Both Sides Now

                                           

November 7, 2013

I dreamed about Joni Mitchell for the second time in my life last night. I like her well enough but I am not particularly a fan. I mean, she's not someone whose birthday I would celebrate. So imagine my shock when I Googled her today and found out that today, November 7 is actually her birthday.

As for the dream itself, I was at a house party in London...a flat party, really. I could see roof tops from the window that reminded me somehow of graham crackers. 

Joni was sitting on the floor in front of a couch surrounded by party goers, including much of my extended family. I sat down in front of her and leafed through a book of her art work while she signed CDs for people. We spoke for a while and she was a very attentive listener, though I don't remember what we spoke about.

I got up to leave and say goodbye, but then turned back to Joni to say, "Oh wait, I thought of one more thing I wanted to tell you." 

It was then that I realized I had barged in on someone else's turn, that in fact there was a female reporter sitting on the couch waiting to interview Joni. 

Joni said I could stick around and talk to her after her interview, but I was so embarrassed at my faux pas, that I quickly headed for the door.

JONI THE MENACE

November 12, 2007

I’m standing at the butcher counter of a small town supermarket. I’m ordering a sandwich for myself and one for Joni Mitchell, who is standing next to me.

“I named a sandwich after you,” I tell her.

“You did?”

“Yep. Remember that time you had that special cheese? I think you called it Reuten. You said it was your favorite cheese and you let me try a piece.”

“I remember,” she responds.

“Well, the sandwich is Reuten cheese and boiled ham. Dennis the Menace use to love boiled ham. ‘Jeepers, Mrs. Wilson, I’m hungry. I want a boiled ham sandwich,’ he used to say.”

Joni is perplexed.

“So you know what I call the sandwich? It’s a Joni The Menace!”

A few minutes later we’re in the driveway of my childhood home. Joni and her friend are looking for a good place to light their bong. I direct her to a spot in the back yard, right up against the house.

I’m carrying a tube of spice filled water for Joni. I recoil at its strange odor.

“That water is special…for the bong,” she tells me.

Joni is here to work on a commissioned piece—an opera. She tells me she expects to finish some time in June. She’s been having trouble on a section dealing with the struggle of small children to communicate their needs to adults. I suggest that one of the obstacles to clear communication is that for a child every desire is of equal importance. Hence, every request they make is made with equal intensity, which results in small children screaming all the time.

This seems to inspire Joni and she asks if there is a room where she can work.

“You can use the bedroom upstairs on the left. It’s very hot up there unless you use the air conditioner,” I tell her.