People – Tess Perko's Blog

How to Meet Stimulating People in Retirement

Retirement can be lonely.

People who are used to working with a diverse group of people may miss that dynamic social network. For example, I worked as a professor at a community college. Every day was filled with fascinating interactions with numerous college students full of young energy and ambition. After I retired, I missed my students’ vigor and spontaneity. I also missed the intellectual conversations I had with other professors whose goals were aligned with mine.

Individuals used to engaging with technological advances may miss those challenges. A software programmer I know felt bored when he retired from his technical job. He also developed anxiety that he would become out of date.

Medical workers such as doctors and nurses who strive to care for others often miss the opportunities to help their patients. When they retire, they may find it difficult to focus solely on their own needs instead of the needs of others.

Retirees often face loneliness due to the changes in their families. When they retire, they no longer have their parents or children available in their lives on a frequent basis. Their parents may have passed away, and their children may have become adults with busy careers and families of their own.

This blog post addresses how retirees can avoid loneliness and achieve a socially-satisfying retired life with stimulating friendships and meaningful activities.

Take a Class

One way to meet people with the same goals is to take a class on a subject that interests you.

I’ve always wanted to become fluent in another language, so when I retired, I found some adult education classes that taught Spanish. I started this activity during the pandemic, so the classes were held online. When the pandemic ended, the students, who are mostly retired, voted to keep the classes online.

I began taking Spanish 2 and now I’m taking Spanish 4 with many of the same students I’ve known for two-and-a-half years. During class, we were in groups a lot, so I’ve even more familiar with four of five people with whom I’ve worked. Besides helping each other learn Spanish, we share our hobbies, family news, backgrounds, and travel adventures as we converse. Sometimes, we have even helped each other with technical problems relating to the class. Furthermore, a few of us meet outside of class to strengthen our Spanish conversation skills while we enjoy a cup of coffee or have lunch together.

My community offers a variety of classes for seniors including courses about Medicare, computer skills, line dancing, and yoga. My town also organizes social outings for seniors such as trips to theaters, local public gardens, or historical monuments.

One of the most interesting classes I’ve taken is a class on movie directing. In the class, attendees watch movies by specific directors and then discuss the techniques used in the movies. I found this class not only relaxing, but intellectually stimulating.

Join a Philanthropy Organization

Individuals who love to contribute to their community can find many opportunities to do so by joining a philanthropy.

One of my retirement goals was to help financially disadvantaged students. I joined an organization which raises money for college and vocational scholarships. In fact, I’m now the chairperson of the scholarship committee which gives me many opportunities to interact with high school seniors and college students. I also manage the production of a scholarship luncheon at which we award our scholarships.

A woman with a degree in gerontology and psychology volunteers on a county committee that develops transportation options for senior citizens. She interacts with a variety of county agencies and uses her expertise to develop worthwhile programs.

A woman who retired as a buyer for Safeway now works at the county food bank, sorting food and organizing bags for distribution. She enjoys talking with the management about sources of food and how best to store them.

Hang Out in a Bookstore

One of the most stimulating places to hang is a local bookstore. The bookstore in my town always has its door open even when it rains. Its display tables and shelves are chock full of the latest books or books recommended by its staff.

When I looked up this bookstore’s website, I found out that it has a mailing list so that customers can stay abreast of the store’s activities. They invite authors into their store for readings, arrange readings at various schools, and …

The store also sponsors eight book clubs. One is for mystery readers. Another is for wine drinkers. On Wednesdays, a book group meets at 10:00 a.m. and goes for a 45-minute walk while discussing their book. Another meets at a local assisted-living home. Obviously, this book store aims to please all of its potential readers.

Find a Social Group

The goal of some retirees may be to socialize as much as they can after working hard in a career.

In my area, there are men’s groups known as Sons in Retirements (SIRS). This group is organized into various chapters. Each chapter caters to the interests of the men in that chapter. For example, the chapter to which my husband belongs offers a wine club, golf, book clubs, hiking, and bocce ball on a weekly basis. The group also sponsors monthly lunches with speakers, a spring lunch for spouses, and a Christmas Dinner Dance for couples. My husband had never played Bocce Ball before joining this group, and now he never misses a game.

My local town offers Mah Jong and Bridge socials. If you belong to a country club, they may also offer games such as poker or other card games.

