Floribunda, flora and fauna, Floradora Girls, flowers, and fecundity were words that came to mind as I turned the corner onto First Street. It happened in early morning hours after a light rain. The pear trees burst their buds revealing cascading masses of fluttering white blossoms dancing on their branches. Plein Air Painters take note — the cherry trees are now blooming on E. Kuhland Alley. The picturesque fruit and flower stand behind Avant Garden is gone. A “For Rent” sign appears on the little house where chickens roosted. I always loved stopping by to select whatever was in season, lovingly displayed in baskets and on tablecloths adorned with small blackboards describing that particular variety of fruit. The golden Cavaillon melons were as sweet as candy. Trusting souls, the proprietors never collected money and relied on goodwill and a wooden box for payment.
Up at One House, I ordered a chicken romesco sandwich and a couple of heart-shaped cookies decorated with lavender frosting and “Love you” in white script. Seated outside, a darling little girl smiled with delight as her mom presented her with a white box containing her daughter’s favorite sticky toffee pudding. Finishing up her treat, the child politely asked the woman at the next table if she could play with her small dog. The excited chihuahua stood on his hind legs as the little girl approached, and they spent ten minutes together as her mom and I chatted. “Can we borrow the ladies dog, mom?” she implored and looked confused when told that you don’t borrow dogs. Hold on! That’s an idea that just might have legs.
A few days ago I received a beautiful red heart tied with a satin ribbon. The return address said “See’s Candy.” Inside was a note that read: “From a secret admirer.” I was thrilled but not surprised. Not to brag, but my sisters and I have been getting Valentines boxes of See’s candy for the past 65 years, but whose counting. It started when I was in grade school. Each one of my two sisters and I would receive the smaller sized See’s heart, the one with the emerald green gelatin chocolate in it. Mom would receive the largest heart with ruffled flourishes and an even bigger bow. In each box would be the note: “From a secret admirer.”
By the time I got to college my roommates would gather round each year when that special package arrived and speculate on which boy from which dorm or fraternity liked me enough to pop for See’s chocolates. The Secret Admirer was our dear Dad, Claude Leslie Senefeld. Decades later when he passed on, the See’s kept coming every year like clockwork, this time from Mom. Mom has been gone ten years now and the boxes continue – now from my sister Susan. I savor the tradition —and the candy — more each year. Dad used to complain about having to wait in line at the store on Wilshire Blvd. next to his office as he would inevitably get behind a woman who picked out each candy individually to fill an entire empty box, sometimes with two layers. “I’ll have two dark chocolate brittles, ummm, one milk chocolate raspberry cream, uhhh, a milk chocolate caramel chew, no, make that one dark and one milk chocolate chew, and ……..” as Dad stood there fuming while clutching four boxes of pre-packaged Classic Red Hearts under both arms.
Stopped to chat with affable Kirk Arneson who was sweeping up leaves around the deck in front of his building housing the Mare Island Brewing Company. The youngest son of lifelong Benicia and father of the Funk Art Movement Robert Arneson, Kirk runs the business side of his father’s considerable art legacy. “My Dad’s first studio was on East E Street right on the water until he outgrew it and built the current studio right here next to the former First Street Cafe. He would hang out at the Washington House bar with his buddies and have breakfast at Mabel’s up the street. He had a lots of friends and plenty of charisma,” said Kirk. “We work with Museums and collectors all over the world and give special support to those institutions who were helpful to Dad early in his career.” Iconoclast, satirical, and irreverent, Arneson, who died in 1992, would have plenty of material to satirize today. I can see him building a large white deflated balloon revealing a sculpture of his own face inside, darkened by gun powder and “Capitalist running dog” printed on his forehead and his U.C. Davis sweatshirt in tatters. A exploded cigar is clenched between his teeth, his eyes crinkle in amusement. The pedestal is shaped like a rocket and stamped on the shiny metal are the words, “This is a weather balloon” and “If found, please return to the PRC.”
Sarah Beserra is an artist, collector, Dharma practitioner and former lobbyist.
Letters From Benicia 