Butterfly visit.

Out for a run in NYC Thursday morning, I passed a tarp hung around a site where a park is being developed. I didn't have my glasses on, so when I saw this funny man with a pink scarf and a fencing sabre, I thought the butterfly was part of the illustration. When I got closer, I could see that the butterfly was very much alive. I stopped running and hung out with the butterfly awhile. Then she fluttered away, riding the breeze, and I did too.

Realiza tu sueño.

Thinking about you nonstop. Thinking about you, and feeling your smile and your embrace everywhere I go. Crying for losing you, and in the same breath laughing at all the things we would laugh about together. Sending you all the love I have.

Heck of a trick you played this morning, Love! I rolled out of bed and decided to brush my teeth first thing—before drinking morning coffee or anything else. I squeezed a bead of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, ran some water over it, then put it in my mouth to start brushing. Zap! There it was, clear as anything I've ever tasted—the fresh anise flavor of the Homeodent paste you always used. How?! This is a relatively new toothbrush and has only ever had the same minty paste I use. It was unmistakeable, though—the taste of your toothpaste, the taste of your freshly-brushed mouth, the taste of your fresh kiss. Then I blinked, it was gone, and I could only taste my usual mint. It was a very quick trick, but it was beautiful. Thank you! You had me smiling all day.

I found this picture from October 2008, when my mom came to visit us in New York. You're crystal clear and I'm all fuzzy. Just like in real life!

All my love,
~Adam

Thinkin' in the Rain.

I'm missing you a whole lot on this rainy, stay-indoors-in-our-pajamas sort of day. The skyline is a foggy blur. I can't even make out whether Lady Empire has lit up for the night yet or not. Harrumph. I wish you were here. We could lie in bed, look out the window, and take our best guesses at what colors she'd be when the fog lifted and we could see her—and at which obscure holiday the colors where honoring. "Aha—it's International Corporate Philanthropy Day!"

The week started off sunny, as if spring were here already. On days like those, you and I would be up and out of 7A early in the morning, walking to Gimme! Coffee on Mott Street for a fuck-off cappuccino. Or two. Or three. On the way there, you'd take pictures—our shadows on the sidewalk, dimensions exaggerated in the early-morning sunlight. You'd also shoot abandoned bicycles, or maybe some window reflecting our faces with the city traffic passing behind us. We'd see interesting-looking shops we'd never noticed before, and talk about how we'd have to remember to go back and explore them when they were open.

But, like I said, today has not been one of those days. It was raining when I woke up, and it's raining still in the early evening. I mostly did stay indoors, in my pajamas. I watched a movie—Examined Life. It looks at philosophy from the points of view of eight modern-day thinkers, including Peter Singer, Avital Ronell, and Cornel West. This would have been an interesting movie to watch together, nestled on the sofa, with a chicken roasting in the oven. My favorite thinker of the bunch is West—because he relates philosophy to blues and jazz music, and because he talks about "the raw, funky, stanky stuff off life." Who would you have found the most thought-provoking, or entertaining?

Love, love, love,
~Adam

Dreaming.

A friend recently shared this quote from Jacques Brel, the Belgian songwriter. I don't know if Mia knew this quote, but it's so very very her. (Coincidentally, Mia and I had not just one but *two* holidays together in Brussels.) "Le seul fait de rêver est déjà très important. Je vous souhaite des rêves à n'en plus finir et l'envie furieuse d'en réaliser quelques uns. Je vous souhaite d'aimer ce qu'il faut aimer et d'oublier ce qu'il faut oublier. Je vous souhaite des silences. Je vous souhaite des chants d'oiseaux au réveil et des rires d'enfants. Je vous souhaite de résister à l'enlisement, à l'indifférence, aux vertus négatives de notre époque. Je vous souhaite surtout d'être vous."

Here is a literal translation, from Google. Would anyone care to offer a more nuanced interpretation? "The mere dream is already very important. I wish you dreams that will not quit and the furious desire to make a few. I wish you to love what is love and forget what to forget. I wish you silences. I wish you the songs of birds wake up and the laughter of children. I hope you resist the stalemate, the indifference, the negative virtues of our time. I especially want to be you."

This photo is one Mia shot in December 2006, from Pier 17 in NYC. The terrace there—offering a stunning view of the Brooklyn Bridge—was one of her secret hideaways in the city. She particularly loved being there at sunup and sunset.

Sweetness and brownie-points.

Regular followers of this blog know that BabyCakes NYC—a vegan, gluten-free bakery that Mia loved—offered to help raise funds for the OMF by donating a portion of the September sales of their agave-sweetened brownies (Mia's favorite BabyCakes treat). I just got a lovely note from BabyCakes, announcing that they’d raised $741 and are donating that to the OMF in Mia’s name. That’s huge. Thank you!

