About a month ago, on a Saturday, I was sitting there at my counter height dining room table, masticating the Dickens out of some nachos while reading selected pieces of verbal brilliance produced by none other than the late great Patrick McManus.  I’ve recently begun the process of adding his works to my digital library, even though my analog copies reside securely ensconced between the works of Berkeley Breathed and a redneck cookbook penned by Jeff Foxworthy on an old dictionary stand that belonged to my grandfather.

The jury is still out on whether he would appreciate that.

Across from me sat my daughter, who was otherwise ensconced in a Twitter feed and consuming some dish beyond the scope of palatability in my own personal opinion.

“Dad.  Did you hear that Taylor Hawkins died?”

Well that’s something I hated to hear.

Taylor Hawkins was the drummer and occasional vocalist for the Foo Fighters.  When one thinks of the Foo Fighters, Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins, or the famous friendship between the two usually comes to mind first.

For the next few minutes, I just sat there and stared at her as she read the press release about what had happened. 

“That’s just awful.”  I said that a few times over the next few minutes.

I flashed back to a documentary I saw a few years back.

Sadly, Taylor had some demons in the past that may not have been completely expunged.

Today, April 18, 2022 marks the fourth year in a row in which I post a status update linking back to that time I saw the Foo Fighters.  I’ve been to many concerts in my lifetime, and that one resonates as one of the more memorable ones.  For what it’s worth, it would have resonated even if KISS Guy hadn’t appeared to play Monkeywrench with the band.  Just two days before I had seen Shinedown, and two days afterward we said goodbye to the star of the Pitbull Diaries.

Several weeks after the news about Taylor hit I’m still at a loss for words, and that’s just awful.