Women – Tess Perko's Blog

ADAPTED FORTUNE COOKIE WISDOM

Today, I broke open a fortune cookie to find this fortune: “The really great man is the man who makes everyone feel great.” Since I’m a woman, I immediately changed “man” to “woman” so that I could apply it to myself. Then, the more I thought about it, the more I liked my “adapted” quote better.

When people think about the great characteristics of men, they often include “leadership” as one of those traits. Not so for women. Good traits for great women often include self-effacement, submissiveness, sweetness, and obedience.

I inserted “woman” in this fortune to point out that women don’t have to be doormats or voiceless handmaidens to bring greatness into the world. In contrast, women who act as spineless or voiceless females hurt and limit the potential of both themselves and men. I know women who are their family’s breadwinners, but who still allow their husbands to act as the “head of the family.” I also know women who are treated so badly in their relationships that they have no power whatsoever—no equal voice in their marriage, no personal confidence, and no respect from their children. These situations occur when men act as insensitive partners and women allow men to control and diminish their lives.

Women can be transformative leaders, but it’s going to take a global village to make that become a natural expectation.

I’ve spent the last five years writing my first novel, Learning to Whistle, about a woman finding her personal power, something that all women struggle to do. My novel is coming out on April 7, 2026 by She Writes Press, a publisher that has been a true blessing in my life.

Through the community of She Writes Press, I’ve learned about the countless ways that women and men can boost the success of women. First of all, I’ve learned that publishing is a process. Experiencing the progressions of editing, rewriting, re-examining, publicizing, and sharing success has given my writing life a bigger vision to follow. With my new perspective, I will forever learn better ways to express myself and to make a difference. My writing career isn’t dependent upon how much I publish, but, instead, about how I nurture my own heart and how many other souls I raise up.

I’ve learned about the power of community and that people who promote the success of others experience their own greater rewards. I’ve cheered for my fellow She Writes Press authors when they win awards and followed their social media pages. I’ve purchased their books, read them, and written reviews.

But, in return, I’ve received immeasurable benefits. Through my fellow She Writes Press authors, I’ve found a reputable company to publish the audio book of my novel. Through Brooke Warner’s Substack posts, I’ve discovered great memoirs, such as Joyride by Susan Orlean and All the Way to the River: Love, Loss, & Liberation by Elizabeth Gilbert, which have exposed me to examples of the grit it takes to be a successful author. Warner also connected me to Jane Friedman, who publishes her own writing blog and offers numerous writing classes. My publicist, Caitlin Hamilton Summie, introduced me to podcasts and blogs that promote writers such as Compulsive Reader that, on December 28, 2025, published an interview of me by my daughter, Rachael Brandt at https://compulsivereader.com/2025/12/28/an-interview-with-tess-perko/ on December 28, 2025. Hamilton-Summie also connected me to the author Suzanne Simonetti, who writes alluringly realistic tales about women and their struggles—good writing I can emulate.

I don’t suppose anyone will ever label me as a “great” woman, but, then again, I don’t seek fame. I seek to be—not a doormat, not a handmaid, not only a mother, not merely a wife, not solely a friend—but a full participant in the human race who happens to have the valuable perspective of being a woman.

What am I going to focus on in 2026—polishing my leadership skills until I lead with grace and ease.

Women: Six Sure Ways to Empower Your Leadership Ability

My parents didn’t raise me to be a leader. I was taught to be a follower, that women were supposed to be demure, passive, obedient, and silent. This early training manifested itself in numerous ways; for example, I expected men to drive, my dates to pay the bill, and males to make the important decisions.

Thinking this way hindered my ability to grow to my full potential for decades. I had to learn to overcome the proclivity not to give my opinion, disagree, stand up for my beliefs, or lead others. When I worked in the corporate world, I experienced discrimination which only perpetuated my lack of development, but, finally, when I took a job in the field of education, I was encouraged to lead and to think with unlimited potential because my teaching job demanded it.