For those who like numbers.

The recent Mia Abides concert/auction event raised $1,705, which will be donated to the Ocular Melanoma Foundation. Additionally, numerous donations--totaling $1,961--have been gifted in Mia's name via the OMF Web site. $1,705 + $1,961 = $3,666. *THANK YOU* for your generosity.

What a week.

I'm still reveling in the joyful vibes of our celebrations this past Sunday and Monday in New York City. Many friends joined us for the concert/fundraiser at the Living Room and for our toast at the Maritime Hotel--friends from near and far, from all corners of Mia's multifaceted life. When I was visiting Nina in Marbella this summer, she told me several times how glad she is that Mia shared her friends with her. I am feeling that too, now more than ever. Mia introduced me to so many beautiful people. Even in her absence, I cannot help but feel blessed.

One of Mia's friends who's here now is Raj, from Dubai. Raj and I first met a while back, sharing a great meal together with Mia at Peasant in NYC. He came to town another time, when I was away, and he and Mia ate at Il Buco. He took us to Nobu when he visited us in San Diego in March. (I know their friendship went beyond their shared love of fantastic food, of course, but that particular bond was strong--as anyone close to Mia can appreciate.) A few nights ago, Raj reminded me that he had gone to the clinic in Tijuana with Mia during that same springtime visit. They went down to TJ early so they could be sure to enjoy the breakfast buffet at a very nice hotel nearby the clinic. I'd been there with Mia many times, so I knew how she relished all the fresh fruit, the chilaquiles, the hand-made tortillas grilled into quesadillas, the refritos, the hongos, the nopales, the tomatillo salsa. Ai!

Lately I've been reading Annie Proulx's Fine Just the Way It Is, a book of short stories about hard people and hard times in the old American West. Proulx colorfully describes one pioneer who didn't survive as having gone to "the land of no breakfast forever." Wherever Mia's spirit is now, I'd wager anything and everything that it is not the land of no breakfast forever. Far from it.

Rocking and running.

Hi all. I wanted to check in here, and give everyone an update on things.

These two gorgeous photos are by Todd Chalfant. He recently discovered them among his files, and I thought you'd all appreciate these images of our lovely. I believe they were shot sometime in 2008.

I'm organizing a fundraiser for the Ocular Melanoma Foundation. It will be at the Living Room in NYC on Sunday, 20 September. The night will feature some of Mia's favorite local musicians—Nels Andrews, Milton, Pete and J, Bill Sims Jr, and my own Mint Imperials. There will be raffle prizes, and some special prizes will be available via silent auction. (Shhh! It's silent.) If you can't attend the event, but would like to make a donation to the OMF in Mia's name, follow this link. Tickets are available at the Living Room and from TicketWeb.

I'm going to be running the Dublin Marathon at the end of October, along with Mia's dear friend Lucinda. I'm running this race to challenge myself, not to raise funds for a cause. However, if you happen to think it's awesome that we're going to hoof 26.2 miles, feel free to make a donation to the link above.

Thanks again for all your sharing, all your love, and all your support.

~Adam

Weather with you.

Mayor of the Lower East Side.
New York City. August 2008.

Late July in New York City. The weather ought to be brutally hot and sticky, but it's remarkably cool and breezy. It has been for most of the past two weeks since I've been back. Mia would be *loving* this. Perfect weather for sipping coffee at a sidewalk table outside Brown; perfect weather for spreading a blanket in Central Park and reading the Sunday papers; perfect weather for a long walk through Soho to the "faraway bakery"; perfect weather for cooking a nice supper at home (it's too much to fire up the oven when the New York heat really kicks in). Mostly, it's just perfect weather for smiling all big and badass, and laughing at something—anything—which is exactly what Mia would be doing right now.

Freedom! Freedom!

Mia & Richie.
Backstage at Bodles. Chester, NY. January 2008

Mia loved live music shows, and also loved to get out of the city and into the grassy countryside nearby. This day she got to do both. I had a gig with our friend Amber, opening for Richie Havens at Boodles Opera House in Chester—about 60 miles north of NYC. While Amber and I did our soundcheck, Mia found a patch of shade in a meadow behind the venue. She sat there a long while, writing in her journal, enjoying the greenspace and the quiet—until Amber and I found her hiding place. Then, she got to watch Amber and me play to a crowd of true music lovers, and then—then—she got to enjoy the incredible folk mojo of Richie Havens, who she’d known nothing about. She grooved to his songs of freedom, and laughed at his stories. (Particularly his riff on the intro to the old Superman TV show—“Truth, justice, and the American way. And the American way?”) We got to hang out with Richie after the show, and I think the two of them discovered that they may have been descendents from the same planet. Krpton, maybe?

