This was my friend Rachel’s response to my 9 minute and 18 second voice memo I sent to her in response to her 6 minute and 57 second voice memo last weekend, telling me she had started a book that she wanted me to read. Kissing Girls on Shabbat.

“Bookclub?,” she asked.

I was in middle of Yesteryear, and it hadn’t grabbed me yet, so I looked up this new title on Libby, and to my delight, it was instantly available to borrow. Which almost never happens. So I borrowed it immediately.

I finished listening to the book on Sunday evening, and I’ve been trying to put thoughts to words since then.

When I first heard Rachel vocalize the title, I was instantly annoyed that someone had published a memoir with this name. Because this should have been my memoir’s title. In fact, I have a manuscript of a memoir that I wrote thirteen years ago which would have fit that title perfectly. Granted, I’m so happy I never published that memoir, or at least that I haven’t yet. Because turns out, living more than a decade more gives even more weight and context to words and stories of my world in ways that may one day make even more sense than they do today.

This book unearthed some serious trauma and grief in me. I realized two (out of three?) days into listening to this book that I was feeling really down. I was in a trauma response from listening to someone else’s story that could have mirrored my own so explicitly- had I not made a few small, sliding-doors-esque, different choices in my life.

I realized that part of my grief is that anyone without the lived experience of my upbringing would read this book and lump this story into a genre of memoirs from any number of others who have managed to escape a patriarchal cult-like society. To me, it’s so much bigger than that. So much context and dimension gets lost on those who consume these life stories from the perspective of an outsider. And that’s just the way it is, but it did make me deeply sad.

But here, I want to talk about a little eerie situation that happened as I got closer to the end of the book. When a book grabs me in this way, it grabs me so completely that I focus on it any moment I can- even in exchange for my usual comforts like coming home and eating dinner and unwinding with my partner.

A few nights ago, one week after launching my perfume house, MALKA SIMA, I was listening to the book while I cooked dinner. And when the food was in the oven, I decided to go to my perfume room to revisit some older “mods” (vials of compositions in process) that I had been working on before I got fully consumed by the intense process of bringing my first 11 scents “to print,” shall we say.

So I’m sitting in my perfume room at the drafting table that I had set up initially as my writing desk, which quickly turned into my perfume lab desk. There’s a handwritten note from more than a year before we eventually scrambled to rename the house MALKA SIMA, that reads “I am MALKA SIMA. I am my heart. I am my true heart. I am grace. I am true grace.” There’s also a scale that measures to the .000 gram. Hundreds of raw materials neatly labeled and alphabetically organized on little cubby shelves. And a little antique brass container with a bunch of little amber vials. I plucked one vial labeled “Leather & Lace” from the shelf. This was a scent based on the polarity between the roughness (in texture and scent) of leather, and the luminosity of lace. It’s super animalic in some ways, smells like leather and suede, but also very ethereal, with notes of Chantilly, white florals, and slippery ozone. I dipped a scent strip into the vial while I listened to the author of my book read it to me.

I opened my eyes and suddenly wondered, “who is this person?” “Who is this author named Sara Glass, but who refers to herself by the name Malka, which she too had been called for a huge portion of her life, throughout her memoir?” I picked my phone up in my hand and googled her name. Her instagram profile came up. I put my phone down, picked the scent strip of Leather & Lace up in my other hand, sniffed. Put it down again. Picked my phone back up, and looked at the grid of photographs. I see one that is a black & white photograph of the author in a pose to position her arm with a tattoo, as a focal point. I clicked on the photo. The tattoo…I kid you not… is text reading “give to me your leather, take from me my lace.”

The exact lyrics of the song that inspired this perfume I’m currently sniffing that I had named and worked on many moons ago.

Full body chills.

I turned the audiobook off and sat in silence for a few moments, feeling the bizarre energy that happens when you feel like you’ve been sucked into a vortex that is somewhat existential, but also somewhat miraculous.

I turned the audiobook back on again, and the chapter shifted to the next one.

She’s talking about tattoos now. The vortex came back even stronger.

We do love “coincidence” in this house.

And by this house, I also mean this perfume house. MALKA SIMA.

So I guess Leather & Lace will in fact, at some point, become part of the line.

And I guess where there’s dissociated trauma and aching grief, there are also—

Dizzying.

Insistent.

Signs.

To keep going.

That we’re on the right path.

Someday I’ll tell you my own story about Kissing Girls on Shabbat.

Maybe they’ll stir unearthed memories in you, too.

I was watching videos of my childhood this week, and noticed this was a common question asked of me, a nearly two year old from whomever was holding the camera. Over and over again, the camera was put on me and I was asked my name.

In one clip, it’s my second birthday party at my grandparents house in Florida. They’re preparing an ice cream cake with 3 candles on it. Happy Birthday Malka Sima is written on top, sprawled in frosting. My grandparents are there, backlit by the January sun we’d escaped to from snowy New York. My mom lights the candles. My older sister has the lens fixed on me while they sing happy birthday and I successfully blow out all three candles. My sister says she’s been practicing with me. Then the question comes, what’s your name?