In the San Francisco Bay Area, retirees have lots of options for hiking and walking. My philanthropy organization sponsors a hike once a month. I found a MeetUp group for seniors that hikes on various open-space trails. I even found a MeetUp walking group that focuses on interesting walks in Berkeley, Oakland, and San Francisco.

The best thing to do is to pursue activities that you enjoy. While you’re doing those things, you’ll meet like-minded people. Don’t be shy. Reach out and develop stimulating friendships.

Leona’s Tacos

Photo by Jeswin Thomas on Unsplash

My friend Leona taught me how to make tacos when I was in my early twenties. She was the grandmother of one of my college friends, and I stayed with her for two weeks when I first moved to Los Angeles. Leona was fifty years older than me, but we developed a deep friendship.

Leona lived on Verde Street, on a hill in East Los Angeles in a house built by hand by her late husband. All the houses on the street looked homemade, each one like a small collection of shoe boxes glued together on tiny lots overlooking the San Bernadino freeway.

When Leona made tacos, she browned ground beef in one pan. She didn’t add any spices, not even salt and pepper. In another pan, she fried tortillas in vegetable oil until they were golden on each side, then flipped one half over the other to make a half-moon. With a spatula, she tossed the slightly crispy tortillas on a plate, using paper towels between each one to soak up the oil. She put grated cheddar cheese and a jar of mild salsa on the tiny chrome and Formica kitchen table.

When everything was ready, we sat down and combined the simple ingredients to make our own tacos while we looked out the window. From our eagle’s perch, we could watch the freeway as automobiles, trucks, and police cars lit up the night like Christmas. We also talked about the people in our lives, her children, her grandchildren, my friends, and each other. This is when I learned that the best lives are simple ones, no drama, no difficult entanglements, easy to manage. Those were the first tacos I had ever eaten, and I loved them.

While raising my two kids, I made tacos all the time. My dad was an avid fisherman, yet he didn’t like to eat fish; therefore, he brought freezer chests full of frozen fish to my house for us to eat. From his bounty, I made fish tacos—long before they became popular in restaurants. I invented sturgeon tacos with lettuce, sour cream, cilantro, and salsa. I created salmon tacos with fresh guacamole, basil leaves, shredded lettuce, and salsa. When we ran out of grandpa’s fish, I made tacos with shrimp, ground turkey, left-over steak, and pork chops. My kids loved them and, at the end of every taco meal, the serving plates were empty. In between bites, my kids told me about what had happened at school that day, what their friends were doing, and how they had to write papers for English and history class. As their mother, I learned to listen to them carefully before jumping in with advice and was thrilled they were confiding in me.

Now my kids are grown, and they have to feed themselves. My son is a taco specialist. For two years, he lived off of rice and bean tacos with shredded carrots, lettuce and salsa. It was his way of eating healthy and saving money at the same time.

The other day, I stopped at a farmer’s market on my way home from Sacramento. I bought red onions, peaches, cilantro and peach salsa. At home, I had some leftover roasted leg of lamb and spinach tortillas, and had decided I was going to make tacos for dinner.

Like Leona taught me, I fried the tortillas on each side until they were golden and then flipped one half over the other to make a half-moon. I transferred each one to a plate with paper towels to soak up the oil, even though I was using olive oil instead of vegetable oil.

I chopped up some red onion, cilantro and peaches, then sliced the lamb in finger-sized pieces and warmed it up in the same skillet that I had used for the tortillas. When everything was ready, I assembled the tacos: roast lamb, chopped red onion, chopped peaches, cilantro leaves, and peach salsa. I arranged two tacos on each of two dinner plates and called my husband to supper. Before we started eating, we expressed our gratitude for each other and the life we had built together. From listening to my husband’s prayer, I have learned that he is most grateful for having me in his life.

Leona and I were friends until she died at the age of ninety-five. We drove together from Los Angeles to Sacramento to visit our respective families. We stopped to taste olives and almonds. We visited missions. We ate lunch at Bob’s Big Boy and Denny’s. She made quilts while watching movies, and I made needlepoint pillows.

Leona taught me that life was a journey, and that every stop along the way was just one sojourn in a series of manageable experiences. Simply, Leona was a precious friend. I still love her, and am most grateful that she taught me how to make tacos. From that first day when she made them for me until today when I make them for my husband, I’ve learned that the relationships in my life are my most important possessions.