I want to share some of the ways that I changed my perspective from being reluctant to becoming empowered with leadership ability.

Adopt New Roles

Women can practice being leaders by adopting new roles within their personal lives. After I married my husband, he lost interest in driving. At first, I didn’t like taking on this responsibility, but when I associated driving with exercising my leadership skills, I felt positive about it, and now I’m comfortable driving all the time. This may seem like a small change, but it helped me adjust to being in charge in other situations as well. It’s easier to take one step at a time than to jump up the whole staircase.

Practice Speaking to a Variety of Audiences

Teaching is one of the best ways to practice speaking in front of an audience. First of all, teaching requires daily or almost daily speaking to students, and a teacher can become well-practiced at opening and closing lines which occur for each class period. Another advantage to practicing speaking as a teacher is that the teacher is considered the most knowledgeable person in the room, which automatically builds confidence. The teacher develops her lesson plans, practices them, and presents the information in ways for all types of learners to understand. This involves work and a lot of practice.

People who want to become leaders can take the opportunity to become a teacher for others. All disciplines and industries need strong teachers.

Speaking as a leader, however, involves communicating to a variety of audiences: peers, colleagues with different skills, superiors, or strangers. Each type of audience has different expectations and a leader must anticipate what they are and how to fulfill them.

Some women join a Toastmasters group to learn how to be comfortable speaking about a variety of subjects to a variety of audiences. Others speak up when they attend conferences with peers, and some volunteer to lead charitable groups.

Admit Mistakes

One of the best ways for a leader to bond with an audience is to admit when she makes a mistake while speaking. She may misspell a word, forget a plus sign, or explain a concept incorrectly. Someone in her audience may point out her mistake, or she may find it herself while speaking. Audiences are human and they’ve made mistakes, too, so when a speaker confesses that she has blundered and admits it, the audience feels that she is more approachable, likeable, and believable.

Use Affirmations to Build Courage

Fear is the number one impediment in becoming a leader, and so I’ve found a way to build courage whenever I become anxious. On the bulletin board next to the desk where I write, I have pinned an affirmation that says I lead with grace and ease. This affirmation helps me remember that being a leader doesn’t have to be stressful. If I know I have the potential, I can approach leadership as if it is a natural expression of my personality. I keep my affirmation close by and recite it aloud whenever I see it.

Emulate Other Female Leaders

I am involved in a women’s charitable organization. One of the women in the group speaks in front of our meetings with confidence, talks loudly enough for everyone to hear, presents informative material, employs a sense of humor, and exudes a positive attitude. I admire her.

When I had to lead an important luncheon, I decided that I was going to try to emulate this woman. I spoke clearly, added a joke or two, and presented our honored guests with a gracious and optimistic manner.

After the luncheon was over, this woman sent me an email telling me that she was astounded with my leadership ability. How ironic that I was trying to emulate her. Of course, I let her know and now we admire each other.

Let Others Shine

A leader doesn’t always have to do all the talking. The best leaders give the spotlight to others so that they can shine. For example, teachers often ask students to explain a concept or to analyze a piece of literature. Directors ask their managers to update a team about a project’s progress, and chairpersons are expected to inform an organization about committee work.

When I was leading a charitable luncheon during which the organization awarded scholarships to college students, I asked each scholarship recipient to share his or her story with the club members. Their stories were profoundly interesting and took up more time than I did in presenting them. The luncheon was an astounding success due to the fact that the club members felt a connection with the recipients after learning their stories. All I did was stand back and let them speak.

Women have numerous talents to share with their communities, but many of us have been trained to take a back seat. It’s time for women to sit in the front. Both women and the world would benefit from more female drivers.

Character Study: Lily & Diane

Photo by Derek Duran on Unsplash

Lily parked her car across the street from the restaurant where she was meeting Diane at 11:30 for lunch.

A line of people trailed from the closed door in front of the restaurant. Wow, that place was popular. Everybody loved a good sushi place, especially one that uses the fresh seafood and produce of California.