In another clip I’m on the couch and my sister is reading a book about birds with me. She points at each illustration of each bird and says “what’s this?” And I dutifully name each bird (correctly, I may add!). I noted that it was easier for me to identify and articulate all the different birds, than it was for me to answer each time they asked me my name.

I’ve been thinking a lot about names and associations lately. With Lilac season last year, I made a Lilac perfume for fun and let people smell it when they picked up their annual Lilac Flower Essence. This was a turning point for me, because it became immediately clear that the demand for this perfume was something I couldn’t ignore. I had not intended to sell Lilac perfume, but the response to it made me realize I may have a gift for making scents that speak to people. When this path revealed itself, I had a strong feeling that I wanted to unearth my given name and give it to the perfumery. I chose to call the perfume house, SIMA which is my middle name. I wrote all about names and significance here.

We were planning to launch the first couple of scents and the official website for the perfume house, last month. Months of hard work with my friends for logo design, box design, bottle design, scent artwork, and all the other things that go into building a brand were finally coming to a launch point. And then I received an email from the examining attorney who was reviewing the trademark application that I submitted for the perfume code, *last October* She cited a “likelihood of confusion” that was preventing the trademark from being approved. The culprit? A dollar-store-esque scented candle company based in London. I won’t go into how absolutely silly this is, especially since- from hours of sleuthing- it appears this business may not even be selling candles in the UK- let alone in the USA. It’s possibly a front for something. But after much research, my options were to essentially file a lawsuit (many thousands of dollars and lots of time I don’t have) or to come up with another name. I contacted my manufacturer and begged them to halt production of boxes and bottles. They agreed. I spent several days mapping out options for how to pivot the name to something that still held the appropriate meaning, but was different enough to succeed with a trademark. I came up with three options, and put it to a poll on my personal instagram. One of these options was, not particularly enthusiastically on my part, MALKA SIMA.

This is the name I was given, and the name I was called until I was 8 years old. When I was 8, I was visiting my friends (twins) one afternoon, and when I got to their house their French aunt answered the door and exclaimed in a lovely thick French accent, “hello Maxima!!!” Apparently when she had heard the twins talking about me, “Malka Sima” warped to “Maxima” in her ears. From then on, I became known as Max. I loved this identity shift. You can see it in my childhood movies, Malka Sima was always a mouthful. I didn’t like how long it was, and I was jealous that my sister had an English name when I did not. So Max was perfect, and my mom even joked about how she didn’t realize she was naming me for her grandfather, because I had a great-grandfather named Max.

So here I am in the last year of my 30’s, vulnerably putting this name of origin out to the poll. I also hired an attorney to do a risk analysis on all 3 name options. Interestingly enough, MALKA SIMA won the poll. But even more interestingly, MALKA SIMA was the only option that came back with a green light from the attorney. I spent a few days imagining what it would be like to go on tiktok and hear perfume enthusiasts speaking about perfume and using my name. What it would be like to see the name I learned to write and read with, sprawled on boxes and every single perfume bottle. It’s simultaneously like a twilight zone, and also, potentially a full-circle healing opportunity. It’s like the universe and all my grandmothers were saying “use your full name, say it with your full chest!”

When people come into my shop, the most ubiquitous thing that’s said as soon as they enter is “wow it smells incredible here.” They always want to know what it is they’re smelling. And I have to laugh and explain that due to the nature of my work, there are countless things they are smelling- likely a combination of all of it. I say that if they’re able to describe the scent, I could try and pick out what it is they’re noticing and show them perfumes that would articulate the main aspect they are enjoying. The thing is, they can never describe it. What I’m realizing is, we don’t have the words to aptly identify what it is we’re smelling. And ironically, I think that’s part of the allure of perfume. Scent associations are so powerful, so subjective. They elude specific labels, while simultaneously bringing us vividly to a memory, place, person that’s entirely our own.

Lilac is perhaps the most archetypal scent in this way. In the nearly a decade I’ve made my annual flower essence of Lilac, it’s become crystal clear how much this flower casts a web of memory that is vast and potent. The archetype of childhood memories, mother, grandmother, the garden in spring time. This scent transports people instantly to be in the company of their younger selves, to a dream-like memory of their beloved matriarchs. I have had people who have no idea what flower essences are, purchase the Lilac essence simply because they needed to have anything with Lilac- any chance to tap into the smell-taste of this flower to time travel their own past. Lilac was the original teacher to me about the power of scent to unearth stories, to sweep the cobwebs from the corners of sweet memories, and be with them again, simply from smelling something. Maybe that’s the whole point. You don’t have to know how to describe the scent of Lilacs in order to go where they take you. You don’t even have to identify them if someone points at some blooming on a page. Their essence when you cross their path, is apparent either way.

