As I write this, Benicia is awaiting its ninth, or is it tenth, storm. Have given up and lost count. Some dependable weather advice — “If you stick your head out the window and it’s wet, it’s raining,” (George Wallace); “When thunder roars go indoors,” (CDC); and from George Carlin, the old Hippy Dippy Weather Man —“Weather forecast for tonight: dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered. Light by morning.”
Thursday: Needed to run some errands between storms, so got in the car and picked up “my usual” at Sandovals — chicken taco, crispy, no chips or salsa and parked on the water side of the Promenade to enjoy the view. The Strait was a muddy brown color having absorbed vast amounts of mud and debris during the rains. After scarfing down the taco, drove around the big Christmas tree and noticed a fellow taking down the lights next to a household-sized ladder. “How do you plan to take down the big star on the top,” I asked. “We’ll have a big crane come in,” he said. Wanted to chat more but cars were lining up behind me. Nobody honked, though.
Friday: Had a bit of a break in the weather and took advantage of it to stroll First Street. As I left home, there across the lawn and appearing to shoot out of the Harbormaster’s roof was a perfect rainbow, its colors softened by the mist. Tried to follow it to the end but it disappeared like a mirage. The pot of gold was somewhere near Valero, I guessed. The water ahead in the Marina ahead looked unusually dark from a distance. Countless logs and tree branches were floating on top resembling an enormous bathtub ring. The coots bobbed comfortably nearby steering clear of the logjam. Had read earlier that floating debris was being washed into the Bay causing havoc with the ferries and large ships. Not sure about the Toyota behemoths.
Was surprised to see so much activity on First. Hooded parkas seem to be the in thing and umbrellas not so much. Probably because they always get lost. There must be a Great Pacific Umbrella Patch somewhere comprised of all of the lost umbrellas, mostly collapsible. Was saddened to see brown paper covering the windows of Adarna Filipino Takeout, a victim of the pandemic and rising costs. In a former incarnation it was Java Point, a go-to for coffee drinks and hearty breakfasts. Followed the sign on East E Street that said “Sandbags Here” with an arrow pointing toward the big parking lot. There at the far end were two piles of wet sand. Somehow I had expected to see bags already filled and lined up neatly in a row or someone there filling the bags and passing them out— like in a drive-thru. There were, however, a couple of shovels stuck in the sand. I’m sure the City had bigger fish to fry. A sign in the window of the old Camellia Tea Room said “Shop on-line at the Filling Station.” Some of their gift items — Big Bourbon Beard Wash, men’s UV swim trunks, and wool dryer balls shaped like ladybugs. All sustainable.
Heading along the water at W. C Street, I came upon a peaceful scene just waiting for a plein air painter’s brush — a vista in shades of gray. The curving cement path skirted the silvery water, leading the eye deep into the distance where Lisa Reinertson’s sculpture Neptune’s Daughter could be made out connecting the Benicia side with the hills across the water which sheltered the tiny village of Port Costa. Back on B Street, the geese were sharing the recently created lakes with snow white egrets — fine feathered friends flocking together for food and fun.
Saturday: A great day to sleep in but had registered for a collage-making class at Arts Benicia and was looking forward to it. The gracious and multi-talented Executive Director Celeste Smeland greeted us in the spacious foyer of the former Commandant’s Residence. There were 12 of us, all from out of town except me. One woman drove over from Novato! Teacher Erin McCluskey Wheeler, collage artist extraordinaire revealed a second classroom with long tables piled with collage materials: magazine pages, paint chips, wall paper samples, old posters, postcards, pages from old books, cut up paintings — all manner of goodies to choose from for the three assignments she gave us. We each brought our own scissors and glue. I was singing for some reason and I don’t sing. Happily hunkered down and quietly working on our creations, someone said, “This feels like kindergarten.” “Where are the graham crackers?” I said. “And milk,” the only fellow in the class added. I departed with a bounce in my step, three new masterpieces, and my fingers stuck together. What a town!
Sarah Beserra is an artist, collector, Dharma practitioner and retired lobbyist.
Letters From Benicia 