The pedestrian light turned green and Lily crossed the street. Cars quickly lined up at the perpendicular red traffic light.

Busy street.

Diane was in line, punching something into her cell phone as Lily walked up. Lily, at 5 feet 7 inches, felt like a lighthouse next to Diane’s 5 feet 3-inch frame. Diane was dressed in a tan one-piece short suit and an expensive pair of black sandals. She looked cute, but Lily wasn’t brave enough to wear such a revealing outfit with her long, slender legs and hour-glass figure. After all, she was 66 years old, and she didn’t think she should be wanting that kind of attention.

Precisely at 11:30, a woman dressed all in black unlocked the restaurant’s door. The line moved quickly as two slender hostesses led people to empty tables set with white cloth napkins and tiny plates.

Lily and Diane were given a corner table from where they could view the whole dining room. The north wall, covered in windows, let in a profusion of natural light without the distraction of the bright sun.

A pleasant place for lunching.

Before they could look at the menu, a busser brought a bottle of water and two glasses and set them on the table.

“Your waiter, Lenny, will be right with you,” he said, smiling shyly.

Lily smiled brightly to let him know that she appreciated the water. She nodded her head.

“Tell him to hurry,” said Diane in a brusque voice, rapidly patting the table. “We’re hungry.” She grabbed a menu, opened it and started reading. “What’s good?”

Lily felt her heart sink as she watched the busser negatively react to Diane’s comments. Diane didn’t even seem to notice how rude she sounded. Lily opened her menu.

“I’ve had several of the sushi rolls before. At the top of page two are the spicy versions. Page one lists tempura and noodle dishes,” said Lily, hiding her red face behind the menu. She swallowed before lowering her menu.

“I came here for sushi, not tempura and noodles,” said Diane, continuing to scan her menu like a judge evaluating testimony.

Lily poured water into a glass and put in it front of Diane, who nodded her head in return. Lily then poured herself some water and took a tiny sip of it. She placed her glass quietly on the table and, again, picked up her menu.

The two women read their menus quietly for a minute. Lily decided that she would have the salmon sushi roll that she had ordered before. It was a little spicy but not too hot.

Lenny walked up to the table and smiled. “I’m Lenny, and I’ll be your waiter today. May I start you off with drinks?”

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Diane interrupted her. “Bring me an iced tea,” she said, sounding like a drill sergeant in front of her platoon, her eyes still focused on her menu.

Lenny’s eyes opened wide for a brief second before he punched the order into his tablet. He then turned to Lily with his smile.

“And you?” he asked her.

“I’m just fine with water, but I’d love a lemon if you have one,” said Lily. She looked into the waiter’s face as she spoke, smiling with dimples.

“Of course,” said Lenny. “I’ll be right back with your lemon and iced tea.” He turned and left.

When Lenny returned, he asked them if they were ready to order their lunch. He turned to take Lily’s order first.

“Bring me a salmon sushi roll and a Hamachi sushi roll,” said Diane, staring at page two of the menu.

“Oh,” started Lenny turning away from Lily and toward Diane “A salmon and Hamachi sushi roll.”

“I want two separate rolls. One is to be made with salmon and the other made with Hamachi. Did you get that right?” asked Diane, looking up at Lenny with a sneer. After speaking, she pursed her lips.

“Yes, I understand,” said Lenny, his smile turning down into a straight line. Slowly, he turned away from Diane toward Lily.

“What would you like?” he asked, his green eyes losing their gleam.

“May I please have a salmon roll,” said Lily, lighting up her smile again. She hoped he could feel her appreciation.

“Anything else?” he asked, his eyes lighting up once more.

“No, that’s enough for me,” Lily replied. “Thank you.”

Lenny turned quickly on his heal and paced toward the kitchen door. Lily saw him take a deep breath before disappearing out of view.

