Today

“We’ve got each other and that’s a lot” - Livin’ on a Prayer by Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, and Desmond Child

Not my best work, but I did it onsite, in an hour, and it was fun.

I haven’t posted a proper essay in over a month now. I wasn’t sure what to say. Everything going through my mind is a repetition of things I’ve said before. Of sadness and anger. Which I know I can share, but didn’t want to. I am tired of venting.

But today, something broke.

I’d been following the news closely, and this morning read that the vile republican death bill had passed. It was crushing. An astonishing number of people called and wrote to oppose it. The biggest push I’d seen so far. We were loud and persistent. And it amounted to nothing. The entire republican congress consists of soulless monsters. And they just don’t care.

I had plans this afternoon. I found out about a group here, based in Seattle, called Urban Sketchers. They’re artists of varying skill levels (beginners to masters) who gather to draw and paint. To record life and the world in person, in the moment. (The website is: seattle.urbansketchers.org if you want to check it out. They’re very cool.) I wanted to be a part of it. I’ve been drawing more and more and it’s been a lifeline for me.

Today was my first scheduled outing with them. I was depressed and furious, and considered staying home. The location was a place I’d never been to, so I had to navigate and figure it out, something I’m not particularly good at. But I persevered. All the way there, I drove in silence, no music (I wasn’t in the mood), and fumed, agitated tirades on loop in my head.

I arrived at the location and couldn’t find the group. I asked a couple of people clustered near the entrance, “Are you by any chance the Urban Sketchers group?” Nope. We were supposed to meet by a landmark, and I couldn’t find that, either. I asked a woman herding kids for a summer camp if she knew where Robinswood House was. No clue. I walked around and saw a young woman in a catering uniform. She did know! Hallelujah. She didn’t just point me in the right direction, either, she walked me over there. I thanked her profusely, then saw four women carrying tote bags (I was looking for telltale art supplies) and asked again: “Are you the Urban Sketchers group?” They were. Success. Finally.

They were friendly and low key. I was still on edge from the morning news. We crossed the park together, looking for a comfortable spot to plant ourselves. The group split up. One woman—Donna—said I was welcome to sit with her. So I did. We were facing a fenced pond surrounded by lime green trees. The weather was perfect. High 60’s. Some clouds, and an expansive blue sky. A sketcher named Jan joined us, wearing a mask as she was recovering from covid. We drew, and talked a little.

As I laid in my pencil lines, art did what it always does. It settled me. I got out of my head and into my body, paying attention—deep, focused attention—to the scene in front of us. I sketched in the fence, the tall, lush trees. A duck swam by, fuzzy ducklings in her wake. Once I had the sketch down, I pulled out my watercolors, poured some water in a small container and added color.

At the end, we reconvened to show one another our sketches. Every person, without exception, oohed and aahed at everyone else’s work. A pure framework of goodwill. One woman—Latha—hugged me. She hugged me! (I’m a total sucker for casual affection. I already love her.)

We talked briefly about future gatherings and parted ways.

Then, I went to lunch. To a place where I am a “regular.” I brought a magazine to read because I was eating alone (Mr. Wolf is traveling) and I didn’t want to feel awkward. But I didn’t need it. I chatted with 2 of the owners. One I like (Mike) but the other, I adore (Raelynn). She told me she has a shirt that says, “All we need is each other” and followed up with, “And that’s what I believe.” Because that’s the kind of person she is.

I had a mock tuna sandwich and a caesar salad and lots of iced tea.

There was a woman at a table adjacent to mine, also alone, drinking a latte. Raelynn pointed to me, and said, “Wendy’s an artist!” and proceeded to show her the postcards I’d designed for the cafe. The woman, Brenda, turned to me and we started to talk.

She’s a writer; her husband is a painter. She talked about how art opens hearts, and how with current events, we need that. She said that love will win. “I hope so,” I replied. She asserted decisively that it will. That we’ve been through dark times before and we’re still here. She has faith. And every person who believes in the possibility of a bright future helps me believe it, too.

She and I exchanged contact information. We’ve already texted.

I bought a brownie and a piece of lemon cake to go.

I walked to my car in an entirely different frame of mind than when I’d started. I had a day full of nature and connection and community.

The story isn’t over yet, and there’s so much good in the world. I see it in all of you. I see it all around me—in the robin, caring for her second family this summer, and trees swaying beyond our deck, like benevolent gods. In nice women bolstering one another and sketching in the park.

We have our love. We have our light. And we have each other.

That will be our lifeboat.