It was 1999, a golden time in my life. I was slim, spirited, and endlessly inspired, living on the idyllic island of Tobago. My days were filled with the rhythmic dance of waves meeting sand as I combed the beaches for shells, crafting them into jewelry to eke out a living. The island was my muse, but amidst its beauty, one memory shines brighter than the rest. That day, I first stepped into the home of Luise Kimme.

Luise’s home in Mt. Irvine felt like a world unto itself. The house itself, a piece of art, painted with shades of vibrant blue and white, dotted by vibrant poinciana trees in the landscape. The barking of her dogs welcomed me before her presence did. Inside, the aroma of freshly brewed black coffee greeted me, mingling with the salty breeze that drifted in through open windows. Luise herself was a force, an artist with a spirit as wild and vivid as her oak sculptures. Her hands, roughened from wielding chainsaws and chisels, turned imported trunks into works of raw emotion. Each piece breathed life, telling stories of passion and dreams only she could give shape to.

Over that first shared cup of coffee, I was captivated; not only by the richness of the drink but by Luise’s stories. She spoke of her time as a professor in Düsseldorf, of Cuba, and the timeless melodies that fueled her creative soul. Her voice was rich with conviction, every sentence tinged with a vibrancy that made me feel as though I were sitting in the presence of something rare; a woman, unafraid to live.

One evening, she took me to Ciao Café in Scarborough, a quaint haven, where the aroma of coffee carried with it, the promise of magic. As we sat sipping from white solid porcelain cups which seemed to reflect her own image, Luise’s face lit up when she spoke of Cuba. A place she admired for its artistry and rhythm, but most of all, it’s dance. Then came the moment that would forever linger in my memory.

“They’ve got incredible coffee in Cuba, you know,” she said, smiling mischievously. Then, with a pause so measured it felt deliberate, she added, “I’d love for you to be my dance partner in Havana.”

For a moment, the world seemed still and Burnett Street, a ghost town. Was she serious? I could feel her eyes on me, waiting. My island heart danced nervously in my chest. Instead of leaping at the chance for an adventure, I hid behind my white porcelain coffee cup and laughed nervously, unsure how to answer. Would it have mattered if I had said yes?

A Legacy Etched in Memory

When Luise passed in 2013, it felt like the world had dimmed. I was living in the U.S. when I got the news, and though years had passed since we last shared coffee, the loss hit like a wave. Her sculptures, those towering testaments to her genius, remain her enduring legacy. But for me, it is the coffee-scented moments that linger. The hushed intimacy of conversations, her bold spirit, and the unanswered question she once posed.

Coffee, Dreams, and the Unspoken

Coffee has a peculiar way of binding us to people, places, and moments. Its aroma lingers in the spaces left behind, much like the people who’ve touched our lives. Luise and coffee are inseparable in my memory. Each cup I brew is steeped in the warmth of her laughter, the depth of her stories, and the softness in her eyes when she spoke of dreams yet realized.

I’ve never set foot in Cuba, but the thought of it carries the weight of her words. What if I had accepted her invitation, danced to the rhythms of Havana with her, and drank deeply of life as she had wanted? Perhaps in another life, I would have seen the world through her eyes, or she through mine.

A Promise Waiting to be Fulfilled

One day, I will go to Cuba; not as her dance partner, but as a man keeping a promise to her spirit. I’ll sip their coffee, letting its richness flood me with memories of her. I’ll stroll through the streets of Havana and wonder at what could have been. And, if I am brave enough, I’ll sway in the moonlight, feeling her presence in every note of the music around me.

Luise taught me that art, is in how we live, how we love, and how we leave the world a little more beautiful, than we found it. She may be gone, but with every sip of coffee, she feels near; a reminder of adventures taken, opportunities missed, and the dreams waiting to come alive.

Here’s to Luise, to Cuba, and to the dance we almost had.