Lily folded her hands in her lap and turned to look at Diane, searching for a topic of conversation.

“I love your outfit,” she said to Diane.

“Oh, thanks. I got this at Talbots. Betty and I both bought one. Betty got the blue one and I bought tan.

“I’m not brave enough to wear anything like that,” Lily said.

“Why not?” asked Diane.

Lily didn’t want to tell Diane that she didn’t think the outfit was appropriate for someone in their sixties. Diane was two years older than her. She’d probably take offense to that.

“Well, I feel it would be too revealing on me, replied Lily. “I’d be self-conscious.”

Diane sneered openly. “Why’s that? If it looks good, you should wear it.”

“What I meant was,” started Lily, “is that, since I have such long legs, it would be too revealing.” Lily hoped Diane wouldn’t think she was insinuating anything about her. She couldn’t endure Diane’s mood when she became snippy.

“That’s so sad,” said Diane. “I feel sorry for you.”

Lily’s heart sank at Diane’s condescending comment. She wasn’t enjoying this lunch at all.

Character Study: Isabelle

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

I walked up to the double doors of the attractive white building.

I had been retired for only two months, but had committed myself to joining this philanthropy group already. Was I sure I wanted to do this?

I straightened the collar on my jean jacket. Was I underdressed? Overdressed in my long skirt? I stood in front of the door and peered through the glass. The room was full of women. Was I late?

I twisted the door knob to pull the door open and stood just inside, wondering where to go or what to do. Two women were sitting behind a table as if they were signing people in, so I walked up to them.

“Hi, I’m Isabelle Perle. I’m becoming a member today,” I said, smiling so hard that my dimples hurt.

“Isabelle, we were expecting you. Welcome,” said the woman with a short gray bob haircut. She looked down on her sheet, found my name on the list, and put a check mark next to it.

Another woman walked up beside me and the second woman behind the desk, who had brown hair, looked up at her.

I saw some blank paper name tags on the table.

“Should I wear one of these?” I asked.

“Yes, please write your first name and stick it on your jacket. We’ll give you a magnetic name tag once you become a member,” the gray-haired woman replied. I noticed her green name tag with the name “Peggy” etched into it.

“Isabelle, let me introduce you to some of our members,” Peggy said, standing up and coming around to the front of the table. She lightly held my elbow with her hand and led me farther into the room where women were sitting on chairs that had been set up in concentric half circles, facing a podium. A 40-inch video screen hung on the wall above the podium.

The room’s walls were painted in a light gray shade, and white moldings framed the floor and the ceiling. The wood floor looked clean and shiny as if it had just been varnished. I relaxed my shoulders, and Peggy led me to a woman with blonde hair who was speaking excitedly to someone.

“Lynn, this is Isabelle. She’s becoming a member today,” Peggy said. Lynn stopped talking and turned around, her eyebrows arched in animation.

“Well, another member. More hands. Welcome Isabelle. We certainly are excited to have you join us.”

Gee, everyone was so nice here. I didn’t expect that.

Lynn introduced me to Carolyn and Maria who were standing nearby. I nodded my head saying, “Nice to meet you both.”

As Lynn continued talking with Carolyn and Maria about a future work day at the food bank, I stood by with my hands by my side, nervously rubbing the pads of my thumbs with the sides of my index fingers.

Working at a food bank sounded interesting.

I had always liked donating food during the holidays at work when the company brought in the food barrels. For years, I had gone to Target to buy 10 to 20 sets of salt and pepper shakers as donations. Providing seasoning seemed like a great addition for families that had little money to spend.

Lynn spoke with confidence about the food project. I admired how she stood up tall and spoke with assurance and decided she would be someone I would like to emulate.

Later, Lynn and I sat down beside each other as the president called the meeting to begin. We stood up for the Pledge of Allegiance and then sat down to hear about the various philanthropic activities happening during the current month. Lynn announced the food bank work day, and I memorized the date and time of this event. Again, she spoke with clarity and poise. I raised my eyes to watch her speak.

