I’m just a ghost in this house,
I’m just a shadow upon these walls,
As quietly as a mouse,
I haunt these halls
I’m just a whisper of smoke,
I’m all that’s left of two hearts on fire,
That once burned out of control,
You took my body and soul,
I’m just a ghost in this house
Is it Alison Krauss or is it the lyrics?
Why do I still remember the first time I heard her sing and could not believe that sound was coming so effortlessly from a human body? If you had said “bluegrass” to me any time earlier, I would have run screaming from you. But I not only heard her sing her pop songs, I heard her hymns, some familiar, some not. And then I fell in love with her band “Union Station”. And it was one big love fest.
Then the two concerts. And sitting in the very, very front row listening to her sing on and on and then stopping to tell us she was a bit off. Because of the altitude change from the city she had come from. And me giggling inside that she could ever be “off”.
There is this song about the ghost. How often have I felt like a ghost…just like a hollow shell. How often have I felt like that shell is all that is left where emotion and passion once burned. Because weariness and exhaustion and depression drove that fire away. And left just the smoke. But then the rebirth at the time I loved this song. Writing and writing with a lot of mania thrown in there. Not really being myself but being someone BETTER! This song brings back the bittersweet, the heaven and the hell of those days.
I’m lettin’ go of all my lonely yesterdays…I’m forgivin’ myself for the mistakes I made….
Does it get any better than Keith Urban? Uh, that would be a no. I loved him way back when he was Keith Urban and the Ranch. (That dates me, for sure.) Another few concerts. One where I flew clear across the country with my best friend to see him. We were absolutely crazy but it didn’t feel a bit strange. It seemed wonderful. One of the most wonderful weeks of my life. And Keith gives you a good concert. The kind where you’re tired, he’s tired, and you hate to go, but god is it ever time.
….forgivin’ myself for the mistakes I’ve made…..do you ever really forgive yourself when you have a mental illness? For all the things you’ve done, haven’t done, and let slip through your fingers? BUT if you could…IF you could…just get there and forgive yourself and let it go. Imagine. You wouldn’t forget but you could move on. You could face life head on and keep moving. You could be you. You could love yourself.
They wanted three. These crazy prompt people. Always trying to pull more sweat from you. Okay, my tear-jerker: “I Love to Tell the Story”. It’s a hymn. And when I was very, very tiny and my mother was being no mother and my father was, uh, (what is a father again?) my grandmother would sing this to me. We would shell peas and beans and she would sing this. She would hang sheets up and I would hand her clothespins and she would be humming along. Now this is a woman who had faced a lot of hunger and abuse in her day. So hymns meant a lot to her. Anywhere but here sounded like a good idea.
And when I was sick…she sang this to me.
Now on Sundays when I see this on the program, I get teary. And it is hard to keep a dry eye while singing. And my kids wouldn’t get it.
But sometimes now when doing laundry I hum. And I am singing it to her.