Honorable Mention – Homage to Lord Tweedmouth
by Ron Sokol
Jesse was a golden retriever. He was the family’s dog, but really he was my dog. We spent a lot of time together in the South Bay, on The Strand, downtown Manhattan Beach, Riviera Village, Palos Verdes trails, Hermosa Beach, parks in Hawthorne, the Long Beach Dog Beach, the Redondo Beach Dog Park, the El Segundo Dog Park, and Sunrise Adult Assisted Living.
My mom lived at Sunrise for the last four years of her life. They let me bring Jesse once they saw how the folks responded to him. Jesse had a an innate quality of compassion, patience and caring. People who were not feeling well often felt quite a bit better after spending time with him.
On one occasion an elderly woman, with thinning hair, who appeared rail and sad, was sitting alone on a couch at Sunrise. I was called to the kitchen to assist with a meal that my mom would actually eat. She had become rather fussy. When I returned to the couch, about 15 minutes later, that frail, worn woman was nowhere to be seen. I found Jesse with his head lying on the right leg of an older woman who was smiling, her eyes beaming. She was sitting upright, and waved at me.
“I love this dog! I just love him so!”
It took me awhile to realize it was that same woman. The frail, sad looking woman, with the thinning hair. Her sallow face, and unkempt appearance, was replaced by a notable vibrancy. She had color in her cheeks, her head was held high, and she was, as noted, broadly smiling.
Jesse rekindled her spirit.
I watched the sunset many times with him, from a bench on The Strand. He accompanied me and the family to many eateries. Kids liked to pet him, which he liked as well. He rarely barked, but one time a dog got aggressive with him and Jesse showed a very ferocious side. He was 85 pounds, muscular and strong. You just would not focus on any of that, given that all of the time he was so incredibly gentle, low key, and kindly.
Jesse Bear Sokol was part of a champion breed, but those who paid big bucks for his brothers and sisters thought “He is just too sluggish.” Turns out he had a thyroid deficiency, which we discovered soon after we got him, and which was easily corrected.
Jesse’s breeders are a devout, religious couple. He was named after the Jesse Tree. The Jesse Tree is actually a tree stump, from which grows a brand new, prominent, dynamic tree.
“This is like the Old to New Testament,” they told me that fateful day in Newberry Springs, where it was 107 degree at 11 in the morning. It was there that, for a very discounted price, I picked-up the new member of our family. I had seen Jesse on the internet looking “for his forever home.”
Jesse had been there five months, at a kennel in the countryside. He had no familiarity with car horns, or even with stairs (I had to carry him up to our second story for a period of time). He had no knowledge of the ocean. He had never ridden in a vehicle. One of his first adventures was at our in-laws house where he jumped into the pool, swimming as if he had been trained. Golden Retrievers have webbed feet.
It took some 33 years for a Golden Retriever to be “created” by a Scottish gentleman named Dudley Marjoribanks. His goal was to have a dog that could swim strongly, run through the bramble, and retrieve game, then return at night and be warm and loving to children. For his historical accomplishment Marjoribanks gained peerage and became anointed as Lord Tweedmouth. A monument to Lord (and Lady) Tweedmouth stands at the birthplace of the golden retriever in the small village of Tomich, Scotland.
I believe the first guide dog for sightless people was a golden retriever.
Jesse is not physically here now. It has been quite a few years, but he is here, right here (yes, I am pointing to my heart).
Perhaps, like me, you thought angels were make-believe Except, well, I had one (who shed a lot). My angel had a number of qualities that would signify he was actually “not just a dog.” I believe he was a message from on-high, that there is ample reason why God spelled backwards is dog.
Honorable Mention – June gloom vision
A figure reemerges from the fog
by Janice Nigro
The foghorn on the pier roused Ava out of her sleep, signaling the marine layer had rolled in. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her camera, and ran to the beach to capture the transformation of ordinary scenes into a heaven-like state in the down to sea level fog.
It wasn’t rain, but the air was wet, and felt cool invigorating in the otherwise dry heat of the desert meets the sea coastal town she now lived in.
The thick marine layer made her invisible as she darted from site to site taking as many photos as she could before the sun zapped it away. The absence of others enhanced the sense of solitude Ava liked to convey in her photographs.
Until a surfer strode across the beach and into her viewfinder. He stopped at the shoreline and stood enveloped in the dense marine layer. The top half of his wetsuit hung down.
Ava paused, checking off a list of his features. Tall. Lean. Dark wavy hair. Ponytail.
She watched as he zipped his wetsuit the rest of the way up and reached down to lift his aqua colored surfboard embellished with a simple vintage-inspired symbol of the sand. The board glowed in the grayness, like a halo over an angel.
Ava kept her distance while she clicked away until the surfer jumped on his board and paddled out.
“Who is that man?” her painter friend, Mia, asked when Ava showed her the photos.
He could have been from a dream, but her photograph was proof of his existence.
“I don’t know. He caught a wave before I could introduce myself.”
“Would you have introduced yourself?”
“OK, you got me.”
“Well, anyway, one of these shots you should submit for the upcoming art exhibition.”
“Yes, I like the last one. He looks like he’s wondering about more than the next wave. I’m going to call it “Waiting for the break.”
“Hmm,” her friend said, “You have to find this guy.”
The night of the exhibition, people jammed into the gallery. The venue was loud from the chatter and the feel-good pop music playing from decades ago.
Ava pushed her way through the crowd in search of her photograph, stopping along the way to view each work of art. A lack of confidence creeped in as she passed by the super-sized abstract paintings covering the walls.
When she finally came within view of her image, she gasped.
The surfer with the ponytail stood in front of his photograph. Alone.
She took a deep breath and a gulp from her glass of wine. “I’m going in,” Ava said to herself.
She walked up to the photo and stood next to him, trying not to stare. She caught him checking her out.
He broke the ice. “Do you like the photograph?”
“Yes,” she said, “It’s one of the best images I’ve…ah seen tonight.”
“Wait…Is that your ponytail? Is that you?”
“Yes to both questions,” he said, “I’m afraid it is. I can tell because of the surfboard.”
They both laughed.
“You were an okay model.”
“Thank you, I think?”
“It’s difficult to tell what you were thinking in that moment.”
“Not so complicated. I was just waiting for a break in the surf. But it looks deeper than that.”
“Like you’re contemplating your whole future. Or maybe just a woman?”
Dimples appeared, the left one deeper than the right.
“Not any current woman. I’m not much of an artist, but I see why the photographer wanted to capture this moment.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it just appears that way. The photographer might have just seen a handsome man standing with his surfboard in the marine layer.”
“And you would know this how?”
“Because I’m the photographer. Ava, by the way. Nice to meet you?” she said.
His eyes lit up. “Kai. So, a paparazzo?”
“Guilty. But I don’t usually like to have people in my photos.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Just ones you might be willing to go out on a date with?”
“I’d love that!” ER