After covering the philanthropies, the president asked the membership director to come up and introduce me as a new member. Lynn patted me on the back, gently pushing me up and out of my chair.

I bit my lip and swallowed, knowing that I’d have to say something about my background and interest in the group. As I walked up beside the podium, I pictured myself as Lynn—confident, well-spoken, and graceful.

Character Study: Hazel

Photo by Hannah Olinger on Unsplash

“You shouldn’t go to college,” said Dad, looking down at us kids. “There’s riots and immoral behavior. You’ll get brainwashed for sure.” Dad sat in his brown recliner with the foot rest down, his hands fiddling with a cigarette and match. The four of us, my two older sisters, me, and my little brother, sat cross-legged on the worn-out carpet in front of his chair, even though we were teenagers. We should’ve been sitting in chairs like him.

The news was on television. Dad had just seen pictures of students rioting at U. C. Berkeley for women’s rights. He had turned down the sound and called us into the room from our bedrooms that were right down the hall. I had been doing my chemistry homework, and I still had to finish math.

A wood-framed picture of the Last Supper hung on the wall right above Dad’s chair. To the side of it on the mantel was a porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary that Dad had bought Mom when he flew an Air Force mission to Portugal. A pile of rosaries filled a basket next to the statue. They reminded me of earlier years when we were ordered to kneel on the scratchy carpet to say the Rosary for 45 minutes. Thank God, Dad didn’t make us do that anymore. I’d never get my homework finished.

“Hazel, give your dad his ice cream,” said Mom from the kitchen. She stood at the counter, a box of vanilla ice cream in front of her. Jars of caramel and chocolate, too. Cherries.

I got up from the floor, happy to escape the lecture that I knew was coming. Whenever Dad got on his soapbox, we were stuck for at least an hour. Backpacks open on the floor in our dark bedroom. Homework books splayed wide on our desks. Pencil case contents spilled over half-used binder paper.

Dad put his cigarette and matches down. I gave him his bowl of ice cream.

“I need a spoon,” he said in his booming voice. A scowl made two deep furrows between his eyes on his sun-tanned face.

I jumped, turned to the kitchen, found a spoon on the counter next to Mom, handed it to him, then sat down.

While Mom finished scooping the ice cream into bowls, Dad, in-between his own bites, talked about how college wasn’t good for kids.

“They preach against religion,” he said.

I had heard Dad defend his religion ever since I was a little girl. The thing was, he didn’t seem to be a happy person, even though he went to church every Sunday, prayed at every meal, and raised money for new church buildings.

What good was it doing him?

I didn’t like how the parish priests treated women and girls either. We were treated like appendages of our fathers. No authority. No voices. No purpose except for one day having babies.

Luckily, our high school was run by nuns who were great examples of what women could do when men didn’t oppress them. The principal was a nun who had been educated in London in both education and school administration. My chemistry teacher was a pretty blonde married woman who one day wanted her own children. Our choir teacher was a nun who had a college degree in music. She taught choir, violin, flute, and piano.

But I loved my English teacher most of all. She’s the one who introduced me to the English and American poets and Edgar Allen Poe. Poe wrote such delicious horror stories. Murder. Psychological torture. Manipulation. People buried alive. So incredibly creative.

In Sister Elena’s class, I wrote my own poetry. She entered our poems in contests. I won first place once. We also read Shakespeare plays and acted them on stage for the whole school. Someday, I’d like to write a sonnet as good as he did.

What these nuns taught me was that my father had a narrow viewpoint when it came to education and women. He sent us to our high school to learn religion. But these nuns had taught us their version of Catholicism, and it had nothing to do with oppressing women.

Dad was still lecturing. His loud voice filled the room, but it wasn’t filling my ears.

Nodding my head “yes” every so often, I was far away. I saw myself walking through a university campus, my arms filled with Shakespeare, Marlowe, Emily Dickenson, Jane Austen, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I definitely was going to college.

