than just the 'have and have nots'. only my experience and recent impressions.
foxy
footnote: the old mansion we lived in is now an unbelievably expensive B&B aptly named 'Melrose'
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