Flight plan—new evidence.

Some of you may have seen my 30 May posting (Flight plan) with the photo of Mia floating above Auld Lang Syne revelers in New York City. Newly discovered evidence suggests that she may have been practicing this feat for many years.

So Mia, even way back then.

A girl and her dog.
Somewhere in Denmark (I presume). November 1979

Grace is reality.

Trying on wedding bands (sized for big love) at South Street Seaport, just before sunrise.
New York City, NY. December 2008

I’m back in New York City now, in 7A—our cozy little nest on the Lower East Side. I’ve returned from my Soul Journey to Spain and the UK, where I shared countless tears and smiles with Mia’s family and friends. My trip included so many beautiful moments. In Marbella, Spain, I savored caviar with John and Nina at Casa Jasmin (this was Mia’s idea!). I celebrated the eve of San Juan with Ele, toasting to Mia while a beachfront bonfire blazed on. I lunched with Debbie and the Sweeney clan at the infamous Madd House. I went down to Tarifa with Tori and Maui, where we chilled poolside with Morgan at Pachamama; then Tori and I cleansed ourselves with mystic mud on the dual shores of the Atlantic and Mediterranean. All that and more—more friends, more stories, more celebratory food and drink—filled just the first few days of my trip.

My next stop was Umbertide, Italy, for a week-long songwriting retreat with 16 other writers. Maybe I’ll talk more about that week another time, but suffice to say Mia’s spirit was there—inspiring me and loving the amazing food and the bottomless cups of espresso, of course. Joder!

Then I went to England for more connectivity. Lucinda and I rode out to Stert for a lovely evening with Joe and her family, stopping on the way to visit the three trees Luce recently planted with Tiff, Joe, and the Charlies. John and I shared our favorite stories of Mia over an elegant meal at Claridege’s. I visited Rikke and her beautiful boys in Andover, then raised a pint of the good stuff (with salt and vinegar crips) there at the Town Mills pub. Back in London, Natalie, Luce, Piers, and I rocked a Mia-approved dinner of burgers and beers at the New York-style Automat, then raised a few more glasses afterward at the swanky Donovan. Mia wanted to be celebrated, and we were doing our damnedest.

Paris was next, for a quick visit with a dear old friend of mine who got to know Mia only via email—though Mia could communicate richly in her emails, as most everyone on this blog knows. Mia and I stayed in his Parisian flat once on holiday, and she and I spoke several times about taking another trip there. We never had the chance, but we did watch Two Days in Paris a few times for fun.

Finally, I returned to Marbella for two more days with family at Nina’s house. Eric and Hilde were there, along with their daughters Anna and Laura and a few of Laura’s close friends; Tobias was there too. Mia’s first husband, Marcos, came by for lunch. It was a pleasure to meet Marcos—he’s all heart. Very late that night, the family had a burial celebration for the Spanish quarter of Mia’s ashes. (Her remains are divided between her four home territories—Denmark, Spain, England, and New York.) We buried the urn under an Arbol de Amor tree in Nina’s garden. We raised our glasses of beer—some Danish beer and some Spanish—and even poured one down for Mia to enjoy. The family sang a Swedish song with these lyrics (translated), “Who can row without an oar? Who can sail without wind? Who can part from a dear friend without a tear on your chin? I can row without an oar. I can sail without wind. But I can’t part from a dear friend without a tear on my chin.” Then they asked me to sing one of my songs. I didn’t have a guitar handy, so I spoke my song “Long Way Gone” as a lyric poem. It was one of Mia’s favorites from my repertoire, one I’d sung for her many times.

Now, at last, I’m home, but it’s not quite “home” without Mia here to awaken with in the morning. Mornings were a special time for us. Sometimes we’d get up a little before sunrise, walk along South Street Seaport, grab a bagel and takeaway coffee, then watch the sky put on its morning magic show. Then we’d come back to 7A, where Mia would make us big fruit bowls and a carafe of intense coffee. Nor is it the same here without Mia in the afternoon. I’d come home from my daily run and find her on the sofa, smiling, a cup of PG Tips close at hand, her Mac laptop atop her lap. She’d be Skyping with a faraway friend, researching something that had piqued her curiosity, or looking at cheap flights for a holiday. Evenings aren’t the same now either. She and I would watch the sunset from our apartment, with our living room and kitchen awash in peach colors. When the sun was gone, we’d curl up on the sofa to watch our latest Netflix delivery—a new movie with bold ideas, or a silly comedy, or some favorite classic—then we’d make dinner together. I’d be in charge of the hot food (gluten-free capellini with puttanesca sauce, or a lamb stew in wintertime, or Thai-style fish cakes); she’d do the cold (a fresh salad, with each veg cut just right and a tangy dressing with mustard and fresh herbs). Then maybe I’d be off to one of my late-night gigs. (It’s not uncommon in NYC for a gig to start at 10:00 or 11:00 p.m.) I’d come home very late and find Mia in bed. Even in her deepest sleep, she’d know I was home and was trying to join her without waking her. As soon as I’d settle in alongside her, Mia would wrap her arm around me—or pull mine around her—without saying a word, then drift back into whatever beautiful dream she was in the middle of. The gesture was so simple, but I’ve never felt so loved than in those moments when she’d silently welcome me home and we’d rejoin each other as one.