Character Study: Grace

Photo by Vinicius “amnx” Amano on Unsplash

Here I am cleaning the bar while they sit on their asses smoking cigarettes. I’m not the only employee here. Why doesn’t the boss yell at Juan and Carlos to clean up?

Juan grinned at me from his bar stool as he let smoke sail out of his pursed lips like the exhaust of an old car. He winked and I cringed. Using his thumb and index finger to put his cigarette back into his mouth, he turned away from me slowly to rejoin the conversation between the boss and Carlos.

They were chatting about one of the women who had come to the bar that night. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from the leering looks on their faces, it was derogatory.

The woman had come in alone, walking into the bar around 9 p.m. in a purple satin blouse, a black pencil skirt with a slit up to her panty line, and black stiletto heels. She flipped her dyed-blonde hair over her shoulder as she sat down at an empty table, the lace of her panties showing at the top of the slit in her skirt.

Quickly, both Juan and Carlos had rushed over like ants at a picnic. Together, they bought her a martini.

She stayed for awhile as I made drinks behind the bar and Juan and Carlos waited on tables. She sat alone for only a few minutes because a tall man in a suit asked if he could sit with her. She smiled at his question and waved him into a chair. For two hours, the dyed-blonde and well-dressed man chatted, their elbows on the table as they leaned toward each other.

Finally, they got up. She smoothed down her skirt and tucked in her blouse. He held out his hand. She put her hand in it. They walked across the dimly lit room and out the double door together.

It was 4:30 a.m. The bar had closed at 4 a.m. Since then, I had gathered the dirty glasses from the twenty-six tables in the room and put them in the dishwasher. I had collected the ashtrays, dumped the ashes into the trash, cleaned each of them in a pan of soapy water, and set them to dry in the drying tray.

While I was doing all this, Carlos and Juan had sat down with the boss at one of the high tables. The boss had pulled a bottle of whiskey from the bar and poured it into three glasses. They had been drinking their whiskey for half an hour while I did the cleanup all by myself.

How misogynistic. Juan and Carlos got paid for drinking whiskey with the boss while I played Cinderella?

I wiped down the top of the bar, rubbing it with a cloth until the granite gleamed in the low lighting. I threw the caps and empty bottles of liquor into the recycling trash, counted the remaining bottles of liquor, and wrote the numbers down on an inventory sheet.

Suddenly, I blew a gust of air out of my clenched mouth and banged my fists on the bar. I turned toward the men drinking whiskey and waved my hands.

“Hey, when are you guys going to sweep and mop the floor and wash the tables?” I yelled over the music that was still blasting from the juke box.

The boss stopped what he was saying, put his glass up to his mouth as his eyes settled on me, and swallowed the last bit of whiskey in his glass. Carlos and Juan’s eyes turned toward me in silence.

“Hey, Grace, you do such a fine job. Why don’t you clean up everything tonight?” the boss said. He cocked his head toward Carlos and Juan ever so slightly as he spoke.

I took a deep breath, my chest expanding like a balloon while anger filled my eyes.

“Boss, the sweeping and mopping is not my job. I’m the bartender. The waiters are supposed to do those chores,” I said, trying to hide my fury.

The boss poured more whiskey into his glass as Carlos and Juan grinned down at their table. Carlos took his hands and pulled the ends of his bowtie to straighten it. Juan flipped one of his hands into the air like he was dismissing a servant.

This was ridiculous. Why would I want to work in a place with such a male-chauvinist crew? I had to show them that I wouldn’t put up with this. No woman should.

I untied the short white apron that was hitched around my jeans, scrunched it up into my right hand, and threw it across the room at the three men. It landed at their feet.

“Whoa, girl. Watch your temper,” the boss said. “Pick this up.” All three men stared at me, spectators watching fish in an aquarium.

Really? They don’t have a clue what I’m saying. I guess I’ll have to make myself crystal clear.

