OOps! Forgot about Texarkana!
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Day 10    Around Bloomington Indiana

Morning is bright and sunny. Lots of room in the motel car-park now. The happy Karaoke revelers are home resting up for tonight's session. We notice that the fun only happens on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Better not drive the car anywhere until Sunday for fear of losing our precious parking spot.
We set off on foot to Betty Sander's place, miles away in the heart of town. We haven't eaten anything except nuts since the great meal with Big Jim at lunch time yesterday. We were afeared to stop in Southern Indiana because of the overabundance of red, white and blue Christmas lights and patriotic symbols and flags. Not to mention the possibility of coming up against Kenny.
Our motel has the most wonderful kitsch fountain. A bevy of ugly, very tubby Mermaids and a chubby family of humans lying about on lumps of rock. One lady is diving into the water. Except the water hasn't been turned on yet. You could do yourself a nasty injury that way. Spring is just beginning here in Bloomington but it's not outdoor bathing time yet. Someone should advise the concrete       fountain- family.   
We trudge up the hill past a Dennys full of people eating enormous breakfasts. I'm fainting with hunger but I keep onward and upward. We're eating with Betty and friends, after we make a side trip into a camera shop for a new camera. Our present one won't wind properly even with a nice new battery. It killed some of the photos we really wanted. Big Jim and friends, Stilly River Sage, the new Cape Girardeau bridge. (That one we can find on the net of course, along with a film of the old bridge being blown up. The young man in the camera shop tells us about that.)
It's nearly midday when we finally reach Betty's home. It's been a long time, (actually Hildebrand did bring me here 12 years ago when we rode the Dog -Greyhound Bus for non-Americans, across the Midwest), and Hildebrand gets turned around a few times while trying to find the right place. The houses are quaint and pretty and white plum blossom is everywhere. A fat red squirrel sitting in a bird-feeder distracts me for a long time. Hildebrand shows me how the feeder is cleverly designed to outwit the squirrels. The squirrel gives us a withering look and selects another seed from under his furry stomach. He's oozing over the edges of the tray and his bushy tail is waving around like a rudder in the breeze. I almost forget that its 24 hours now since we had a meal. Perhaps the squirrel will drop a seed or two my way.
At last we find Betty's place AND THERE'S NO ONE HOME. Oh well! I'll be slim again in no time this way. Betty comes home at last. They've had breakfast but are ready for lunch by now and she'll treat us to that instead. It's lovely to see her again. She and Hildebrand have a lot of reminiscing to do. I notice that she has a collection of animal skulls and bird nests and rocks everywhere. The cow skull I found for her in the New Mexico desert will fit in nicely. Not as unusual as the possum and jackrabbit and tiny bird skulls that catch my eye, but a fitting present anyway.
We all set off downtown for lunch. We haven't got far, what with stiff bodies all, when a van load of people pulls up. A friend of Betty's called Penny invites us all in. There seem to be a whole lot of passengers already. Painters and musician types. I think of the 60s and how you could fit 100 or so passengers into a Microbus (Combi) if you put your mind to it. Well I never found out how you got on that scene, to tell the truth, but I read all about it and wanted to be there. Penny says, "One of you could drive and I'll squeeze in the back". She is youngish and less stiff.
I'm hesitant. Wrong side of the road. A car full of happy eccentrics, too excited about being together to bother with directions. Hildebrand volunteers and we set off. A soft-spoken, gentle looking man with long white hair, and the face of an old prospector in a Western movie, holds out his hand. I'm in the back seat and he is somewhere behind me. When we get out I find out that it's Hildebrand's old friend Dale. He's become a friend of mine too over the years but we've never met except by mail. We three hug each other.
Lunch is in one of those classy art-studio restaurants where the chef sculpts one-off creations with bread and frilly veggies. I know how long these pieces take, and try not to think of eggs and hash browns and little pig-sausages. When the waiter suggests we need some time to consult the menu I get desperate. "No! No! We're ready. Don't go away!" I talk funny and also my manner can be taken for artistic temperament so he just smiles. Much happier after lunch and Penny insists on picking up the tab.
Betty Sander, with her husband Dave, ran "Saturday's Child", a coffee house in Chesterton, Indiana during the 1960s. That's the connection for Hildebrand and many of the people attending Betty's 80th birthday party. Betty is a painter who also sings and plays a 12 string Dobro. Art Thieme remembers Betty, and her Dobro, from the 60s. I wish her a "Happy Birthday!" from him.
Hildebrand says everybody always loved Betty. A keen observer of people. Intelligent. A classical scholar. Ready to listen without judging. Absolutely no bullshit, Hildebrand says of her. Content and self assured.
Her party is a lot of fun. A man called Danny says to me, "Joy who? Hildebrand? Greg Hildebrand! Haven't seen him since we were together at a student demonstration. I got arrested and he got away that time."   
I get into conversations with all sorts of people from Hildebrand's past and some who'd heard about him but never met him. Singers and musicians play. Betty sings several of her funny old songs, playing complicated chords on her old Dobro. Friends tell stories from the past. We perform and Hildebrand is called back for an encore. As we all part, friends hug me and say, "Take good care of him". Later I tell Hildebrand and he tells me they said as they hugged him, "Take good care of her, she's a good one!" We feel overwhelmed by love.
Too excited to sleep, a group of us get together at the home of an old friend of Hildebrand's. We tell funny stories, old and new, and sing into the night. The Mermaids and bathers are still frolicking in the dry fountain at 2.00 am, outside our motel room, as we turn in, but the Karaoke crowd has gone to bed.