As I write this, I’ve been drinking Egyptian licorice mint tea. It’s from a box of Yogi Tea I bought for Mia many months ago. As with all Yogi teas, there’s an inspirational note on the teabag tab. This one says, “Life is a chance. Love is infinity. Grace is reality.” Someone at Yogi must’ve known Mia.

It was a good gig.

Lestat's Coffee House—not Banjo Jim's, but cozy enough.

San Diego, CA. March 2009

The Invitaion.

Mia's mother, Nina, sent me this prose poem today. She rediscovered it amongst her e-mails from Mia, who had sent it to her in January. It comes from a book called The Invitation, by Oriah.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me 
is true.
I want to know if you can 
disappoint another 
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life 
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone 
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Sitting on top of the world.

Mia & Josefine, atop the London hotel. Self portrait.

West Hollywood, CA. August 2008

Mia's Room in Geneva

I knew Mia for a relatively short period of time… since june 2006. That summer she spent one month in Geneva, doing an internship at UNICEF, she enjoyed it immensely, as she always wanted to work there. She lived at Javier's place (a Spanish friend and work colleague) for three weeks, then she moved into my flat for the last week, when Javier had to go to Spain at short notice. Javier had told me we would really hit it off... he told me how great she was, how special... Javier tends to exaggerate, so I did not really take him seriously until I met her and I did realize she was really one of a kind, a truly beautiful person, inspiring and energetic, with a rare quality to see the best in everyone and everything, able to make the most of every moment and every situation.

During that week, she got me to watch the last season of Sex and the City (she couldn't believe I had never followed it!!) as I lent her the first season of Desperate Housewives... we baptized the spare room in my new Geneva apartment as "Mia's room", as she was my very first guest...We shared early evening drinks by the lake, nice dinners at my favourite Geneva spots, and a couple of late night chats at home wondering what strange forces of nature had brought us together to that exact minute, grateful for the fantastic day we had just had, the great summer we were enjoying, the plans we had next -she was moving to New York, I planned to furnish my flat. She'd then go into her room and spend some more time with her inseparable Apple... writing e-mails, listening to her music... she recorded me a couple of CDs with a totally eclectic mixture of music which I loved, and I have been listening since endlessly while driving my car. As with everyone she met, we created immediately a very strong bond, I felt her always very close, we kept in touch regularly, regardless of how long it had been since we had seen each other, and I feel I shared with her very special moments in her life. I was with her in New York shortly after she moved into a lovely flat on the Lower East Side "... not very chic but hip and trendy" which she shared with Andy "...my super nice flatmate, he's just arrived from Barcelona: you'll like him", the beginnings with Adam, "he's really cool, and very cute, have seen him four evenings in a row, Marta, FOUR! and his birthday gig...that was incredible!!", he is the man who was going to become her husband...

I am deeply saddened by her loss, and my heart goes out to Adam, Nina and the rest of her family and friends. I am not sad for her, I know she wouldn't want me to.... she lived a full life, the way she wanted it, and she has left a trail of fondness, happiness, optimism, kindness, beauty and so much more in each of us. We will remember her always strong, a fighter, with her cheerful voice, big smile and her great untiring positive attitude.

Miss you Mia. Sending big hugs wherever you are.

Marta XX

Mistaken identity (February 2007)

I met Mia in Geneva through Javier and Marta back in 2006. I was heading to NYC in Feb 2007 and Marta suggested I get in touch with her. I did and we started to email each other on the upcoming trip. At the appointed time, I was waiting for her at a bar in the Lower East Side. She came in and passed by me then came back and looked at me in surprise. She asked what was I doing in NYC. Puzzled, I told her I was meeting her for drinks. She looked even more puzzled. It seems she was expecting our mutual friend who has the same name.... as soon as it dawned on her that she mistook me for the 'other' Joel we both broke out in laughter. I asked her if she was disappointed that it was me rather than the other fella. She assured me she wasn't, added with a smirk. She then asked me how I liked her new eye patch... I told her she looked as beautiful as ever... as you can see from this photo:


Love and miss you,
Joel

Flight plan.

Mia celebrated the new year, floating above the revelers.
New York City, NY. December 2007 / January 2008