“I quit,” I said. “Pick it up yourself.” I took a pile of coasters from on top of the bar and threw them over the granite. They landed under the bar stools and across the linoleum. Then, I strode to the bar’s swinging door, pushed it open, and slammed it back so hard that it clunked on the cupboard behind me. I paced across the room toward the exit.

“I’ll pick up my last check tomorrow,” I said, twisting back toward them and winking before leaving the building.

Character Study: Ellie

I asked Vicki if I could stop by to visit one of her book club meetings to see if I wanted to join.

“Sure, Ellie, come join us. We’re having a tea party since this month’s book is set in England. We read The Mystery of Mrs. Christie by Marie Benedict.”

Wow. Are their meetings always this fancy? Does each member have to host?

I hadn’t read this book, but I’d seen the movie version and enjoyed it. I thought I’d be able to contribute something to the conversation. And I loved Marie Benedict’s books. I had read The Personal Librarian and Carnegie’s Maid, both historical stories based on true stories. Also, I had loved tea parties every since I lived in England as a child. I eagerly accepted Vicki’s invitation, arriving at her house promptly at 4 p.m.

Three cars were already parked along the pristine curb of the affluent neighborhood. I parked my car across the street. As I sauntered up the paved driveway, I admired Vicki’s front rose garden in full bloom. Red, yellow, white, and even blue roses stretched their petals up toward the warm afternoon sun. Around the edge of the garden, the miniature boxwood hedges were perfectly groomed. A stunning clematis vine with a profusion of purple, pink, and white flowers covered a trellis near the porch. Furry bumble bees danced from flower to flower.

Vicki’s door was a single white paneled portal with a brass acorn knocker. I pushed the doorbell and heard it chime inside. Instantaneously, footsteps approached, and, when the door opened, Vicki smiled, took my hand and pulled me in.

Several women were gathered in the kitchen around bottles of champagne and glasses. Some wore sun dresses and others had on sleeveless blouses with capri-length pants. The chatter was lively. All of these women were members of the Winona Women’s Club, a philanthropic organization, which provided scholarships to college students and conducted a variety of other charitable activities such as coat collections for the homeless and food donation drives for the local food bank.

I had been a member of this group for two years, but I didn’t know anyone except Vicki. I stood at the edge of the circle of women quietly, a pleasant smile pasted on my lips.

Vicki asked if someone knew how to open a champagne bottle. I volunteered. Maybe it was a good way to become involved in the group. I grabbed a dish towel, untwisted the wire over the cork, and covered the cork with the towel. Then I twisted it. Pop! It came loose without any spillage. A few women cheered, and I proceeded to pour the champagne into glasses and pass them around.

After I had poured for everyone and held a glass of champagne in my own hand, I introduced myself to a few women, told them I was visiting the meeting for the day. They were welcoming and encouraged me to join.

Soon, Vicki instructed us to take our drinks into the dining room where her table was decked out in a lace tablecloth, English bone China, and an abundance of roses from her garden. Tiered plates held triangle sandwiches, tiny sausage rolls, petit-fours and chocolates. Small platters displayed warm scones. Two bone China sugar bowls held clotted cream and teeny dishes offered strawberry and orange marmalade jam. Queen Elizabeth would have been delighted.

I noted how similar Vicki’s taste was to my own. Obviously, we were both rosarians, me being an amateur compared to her. I chose a seat in the middle of one side of the long table and sat down in a cushioned chair. The rest of the chatty women eventually all found places. Vicki brought in another chair and place setting for the last woman to sit down, and she took her own seat at the head of the table.

The dining room opened up to a large living room that had a gigantic etagere dark wood bookcase. Photographs of Vicki, her husband, and children on safari; in front of the Taj Mahal; standing on the deck of a yacht; and posing in front of the Eiffel Tower. In-between the photographs were a marble bust of the Virgin Mary; a colorful vase that had to be Murano glass from Venice; and a pair of wooden masks coated with streaks of red and green paint.

