WEDNESDAY, APRIL 7, 2021

This day marks

THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DAYS of hearty, and joyful howling on Sherwood brought to you by the Sherwood Howlers.

THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DAYS.

CLOSING IN ON OUR APRIL 12 ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY. FIVE DAYS AND COUNTING.

I am sending this message well ahead of April 12. Yesterday, the great Carter Green told me that Sherwood wolves are cooking up a potluck affair for Sunday evening followed by a good old fashion howl, in celebration of our one year HOWLING anniversary.

I am in on that.

Emily and I will be in Bellingham, Washington visiting our son, Henry and his girlfriend, Anya. We all will be zooming in at 7PM EST to join you guys.

HOWL ON SHERWOOD. LET HER RIP.

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THE CASE FOR HOWLING

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On April 12, 2021 we will have been howling for one year. We started this gig to howl the covid virus out of existence and have made great progress. Cases are down, hospitalizations and deaths are down. And, yes, millions have been vaccinated. But we ain’t done yet. The pandemic is not over. Although the data shows a slowing of the spread, it is also, at the moment, showing we may be on the verge of another infection cycle.

There are blockheads living amongst us who unwittingly would undo the progress we have made. They refuse to wear a mask, come together in crowds with other blockheads who rattle on about personal freedom and stolen elections, thus serving to keep the virus circulating in the population, and still others still who refuse to get vaccinated. This is at least partially why the virus could continue to circulate in our midst, ravaging the elderly and compromised. So long as this kind of situation exists, we will need to be vigilant, smart, and protect our own.

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From April 12, 2020 until now, our howling took on a changing countenance. We began to howl for the sick and infirmed among us, for shut-ins in hospitals and nursing homes, for lost friends and family, for first responders, police officers, black heroes, white heroes, military figures, defenders of freedom, women, men, children, birthdays, and anniversaries. We howled for doctors, nurses, and other healthcare workers. We howled for meat packers, grocery store workers, migrant farmers, and other vital service people. We howled for indigenous people, clergymen and women, characters, pioneers, scientists, astronauts, sharks, minerals, star systems, aviators, dare devils, for those who have died of covid, for their families and friends, for birds, bees, and bats, for dogs, nature, and pollinators. We howled for butterflies, illegal chickens, whiskey makers, peace makers, love makers, law makers, furniture makers and hope makers. We howled for civil rights heroes, stars, planets, meteor swarms, comets, silver-haired women, Nobel prize winners, athletes, fish, insects, rats, mice, salamanders, snakes, and turtles, volunteers, and teachers.

We howled for love and lost love. We howled to celebrate and to grieve. Sometimes we howled just for the hell of it.

Howling is a metaphor for our humanity. It is a celebration of who we are. The core of us. It is a declaration, an acknowledgement of the goodness in us.  It is a shout-out to the Universe, “We are here to stay. We are not going away. We will make things better. We will prevail over disease, racism, bigotry, prejudice, war, famine, greed and avarice.”

I am sure of it.

Howling is surgery for the soul, it is a healing balm, a salve, a potion, and analgesic, an anxiolytic, and yes even a laxative. It is a laugh, a grin, a wink, a shrug, a hand shake, a salutation, a greeting.  It is a statement, a manifesto, an affirmation. It is release, liberation, repose, recovery, deliverance, an unshackling. It is a dance, a song, a minuet, a gig, a waltz, a hop, skip and a jump. It is a clicking of the heels.

Three hundred and sixty five days, continuously except for one night, the night of the day Jim Kivlighan, the elder, passed into heaven, to dance among the stars, to be a cosmic force for good, just like he did in this life. Even on that night we howled silently to wish him well on his journey, to shepherd him onward.

We howled with heavy hearts for the beloved John Lane who died this year. We celebrated his goodness, his love for all, his life here. We shared his love all around. Lord knows he had plenty to give away.

We howled for my friend Henri Bowman, who died in June of 2020, also a love spreader here on Earth. At her funeral, a hundred other souls howled to help her along on her flight to heaven. We howled super loud because Henri was known here on Earth to occasionally enjoy a taste of fine bourbon. We knew she would probably make a few stops at taverns in the sky along the way so we figured she would need a jump-start or two.

We howled for Peggy Ruth and shared her grief when she lost her mother last year in October. She was thankful that she had visited her just before she died. Upon her return from Georgia, Peggy Ruth told me she would be joining us that night to howl for her mother.

Tomorrow night I am zooming in to Skipping Rock Brewery to do a celebration of life howl for Jason Swats, the son of my beloved friend Gary “Fireball” Swats, whom I have known for 60 years. Tragically Jason passed recently.

Since April 12, last year, we have grown closer as a community, oddly enough, since our constant commitment to fighting Covid has required that we isolate and keep our distance.

We have watched the traditional Sherwood Halloween Celebration morph into a Sherwood children lead Halloween parade, punctated by hundreds of sidewalk luminaries.  We had luminaries again around the new year. We have shared good food and drink. We have comforted the sick and elderly. We have watched Sherwood’s children grow older, enjoyed their stories, laughed at their antics, and learned from them.

We have watched and listened as parents contemplated their children’s school life, and negotiated zoom boom remote learning, “split” days, and “in-school” sessions. What a time to be a kid. The pandemic has marked their lives in ways we don’t even know yet. How do you tell a 10 year old kiddo that for a while she cannot hug her grandparents, or hang out with friends?

We donated bunches of money to the Salvation Army and other charities. We have been plagued by pink flamingoes, who still live among us. We hosted a food truck, had neighborhood outside movies, and visited with one another every evening – every evening. How many neighborhoods to that? We have done much good for ourselves and others. There is more to come, more to do. Much more.

It is a beautiful thing to see a bunch of people let their hair down, throw their heads back and howl like happy wolves.

Peggy Ruth says, “It makes me happy. It feels good”.

So, I say to you, dig deep. Get in touch with your inner wolf, find your pack and let her rip. I think I am just going to keep howling. It’s my prayer, my supplication to the Universe. It is my therapy and Lord knows I need all of that I can get.

Many of us have dogs or have had dogs in our lives. Why? We love them and they love us. A perfect fit. Dogs are family and have been humankind’s constant companions through the ages. On any given day, watch the Gundling angels and Peyto, the Wonder Dog, interact. Anyone who studies dog behavior knows dogs remember, dream, play, express joy, sadness, shame, and fear. Sort of like we do. I am not sure what a soul is, but my bet is that dogs have one. That sure opens up some interesting areas of discussion.

Dogs derive from wolves. Feral dogs run in packs, just live wolves. We run in packs, tribes, neighborhoods. We are kindred spirits, us humans, dogs, and wolves.

So I am going to keep on howling. Silly? Maybe. But it does not hurt a soul that I know, and it is fun and free.

Emily and I and Tom Sawyer are on a road trip out west to see our children for the first time in two years. We are going to howl our way across America, from sea to shining sea, from the tops of mountains to the valley floor, from the southwest deserts to the plush northwest temperate rainforests, and from the Rockies to the Alleghenies. What could possibly go wrong?

We will join you on Sunday night to celebrate our anniversary and I will howl extra-long and loud for my friends and neighbors on Sherwood Avenue and beyond.

Wear your howler shirt. Beat on a pan. Dance in the street. Blow a horn. Kiss a dog or your spouse.

Keep on howling, even if it is silent, in your heart, which is where it came from in the first place.

Eat rice, be nice, and let the good times roll.

Namaste’