Why I Make New Year’s Resolutions

Every year, just before New Year’s, I take out my diary and write down New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t show them to anyone, not even my husband. They are only for me to see, only for me to enjoy. I hide my resolutions where no one can ever find them, and I look at them throughout the year and at the end of each year.

Some of my friends never make New Year’s resolutions. Maybe they don’t want to disappoint themselves. Maybe they don’t want to change their lives. I read once, though, that as long as a person continues to grow, she will feel young. I like to challenge myself to continue to grow in various ways. Resolutions help me do that, but here are more specific reasons why I make them every year.

New Year’s Resolutions Help Me Clarify My Goals

I am not always clear on how to accomplish my goals, but when I make a New Year’s resolution, I try to make it specific enough so that I know exactly how to succeed.

Let’s say that I want to pay off my mortgage early. A New Year’s resolution will help me decide exactly how to do that. For example, I could promise myself to pay an extra $500 a month for the whole year. This makes it easy for me to follow through on my promise.

Resolutions Help Me Grow

When I want to learn something major, I make it part of my New Year’s Resolutions, so I don’t forget about it.

For example, after I retired, I decided that I wanted to become fluent in Spanish. I realize that this is going to take me years to accomplish, but I’m not going to worry about that. I’m just going to practice until I achieve it. In order to do that, I made a resolution to practice Spanish for at least fifteen minutes every day. Along with this resolution, I am taking a two-hour Spanish class every Wednesday morning for which I complete homework. Nevertheless, outside of the class and homework, I still promise to practice fifteen minutes a day. This is not too long so that I become overwhelmed, but long enough for me to improve my speaking, listening, and vocabulary. I’ve been practicing Spanish for fifteen minutes a day for two years now, except for the three weeks I went to Italy. I can now speak in Spanish without have a brain freeze.

Resolutions Act Like a Measuring Stick

I love looking back on my resolutions from prior years and thinking about how they helped me accomplish something.

Last year, I resolved to write the first draft of my novel. By the end of October, I had finished it. Even if I hadn’t finished it, I would have written far more of it than if I had never made the resolution. I can always measure my progress against the promise I made. I don’t berate myself for not accomplishing my goal; instead, I’m happy of the progress I made.

I’ve made eight resolutions for 2023. One is about how I promise to exercise a certain amount each week. Another is about how I plan to write the second draft of my novel. Practicing Spanish is the third one, and the other five are for my own eyes only.

During 2023, I’ll look back on my personal promises, and coach myself to stay on track. I’ll be my own best, supportive friend.

Cousin Love

No one ever talks about their cousins, except my family. I have 44 first cousins that live all over the United States and beyond. I have friended many of them on Facebook. Many receive Christmas cards from me, and I visited many in Wisconsin and Minnesota this last year. I feel as close to my cousins as I do my own siblings.

My parents assured us that we would enjoy being from a large family since we’d always have friends. They were right. Even though I don’t see my cousins on a daily basis, they bring me so much joy and satisfaction.

My cousin Tim lives in Montana. He recently retired as the Superintendent of a tiny school district. Since I was a college professor, our careers were focused on helping students and improving education. We also comforted each other when we went through our divorces by sitting in a car in San Diego in the middle of the night and sharing stories after his brother’s wedding.

My cousin Roslyn is a high-school history teacher in Michigan. We both believe that students are better off when they learn history from more than one perspective and understand the difference between equity and equality since we worked with those concepts in the classroom. Roslyn is my philosophical partner in our extended family.

Carolyn lives in Winona, Minnesota. She raised her son as a happy single parent and now has two grandchildren. Yesterday, she posted a picture of her front yard packed with snow where she had painted flowers on the three-foot snow walls beside the path to her front door. What a creative spirit!

Cousin Dan lives in Japan with his wife and two pretty daughters. He works for the United States Navy and leaves his family for months at a time while stationed on the U.S.S. Reagan. I love his mustache and fun-loving family, who spend their afternoons searching for pottery on the beaches and artistic manhole covers in the towns.

My cousin Arlie is a handsome devil who has worn his once-dark-but-now-gray curly hair both long and short over the years. Once he drove a truck full of Wisconsin cheese to my parent’s house in California. We ate cheddar for weeks. Now, Arlie rides horses with his wife and works at an auto store. Even though we have little in common, at every reunion, we share heart-felt cousin hugs.

