Once again, we turn to music.

I'm amazed that anyone still reads this blog as it's often as entertaining as an open wound, but if you're here, thanks.

As for why I continue to do this, airing our grief like a Times Square crazy hectoring skittish schools of horrified tourists, I don't know and I'd rather not explore it too deeply. But it helps.

Then there's the practical side. My family always knows what's going on, which is not always a good thing.

But for all those who do read this and have sent words of kindness and support, I am indebted.

I'm also indebted to the Durham County Public Library. I dropped by yesterday to pick up a book and while browsing found a box set of Atlantic Records. That's the house band up there - Duck Dunn, Booker T. Jones, Steve Cropper and Al Jackson - and they're the guys you hear backing up everyone from Aretha to Otis Redding.

Last night I drove to the hospital listening to these guys. This morning I drove to work listening to these guys. Those big horns, that bass line, Aretha demanding just a little bit, well, it helped. Helped? It's a fucking miracle is what it is.

And it's enough to get me through this morning.

Music and friends.

I know that in the months ahead, I'll be turning to both.

Thanks.