Had a delightful stay with Abby, Wade, Ruth, and Stefan in Bloomington, Indiana, and wished cousin Sam happy birthday on the phone (he was in Boston for a gig). Wade entertained with card tricks and other feats of magic (he’s definitely Sam’s son). Twins Ruth and Stefan read my “Grandma Star” story aloud and seemed to enjoy it. They are almost eight and read very well. All three play the violin. A very talented bunch and
all-round great folks (including Mom and Dad)! Sure hope they can visit us in Maine sometime soon.
After eating breakfast with Wade and saying my goodbyes, I walked down to the farmers’ market in the square. Lots of luscious-looking veggies, apples, honey, meats, organic everything, coffee, pastries, a booth devoted to atheism, and one to Peace Corps alumni. Bought coffee and a sinfully delicious cinnamon and fruit roll and finished the whole thing (it was enormous) at an outdoor table there. I did walk to the market, after all. A girl has to keep up her energy level.
Bloomington, home of Indiana University, was established in 1818, only two years before Maine became a state. It is definitely a college town, with more than 40,000 students at the Bloomington campus. Shops offering everything from high-end clothing (“Relish”) to cookware to massages and manicures (“Spaah”), a coffee and juice bar, pubs and restaurants, and an antique mall line College Avenue and the streets surrounding the square at the center of town. The city has its own First Friday and Artwalk, but after my drive I decided to crash at Sam and Abby’s house before the activities began.
I spent much of today driving from Indiana to Akron, Ohio. I’m afraid I didn’t do Ohio justice—just drove on through. I did pause to say a silent thank you to Columbus, Ohio, the birthplace of the famous (or infamous) John Coopersmith Gold. For those of you who haven’t heard the story, John received his middle name from some guy named Coopersmith who had once visited the family. His father thought he was a relative, but it turned out that he was just an acquaintance who happened to be passing through. Makes for an impressive moniker for an impressive guy, at least.
Tonight’s Air BNB won’t win any accolades from me. After staying at five fabulous homes, I am not impressed by this place. Picture a bachelor pad for a guy who spends all his time at his girl friend’s house. The owner, a young twenty-something guy, lives down in the basement and rents the two bedrooms on the main floor of the little ranch-style house. It’s warm (the best I can say about it), clean enough, and in a safe neighborhood. But . . .
There’s absolutely nothing on the walls. Kitchen is OK, with coffee maker and microwave, but no ice. There’s someone else in the next bedroom, but I have no idea who it is, since they’ve yet to peer out. When I got here, the key was in the mailbox as promised and I let myself in. I called and left a message for the owner to tell him I had arrived. He eventually emerged from the basement, pleasant enough but not exactly sociable. After he retreated back to the basement, I fixed myself some soup and cheese and crackers (bought at a local grocery store), then retreated to my room. The New Orleans cuisine is gone but not forgotten.
Tomorrow: Really looking forward to Pennsylvania and Becky and family!