Patty lives in Boston and is married to Steve, who completely adores her. They go to baseball games and concerts on date nights, and inspire the rest of us not to give up on love. Patty sure knows how to pick a good partner.

Diane lives with her husband Matt in Minnesota. Now this is a fun girl. If you want to kayak in the Winona Lake, she’ll do it. She knows all the best restaurants in town and will even accompany you to the local spice and Polish museums for an afternoon. If you’re up for it after dinner, she’ll go with you to a bar for a beer and sit outside with the mosquitoes. One year, I watched on Facebook as she and Matt took their motorcycle on a cross-country trip through Minnesota, South Dakota, and Montana. Wow, what a woman!

Scott, a happy tall guy with a strong build, owns a dairy farm in Minnesota where he produces thousands of gallons of milk per day for American milk-drinking consumers. If you ask, he’ll take you on a tour of the farm and you’ll see where the calves are raised, cows are milked by machine, statistics are collected for each animal, and cow manure is recycled. Even a town-girl like me learns something every time I visit his farm.

I could go on talking about Lisa in Florida, Marilyn in Ohio, Marjorie in Minnesota, Randy in Minnesota, Karen in Wisconsin, Dewey, Joanne, Debbie, Denise, Renee, Kathy, Scott, Jim, and more, more, more, but you get the idea. I have interesting cousins in my life, and I interact with them frequently enough to maintain vibrant relationships.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for maintaining such close family ties over the years. My cousins are an essential part of my happiness. I love them.

Glitter, Gloss & Human Dignity

Last Saturday, I attended the San Francisco Gay Men’s Holiday Spectacular at the Sydney Goldstein Theater in San Francisco for the first time. Oh! What a night!

When my daughter and I arrived, a quiet but eager crowd was gathered around the theater’s entrance. We donned our required Covid masks and presented our tickets to a friendly usher who pointed to the stairs. Above, another smiling usher led us to our excellent seats and we sat down—only two in a theater filled with Christmas sweaters and holiday cheer. Excited voices murmured throughout the cavernous room.

The stage curtain was lit up with the title of the chorus in capitalized red letters, and, a few minutes later, the curtain opened to reveal the silhouette of risers brimming with over 200 singers. The lights came on, and the audience suddenly saw ten rows of men dressed in long-sleeved red T-shirts and black bottoms on a staircase of risers. The orchestra began, the conductor raised his arms, and the men began to sing.

Young men, gray-haired men, bald men, men with beards, men wearing skirts, men with canes, and men sitting on stools all crowded the risers and faced the music conductor with professionalism and purpose. No one read lyrics from a song sheet. All of them sang by memory.

The chorus sang “On this Shining Night” by Morten Lauredsen, a song I had sung with the Blackhawk Chorus a few years ago. The men’s voices were rich, on tune, piano and forte. I fell in love with their sound.

After each song, several chorus members quietly exited from the risers and went back stage. As the next song began, these members came back on stage as dancers in various costumes to complement the chorus. Some stood at microphones at the front of the stage to sing solos.

In the middle of the performance, the chorus sang a long rendition of “Jingle Bells” that got the audience toe-tapping and clapping. They sang many verses in a variety of styles that became more exuberant all the way to the song’s finale.

The song that sent shivers up my spine was “Huddled Masses” by Shaina Taub, a song about the plight of immigrants and our moral duty to support them. The conductor explained to the audience that, although this wasn’t a Christmas song, it promoted the spirit of Christmas, which is love.

On the right side of the stage, in front of a glowing Christmas tree, was a sign-language interpreter who signed the words of each song. His hands gracefully moved as the singers slowed their tempo and stretched the lyrics over a series of beats.

One of the last songs was “Silent Night.” The orchestra began the introduction and then the chorus, instead of singing, signed the first verse silently. When it was time for the second verse, the orchestra stopped, and the chorus continued to sign the verse as the audience watched in silent wonder. In the quiet of the moment, my heart filled with so much gratitude to the chorus for expressing what a deaf person hears and how silence can evoke wonder and awe.

Later in the program, the chorus held a moment of silence for the five LGBTQ persons recently gunned down in Colorado Springs. For two hours, without an intermission, and with energy and vitality, the chorus recited lyrics of peace and promoted love in both prose and lyrics. This was a night filled with joy despite life’s hardships and disappointments.

