Sandals and a Stick: April 2025

I woke up earlier than normal. I don’t know what kind of dream had been interrupted. I don’t know why a deep slumbering fog cleared with the voice of Joni Mitchell singing “I really don’t know love, at all.”

But I am awake now. The considerable pull of a morning espresso momentarily overpowered the musician in my head. But within a few metronome beats of the grandfather clock, vision moved from opaque to clear, and the aroma of the steaming latte’ brought a successful merger between Joni and Joe.

This day had begun.

The digits of both hands seemed ready for the mad rush of brainstorming the task at hand and seamlessly linked up with a now waking brain. The next few hours would be filled with intent listening, pondering, and writing – all devoted to answering the whys and what for that will become a new article.

Joni Mitchell was a staple in my development years. One must review a few historical and cultural norms of the time to provide an understanding of her influence.

I vividly remember the threatening fear of being paralyzed by polio. Affected people were visible in my world even though I had missed the worst of it. Jonas Salk produced the vaccine in 1952, but it took until 1994 before anyone declared the US had eradicated this disease.
I remember hiding under my school desk. This was a rehearsed practice to be completed in silence which, we were told, would help protect us from incoming nuclear bombs. Yeah. I know. I guess it made us feel better, anyway.
I remember the Civil Defense sirens. I remember the Fallout Shelter's nightmarish symbol directing survivors to communal bunkers stocked with water and non-perishables. As a grade-schooler, I was often concerned that when this happened, I might be in one shelter and my parents could be in another.
I remember the Cuban Blockade.
I remember the assassination of JFK.
I remember evening news televising nightly the horrors of the Vietnam War.
I remember going to bed early to avoid watching a televised military draft lottery. This would determine whether I would personally be involved in things like the Battle of Hamburger Hill.
I remember Kent State.
I remember Watergate.
I remember the Apollo 11 astronauts landing on the moon.

So then, against this backdrop, the music of an era reflected the mood, concerns, and fears of my friends and family. We listened to a lot of folk songs. The melodies were captivating – the lyrics expressed our hearts. Today, I recall turbulent memories when I hear many of these ‘songs of the past' but notice too that strong emotions are also strikingly contemporary.

Waking up with the lyrics swirling around the familiar melody of Joni’s "Both Sides, Now", must certainly mean something. Maybe I experienced a fearful dream last night. Maybe I was caught in the web of my past exposure to the world I knew growing up. Maybe I was just remembering an old flame lost.

But this early morn’ haunting begs for explanation. And, since I have none, I will embellish thoughts and feelings to create one.

It appears that I was feeling some distress in the moment before dawn. There is a lot in this world that produces those feelings, no doubt. And at my age, I identified more with the lyrics than I did when growing up. If you read the stanzas below, you might catch what I mean.

Joni's words talk about looking at clouds (dreams, desires), love, and life from every angle. And even after that, what she realizes is that she doesn’t know any of this - at all. She remembers everything as being illusionary. Dark, yeah?

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all.

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

There’s been a lot of darkness lately. It’s not centered so much on clouds, but certainly on love and life. I think I carry around a lot of disappointment in those areas of late. Perhaps my subconscious is working overtime to bring some peace.

Joni Mitchell tells us,

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

There is hope. “Something’ is gained in living every day despite what we lose. I will consider those words as an answer to my quest. And, just like silently diving under my desk, I feel better. I hope you do too.

I knew the song and melody word for word after all these years. What I didn’t know was the life story that created the masterpiece.

When Joni was 9 years old, she contracted polio and was hospitalized for a year, being told she likely would never walk again.
At age 20, she gave up a daughter because she had no way to support her.
At age 21, she released "Both Sides, Now".
In 2015, she suffered an aneurysm which took away her ability to speak, play the guitar, and walk - once again. Watching herself in a mirror, she rose above the obstacles and taught herself to sing again.
In 2024, she took the stage at 80 years old and performed "Both Sides, Now" for the Grammy Awards. Joni's ballad has now been ringing true for 60 years and still has lessons for us today.

It seems clear that this amazing woman has lived every day experiencing both tremendous loss as well as profound gain.

We can as well.

You might wonder how this happens. How do we move from tragedy to peacefulness? How can we set aside the worst to embrace the best?

I may be wrong, but gratitude seems to be the answer for me. It's physical, in one sense. Looking skyward in thankfulness makes it impossible to look downward in despair. And it's spiritual as well. A grateful heart sings.

And what does appreciation look like? Well, you can make your own list but try to concentrate on things you take for granted. Here's a start.