As I drove alone down dark, rainy I-5 tonight, she sang:

Sitting by the fire, we couldn't get much higher,
I sang to you and you sang to me
It was oh, so beautiful, you gave so easily . . .

Walking on the land with my red arm band
laughing 'til my cheeks got so sore
I was alone 'til you held my hand
Don't want to go home no more.

Those lyrics, and this song, meant a lot to me at one time. I saw this sentiment as something so pure, so simple, and so natural; I knew one day I wanted to find a love like that. A love that I would not mind changing course for. A love that was as simple as the word friend, and as solid as a mountain.

The song is "Mademoiselle", by Lucie Blue Tremblay, a Quebecois folk singer. It's on a tape that Carol, a co-worker, made for me while I lived in exile in Nebraska in the early 90s. The lesbian community (and the vegetarians, and the Democrats) operated quietly, in quasi-secrecy, even then, and probably even now. Nebraska doesn't take kindly to Birkenstocked, liberal, veggie-munching dykes. So Carol quietly made this tape for me, this wonderful collection of music that still makes me happy 15 years later.

Another song that jumps out of the speakers at me tonight is "St. Jean Port Joli", which is all in Quebec French, and almost impossible for me to understand. However, I remember the chorus clearly, and tonight I latched onto it for all I was worth: q'c'est donc bon d'apprendre vie au ralenti, which loosely translates to "it is a joy to learn to live life more slowly" (those who actually know French will excuse any spelling or translation errors). Anyone who knows me knows that I've tried a number of ineffective means to do just that: slow down. Anyone who knows me knows my heart and knows that I will continue to let life evolve around me as I press on toward my own truth.

As I drove home from a difficult night with my father, and I felt alone in the world, and angry at myself for not acknowledging the good things in my life, the next song brought me to tears. First in French, then in English, both times profound and moving:

Ain't Life A Brook (Nos Belles Annees)

I watch you reading a book
I get to thinking our love's a polished stone
You give me a long drawn look
I know pretty soon you're gonna leave our home
And of course I mind
Especially when I'm thinking from my heart
But life don't clickety-clack down a straight-line track
It comes together and it comes apart
You say you hope I'm not the kind
To make you feel obliged
To go ticking through your time
With a pained look in your eyes
You give me the furniture
We'll divide the photographs
Go out to dinner one more time
Have ourselves a bottle of wine
And a couple of laughs

When first you left
I stayed so sad I wouldn't sleep
I know love's a gift
I thought yours was mine
And something that I could keep
Now I realize
Time is not the only compromise
A bird in the hand could be an all-night stand
Between a blazing fire and a pocket of skies
So I hope I'm not the kind
To make you feel obliged
To go ticking through your time
With a pained look in your eyes
I covered the furniture
I framed the photographs
Went out to dinner one more time
Had myself a bottle of wine
And a couple of laughs

Just the other day
I got your letter in the mail
I'm happy for you; it's been so long
You've been wanting a cabin and a backwoods trail
And I think that's great
Me I seem to find myself in school
It's all okay; I just want to say
I'm so relieved we didn't do it cruel

But ain't life a brook
Just when I get to feeling like a polished stone
I get me a long drawn look
It's kind of a drag to find yourself alone
And sometimes I mind
Especially when I'm waiting on your heart
But life don't clickety-clack down a straight-line track
It comes together and it comes apart

'Cause I know you're not the kind
To make me feel obliged
To go ticking through my time
With a pained look in my eyes
I sold the furniture
I put away the photographs
Went out to dinner one last time
Had myself a bottle of wine
And a couple of laughs
For wasn't it fine

Ferron there, in fine Ferron obtuse style. I've met her; I didn't get any warm fuzzies, but I think she is a brilliant lyricist. This is the least arcane of her lyrics. She has a gift for poetry that transcends my ability to explain.

I'm not doing at all a good job of sharing the emotions I had when I heard this tape. My tapes live under my bed in a crate, and I just today brought them out into the light after 6 months of storage. And this tape was such a lifeline during my Nebraska torment that I imbued it with terrific emotional value. Nice to be smacked into that place, again, where this music can move me.