The Year of the Monkey

I finally finished Patti Smith's Year of the Monkey.  I was not crazy about it, which was a downer because I love Patti Smith so much. Case in point:   I drink black coffee now because Patti Smith drinks black coffee.  Also, I think about Patti Smith frequently and enjoy seeing her images and reading most of her words.

This book wasn't for me, but Patti slipped in a surprise in the epilogue that made me cry a bit and love her again.

"This is what I know. Sam is dead.  My brother is dead.  My mother is dead.  My father is dead.  My husband is dead.  My cat is dead.  And my dog who was dead in 1957 is still dead.  Yet still I keep thinking that something wonderful is about to happen.  Maybe tomorrow."

I want to think that something wonderful is about to happen.  It's hard to conjure that thought, but I want to have that thought and that hope. Cynthia texted that Patti recently wrote that we should be both prudent and positive.

I think I'll get there.  Maybe tomorrow.