And am I born to die? To lay this body down!
Easter is not a holiday I feel much of an attachment to. However, I was reminded this week of a specific time in my life, a new friend I once had, her life and death.
8 years ago, I began singing Sacred Harp every Tuesday night at the Helen Hills Hills Chapel on the Smith College campus in Northampton, Massachusetts.
I got to know Mirjana Lausovic at the Tuesday night sing a few years later after she moved back to the area from Minnesota with her husband and 2 young children.
Minja, as she was known, was one of the strongest women I have ever met—happy, practical, full of joy and life, big in presence and physicality; loved her kids, huge heart. Everything about her was open and present—she was buxom, full-lipped, had big eyes and a big smile, and of course, a powerful voice. Formidable was the word that came to mind the first time I saw her. She was easily approachable and had a humility I draw from to this day.
Minja had beautiful silver hair and it was cut short. I, too, kept my hair short and we joked together about haircuts, how it didn’t really matter who cut it or how: no muss, no fuss. I never knew why her hair was short and gray; she was, after all, a couple of years younger then me.
When I began to sing in the Sacred Harp group, in 2004, I had a difficult time socially. If it hadn’t been for my fierce love of the sound, my determination to add a creative endeavor for myself after years at home raising my daughters; if it hadn’t been for my training as a teacher of the Alexander Technique, I would have bagged out. I found the group strange and clique-y; I didn’t understand the social dynamics. I heard a lot of talk of “welcoming the newcomer,” but my presence seemed less than welcome. I was baffled and spent many a Tuesday night filled with the joy and satisfaction of learning a new, powerful way of singing, but with an undercurrent of my own sadness and anger at feeling on the periphery of a group [supposedly] dedicated to a communal tradition of song.
Minja was a remedy for all of that, a breath of holy spirit.
She died less than 2 years after I met her. It was a shock to me because I didn’t know her history—she had had breast cancer and pulled through several years earlier and this was apparently a recurrence. They left town one day in July of 2007 and she died 2 weeks later, on my birthday, something I recognize as a great gift.
I remember the evening before Tim and Minja and the kids were leaving town. I had prepared a little card and a bundle of ribboned lavender from my garden. When I handed the card to her, my instinct was to walk away so she could open it at her leisure, no pressure to say she liked it in case she didn’t, nor to respond to the words therein. But she said, emphatically, “Can I open it now? I want to open it NOW.” It was so much her, living for the moment, taking a bite out of whatever life presented.
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Today, I watched as my daughter’s Agricultural Arts teacher introduced 5 new colonies of bees to the existing hives on the school’s campus. Nicki told us that the worker bees, all of whom are female, do not lay their own eggs, in deference to the queen’s laying.
I saw the first tulips open in my side garden bed.
I am preparing a dish for dinner with eggs from my neighbor’s chickens, a salad with greens from a local farm.
Sometimes I receive emails from a fellow parent at my daughter’s school and they close with the statement “Walk in the light, wherever you may be.” Some days I begin to know what this means.
Today is Passover; tomorrow is Easter. I know I have been delivered, here and now, to the center of a swirl of abundance that I call home, the earth.
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Beautifully written filled with words that flow from the heart. Nicely done.
Thanks, Uncle Doug. I’ve had that one in me for a long time. K
Sometimes we forget to appreciate, the moments, the gift of friendship,
Marriage, a child……I hope this weekend to take the moments to appreciate all I have, acknowledge my strengths and my weaknesses, and repurpose myself again to the greater good in every life I touch.
Melinda–those are noble goals. Thanks for stopping in. twinkly
Wow, what a lovely remembrance. I met Minja and Tim around the same time, when they taught the Ethnomusicology seminar at Amherst College that inspired me to pursue a career studying music. Minja’s intellectual brilliance, irrepressible compassion, and dedicated musicianship will always provide a shining example of how to practice ethnomusicology, and, as you saw, how to be a decent human being.
Alex,
I am glad you found the post and even more grateful that you left your beautiful remembrance of Minja.
It is a great thing when we are inspired and encouraged by another person to the degree that it changes the course of our lives.
Thanks so much, twinkly
Thanks so much for this! So well put and really represents Minja’s true spirit. This is what she did to everyone whose lives she touched. I know that I am a better person today for having known her. I am overcome as I read this.
Love,
Kshama
Love right back to you, Kshama. Thanks for your words and all of the support over the years at singing. Katherine
smiles…wonderfully told…i love easter…it is a fun time for us and a reason to get family together…she sounds like quite the person and i feel i missed out finding those people, those friends is a beautiful thing you know…and more rare than we often treat it…
Brian, thanks for reading the post.
When I was a little bit of an older kid, we’d get together with a bunch of our best family friends and do Easter. I didn’t grow up with religion, so that became the meaning. Now everyone is far away. I miss it, the people part was the best. The food, too, of course!
Happy Spring to you! twinkly
minja was brilliant and resolute, incisive and clear, and REALLY enthusiastic about what she was enthusiastic about. I miss her terribly. thanks, katherine .andrew
I am glad you got to read it, Andrew. Ditto to all that you say. I wish I had known her longer, but I’m glad I got the little bit that I did. Hope to see you soon, I may not be able to make singing tonight, not sure, Katherine