“Benicia, a picturesque waterfront city in Solano County, CA, is a hidden gem that often goes unnoticed by many travelers. Nestled on the shores of the Carquinez Strait, this small town exudes an undeniable charm, with its rich history and vibrant community. As you take a leisurely stroll down First Street, the heart of Benicia, you’ll find yourself immersed in a tapestry of delightful sights, captivating history, and a warm welcoming ambiance.” No, I didn’t write this. It was written by Chat GPT. I asked the AI chatbot to write an 800-word column on strolling down First Street. Not bad, but the little robot is short on details and a bit anodyne. I’ll check back in a few years.
Perhaps one of the best benefits of being a citizen of our town is the ease of developing “weak ties.” Was fascinated by a recent article in the NYT about the value of casual friendships. These are folks you say “Hi” to — the mailman, your favorite grocery checker, neighbors. Psychologists and sociologists call these sorts of connections “weak ties” or “peripheral ties,” in contrast to close ties to family members and intimate friends. “Yet the resulting sense of belonging that weak ties confer is essential to thriving and feeling connected to other people — even among introverts. Weak ties matter, not just for our moods but our health,” said Gillian Sandstrom, a psychologist at the University of Sussex in England who has researched their impact.
First Street is the perfect laboratory for growing these connections. Some days it is difficult to motivate myself to take a walk, but there hasn’t been a time that I haven’t come back home, feeling lighter, happier, healthier, and just plain grateful. “Over time, the number of weak ties more strongly predicted well-being than the number of close ties. Close relationships, after all, can involve conflicts, demands for reciprocity, and other complications,” the article said. Can I get an Amen?
A case in point was the first day back at the Farmer’s Market. “Hi, Che! Wonderful to see you again. Please give me your best basket of strawberries, ” I ask. “The best only for you.” I laugh and move on. “Welcome back,” I say to the micro greens fellow, as he fishes out a fresh container of sunflower greens. Kelly at Masquerade face painting is too busy to look up, with a line of patient kids waiting for her master strokes. A new venue is Cousin’s Maine Lobster truck serving lobster rolls, lobster bisque and clam chowder.
On any given day I’ll say “Hi” to Mike at First Northern Credit Union, Pat and Jane at Adobe, John Simpson, Nick at Happy Life Pottery, a favorite waiter outside Bella Sienna, Susan Street, Gay Roche, or Mary Frances Kelly Poh on the porch at HQ Gallery, or Lois Requist taking a power walk. BTW, Lois and author Debbie Weiss are teaching a Memoir Writing Workshop June 3, through Benicia Literary Arts. I say a silent “hello” to the gnome who is checking out First Street from the balcony above Edward Jones Investments. He’s a weak acquaintance who is the strong silent type.
My sister Susan and I love the nightlife. My idea of nightlife is having dinner on a tray while watching the PBS News Hour on tape and then, if I’m feeling frisky, checking out Antiques Roadshow. We got tickets to the final night of Benicia Theater Group’s “Boeing Boeing,” a 1960’s French farce about a Parisian playboy engaged to three stewardesses, each flying for a different international airline. We were graciously welcomed by BOTG President Brian Hough who escorted us to front row seats. The actors were hilarious and the set and costumes spot on. After the show, the cast admired my sister’s purse, a vintage 1960’s flight bag from Pan Am for whom she flew eight years back in the day.
Just went out for a short walk up First Street before I put this column to bed. At the Union Hotel landscape designer Alison Fleck and realtor Tony Foster were celebrating the sale of Alison’s mother’s mobile home over wine and chocolate mousse pie. Then further down at Rookies two fellows were finishing up their fish and chips when one asked me if I was a member of E Clampus Vitus — because of my hat. He told me about his brush with the Clampers when during a hazing ceremony, senior members got three of them drunk, stripped them down to their underwear, and left them on a highway in the middle of the night with “Carson City or Bust” written on their backs. Along came a Highway Patrol. “Clampers?” he asked. “I thought so. Get in.” He proceeded to drive them ….. home. This wasn’t the good officer’s first rodeo. Some say that Ulysses S. Grant was already a Clamper during the 30 days he spent in the Benicia Arsenal Guardhouse for being drunk on duty and firing his cannon at the Martinez shoreline. Their motto: “Credo Quia Absurdum.” What does it mean? Even they don’t know.
Letters From Benicia 