A cow-orker had recommended L&J for their menudo. I’d been there one Saturday for lunch but was put off by the crowd and loud noise.*
So this time I went on a Sunday morning when all the righteous folk were in church. Quiet, a couple families and me. Then they brought this out:
Toasted bolillo? Fresh onion and lime? Rich menudo? Oh Ya-a-a–a-a–a–a–a-assssssssssssss!
I love this place.
Across the road is a large cemetery I’ve been wanting to walk. It’s gated but open on weekends. I walked about 1/5th of it before it got too hot.
Cemeteries in the desert are different; there is no (or very little) grass.
Many of this design had exfoliated. I wonder if the depressed area was acid etched, then maybe the brutal sun had reacted with the treated marble.
This one from the late 1800s reminds me of pauper/unclaimed graves I found in Dallas; those were buried by the county in a dedicated area. They are hidden away behind some buildings in a run-down industrial district now. A geocache had brought me there to see it.
This one had its own historical marker:
I trust the PVC pipe functions as a vase, rather than as a breathing tube for a wrongfully buried person. :-0
The plain wooden crosses were unexpectedly moving:
The curled pieces of tin at their feet probably had the person’s name and dates. There is evidence of engraving/stamping on them but it is not legible.
Even more moving were the homemade markers made of concrete, brick, plumbing pipe, wrought iron, whatever the family had at hand and knew how to work with:
I am pleased the cemetery allows all kinds of markers, not just the ones middle class people can afford.
* loud noises physically hurt my ears and also make me anxious