But the most unusual part of Vicki’s collection were the heads that she had placed at the very top of the etagere. A Chinese soldier. Buddha. Confucius. A woman who could be the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti. In all, twelve heads stood on their necks, spanning from one side of the furniture to the other.

Vicki had lived. She had traveled far and wide. No wonder I was so enthralled with her. She was undoubtedly full of stories and knowledge.

I twisted my head to watch and listen to Vicki, hopefully my new friend, as she used her silver spoon to get everyone’s attention.

Character Study: Dani

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

I sat down on the wooden bench in Sycamore Park and pulled Sadie’s leash toward me.

Sadie was an English Settler that I had rescued from the San Francisco Animal Rescue Foundation five years ago. The therapist said that she had been flown from Turkey where she lived on the street for several years. When I adopted her, she was only thirty pounds, so skinny that I could see her ribs.

Sadie turned away from the concrete path and sat down in the grass at my feet. She was always looking for a reason to sit down since she was getting old. After five years of good food and snacks, however, she had gained fifteen pounds and was in good shape for her age. Sadie arched her neck to look up at me, showing her crooked grin of contentment.

I sighed loudly, feeling my breath exiting through my teeth. It’s good I had a dog. Otherwise, I’d be completely alone.

Two years ago, I left my husband, Arsen, of five years. Really, I shouldn’t have married him. I was twenty-five and didn’t even know what my values were, much less his. I met him in Greece while I was living there for a year. He moved to San Francisco when we got married, but he brought his Greek values with him. We didn’t think about work the same way. He missed his family and forgot that I was his new family. What a mess we both made of it all. We were still waiting for the final divorce papers.

Since then, I’ve had two jobs. But now I’m unemployed. My boss said I did good work, but the company had to cut me anyway. I could hardly afford to pay my overpriced rent, much less have enough money for food. I thought my mom and dad would give me some money when they found out that I lost my job. But no. Seems like I was on my own.

I spent every day looking for a new job. Application after application. A few interviews and then . . . nothing. Even my friends were losing their jobs. Cali’s husband had just lost his job, and Cali was having a baby the next month. Whoa.

I looked down a Sadie who was now flat on her side with her legs sticking out. She looked comfortable.

My phone buzzed. It was Mom. I let it buzz on.

“Why does Mom keep calling me, Sadie? I don’t want to explain that I spend every single day trying to get a job.” Sadie tilted her head off the ground at the sound of my voice and looked into my eyes.

“She’ll tell me to budget better. I know that.” Sadie tipped her chin up and barked so slightly that it sounded like a cough. “Yeah, you agree with me. Good girl.”

I had met a lot of guys since I left Arsen. First, there was Colin, who was immature and acted like a clown. Then came Philip, a scientist, who soon moved to Boston for a new job. After Philip was Anders. He was smart, but oh-so-boring. And now I was dating Amir, who was born in San Diego, but whose parents immigrated to the United States from Iran.

My friends really liked Amir. They thought he was considerate and stable, something that Arsen never was. They invited him to all their parties and sought him out to talk to him. I was happy about that. They didn’t like Arsen that much.

But sometimes, Amir made me so angry. He was so jealous of Arsen, and never said anything good about him. Arsen always said nice things about Amir. I reached down and rubbed the side of Sadie’s belly. She groaned in appreciation.

“Does that mean that Amir isn’t a nice guy?” I asked Sadie, who closed her eyes as I continued to rub her belly.

I had once asked my mom if it was a mistake that I had left Arsen. She said, “No.” I told her that Arsen had always been excited about asking me about my life. Amir didn’t ask me those questions.

“That’s not what you said when you were married to him, Dani,” she said. “You complained that he wouldn’t eat dinner with you, and he didn’t want to hear about your job. Instead, he’d sit in front of the television until late at night, long after you went to bed.”

I just want life to be the way it was with Arsen when we had good times. I feel so alone.