I left the theater with happiness in my heart—contentment that I live near San Francisco, a city filled with respect and love for the LGBTQ community—because I know, that a culture that treats all persons with dignity is the cheeriest place on earth.

Friendly Italians

A whole country full of friendly people. That’s Italy. Besides the beauty of the countryside and beaches, the outstanding history, the scrumptious food, the satisfying wine, the awe-inspiring architecture and art, the people of Italy are incredibly welcoming, social, hospitable, approachable, and responsive. I visited Italy last August and I can remember so many encounters with friendly Italians.

The Limoncello Merchant

First, there was the shop-owner in Sorrento, Gino, who sold limoncello and other liquors. He started a conversation with me as soon as I entered his shop. I learned that he had a family in Naples and he rode a scooter to work every day, even in the rain. He thought it might be time to buy a car.

As I wandered around his miniature shop, I enjoyed the brightly-colored bottles of limoncello, meloncello, and other treats. He kindly pointed out the advantages of each size of bottle. Some were small enough to tuck into carry-on luggage so they wouldn’t break. Some were sold in sets with one bottle of three different flavors. As we chatted about the liquors, I told him I was from San Francisco, and he said that he visited there with his family a few years back. They also went to Yosemite and loved the hiking. We talked about the different trails and the gorgeous views in the City.

Finally, I chose some bottles of cello, and he wrapped them up for me in brown paper to protect them. We smiled at each other when he was done, and then he reached out around my shoulders and gave me a hug.

“I can tell what a nice person you are,” he said. “I will never forget you.”

I know that I will never forget Gino.

The Florentine Woman with Beautiful Hair

Then there was the day in Florence when I got lost in the warren of cobblestone streets. I had started out from The Basilica of Santa Croce where I had visited the tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo, and walked north on Borgo Allegri, knowing that I’d have to turn left on a street in order to find the Mercato Centrale. I turned left onto Via Sant’Egigio and walked and walked until it turned into Via del Pucci. Unfortunately, Via del Pucci ended at Basilica de San Lorenzo, and I was lost. I couldn’t even tell the direction of the Arno River which would help me get back to my hotel. I walked, and turned, and walked, and turned, and finally stopped an elderly Italian woman to ask for directions.

This olive-skinned beauty with graying but lustrous hair wore a black pencil skirt, a maroon cardigan, and a white blouse. I was worried that she would be bothered by my question, but she smiled at me right away.

“The river is that way,” she pointed. “You’re not too far. Just keep following this street and you’ll see it in a few blocks.”

“Grazie, grazie,” I repeated to her, and her smile became even warmer. Her eyes twinkled in the shadow of the narrow street, and I felt so much better. We gave each other a lasting smile and she waved to me as I walked away, following her directions.

The Venetian Painter

I met a painter in Venice in front of my hotel, the Danieli, which was situated on the waterfront of the Canale di San Marco, right across from the island of San Giorgio Maggiore and a few steps away from the Doge’s Palace and Piazza San Marco. His miniature pop-up stand stood in a row with the stands of two other painters, their paintings hung on every side of their stands’ frames and propped up on the sidewalk.

The old painter, with white hair, a scruffy T-shirt, and paint-splattered trousers, welcomed me when I stopped to look at one of his paintings—an impressionistic portrait of a café with colorful tablecloths and umbrellas that sat on an island between two canals. I loved the flashes of paint that let my imagination wonder about the details that were elusive to the eye.

The old man gave me a tour of all his paintings. He described where they had been painted by pointing in all directions of Venice. Most of the paintings were realistic, and these took more time to finish, he said. The impressionistic one, the only one in his collection, took less time since the detail was left up to the viewer’s imagination.

My eyes kept trailing back to the impressionist café, and I paid for it, but this painter wasn’t done with me. He held out the painting and made suggestions as to how to frame it, how to make the picture look like it continued beyond the canvas. We stood in the hot, September sun and discussed color and materials, technique and effect. Finally, the old painter rolled up my canvas, slid it into a thick, cardboard cube, and handed it to me with a bow. I walked away feeling that I had purchased not only a painting but a cherished memory.

Oh those Italian gente (people). They clearly believe that happiness is found in relationships most of all. I believe, they’re right. When I think back on my Italian trip, I remember the people I met more than anything else.