May | 2017 | Michael S. Moore

Benicia in Late Spring; land of Shadows…

The shadows knows…but what?…well one thing they knows is that the last of Linda’s last students, ever, closed the door on a last studio visit here last Thursday afternoon bringing

a thirty-one year chapter to a close, duly celebrated in the industrial barbecue zone

with dinner and an illustrious champagne from my recently illustrious birthday.

The next day before first light we closed windows against dumpsters’ crashing clatter but by seven some generator was idling in the alley, the Bobcat fired up two doors down and as we walked the dogs sirens loudly cycling were soon joined by busy Benicia’s ubiquitous leafblowers…a test, perhaps, of nerves? Turned out the sirens, at least, weren’t a test, as the Valero Refinery had experienced an “incident” requiring they “flare off product”…for what turned out to be several days. The industrial park was evacuated and we were instructed to “shelter in place”, both of which were learned about later that morning while attempting to deliver the ’45 [problems starting] to Two Hews’ over in said industrial park .

Access was blocked all day, but the winds blew steadily up the Delta leaving

downtown unaffected and the

next day, Saturday, was cold and windy so rather than risk

becoming stranded in Raley’s parking lot I left the little truck under wraps while Linda, recently retired, drove to the airport to fly away for some real time with the actual [as opposed to virtual] grandchild. That evening, alone in the industrial barbecue zone, I was wishing they’d

not run the damn Bobcat past seven, but I guess someone’s noticed that the ongoing lack of completion over there is actually sort of ridiculous and has resolved to do something about it.

With Bob’s absence Sunday’s silence marked a sadder milestone; not making it to Fallon for the Memorial, I spent the afternoon reading Kirk Robertson poems in the library in memoriam.

The writing itself would have been plenty but his tireless work for the arts in Nevada and adventuresome life were beyond exemplary; amazing work by a truly amazing human, sadly gone.

On into the night I read with a brief break to hear from three Happily Wasted Brooklyn Barbecuists…and so to bed. Monday again closed windows against clanking dumpsters and, less than thirty-six hours since last heard from, the Bobcat in the alley.