And now, finally, I have a perfume that can support this possibility beyond the ephemeral window of time when the Lilacs bloom outside. I’ve been told this perfume smells just like sticking your nose in a Lilac bush. Time and time again, people who are obsessed with Lilacs, have worked in Lilac gardens, have been searching for a true Lilac scent to have in a bottle…that is it.

I’m proud of this. And that from working so hard on this scent (I have about 40 mods of this perfume in progress still tucked away in my closet!), it’s what made me know that perfumery was calling my name. My true name, apparently.

On my second birthday, my sister asks me three times to say my name. She says in a somewhat whiny impatient voice after the third time, “come on, answer.” I am carefully putting the spoon with some cake in my mouth and I stare at the camera with a faraway look. I eventually mutter something that sounds like my name, and they all say “yes! good girl!” They start talking about me and the lens pulls to a wider frame. I continue eating my cake and suddenly a smile appears on my face like I finally got it, and I sing sweetly to myself, “happy birthday, Malka Sima.”

I was born at the end of January, in the dead of winter. But MALKA SIMA the perfume house will be launched in this world during Lilac season.

The flower of time travel,

the season of archetypal scent memory,

the notion of alchemizing identity into something fresh and new.

Lilac is here to harmonize the past, and bring pleasure to this very moment.

P.S. MALKA SIMA will launch officially in early May! Please follow MALKA SIMA on Instagram, and if you’re interested you can also sign up for the waitlist to be notified as we launch!

P.S.S. Each scent in MALKA SIMA has a corresponding poem, and we decided to give you a sneak peek at Lilac’s today.

This was written immediately after it happened, in early September of 2024. It feels appropriate to publish the story now that the show it references is #1 on Netflix. Congratulations, Haley.

Two things that set this scene:

1) I’m not the most courageous flier on a good day

2) The heatwave that triggered this series of events has already worked some significant turbulence (pun intended) on the last several days for the west coast.

I was flying out of Burbank back home and had a bag to check. It was due to this baggage check and the heat-sick self service kiosks that landed me in the check in line right as my Alaska app informed me my flight to Portland was being diverted through Ontario.

The check-in person let me know that this was because the runway at Burbank is very short and that due to the heat they couldn’t fill up the plane with fuel because of weight and potential combustion.

This was partially logical, but mostly just a horrifying sign that I probably shouldn’t get on this flight.

I spent a good ten minutes quizzing this poor agent about aerodynamics and heat. To her credit, she told me as much as she knew and sounded fairly confident that this plan was acceptable but acknowledged that “things happen.”

Two people appeared in line behind me during this conversation and I try to be considerate even while I’m in crisis, so I stepped aside while I figured out if I was going to risk my life by going with Alaska’s plan or walk home.

Both people in line now behind me heard at least part of this exchange while their phones notified them of this diversion and neither one of them were just fine with it.

The first person in line was a kinda annoying dude and the second person in line had a mellow but friendly smirk on her face when I looked at her and she said “what’s up?” I said, “I don’t know if we should get on this plane. Does this make sense to you? Two take-offs and two landings in a what they’re already describing as iffy conditions for fuel and heat? I feel like something bad is going to happen.” I was fully teared up by now to this stranger with a tooth necklace and a ring that said “blood.” She told me she’s generally an anxious flier but that she felt pretty good about this, mostly because she can fully visualize the next few days in Portland and it’s a lot and she’s definitely getting there. I told her I was going to talk to the flight attendants as we get on the plane to check their confidence and she said “Yes do that! Celebrities do that all the time. Sarah Paulson does that every time she flies.” The dude in front of us kinda part of this convo and I flat out said to her, “are you with him?” She shook her head no and I said “ok good.” (🙃) And she said, “take a beat make your decision check your bag, find me when you get through security.”

This story is getting long so I’ll spare you the part of it where I exit the airport to drink a pint of water and interrupt another person on the phone because I thought I heard her say that they took off and promptly landed. That’s not what happened and she too gave me a pep talk about flying in the heat. I should mention here that the entire airport had no AC and felt like a sauna, and it was jam packed full of people because almost all the flights (including mine) were delayed.

But I went back inside, checked my bag, wandered through the sauna of the small airport. There was the longest line of people I’ve ever seen trailing out of that measly bar, and I bet they were all waiting for something more than “a drink.” But anyway, as I got near the gate I see a team of paramedics ushering a woman who had just puked and passed out to the breastfeeding station. It was - for lack of a better term - a scene from a horror movie.

I’m gonna call my new friend Billy. Actually, we’ll call her Haley. Because she has given me permission to use her real name. She is was sat beside the breastfeeding station and waved me over. The loudspeaker told a large group of people sitting near us that their flight was delayed overnight again because of flight issues and that they’d each receive $150 voucher to find lodging and food until the next day. Any time I looked at Haley she had her mellow smirk on her face and said “we’re fine. This is normal. It’s totally normal.” I asked her if we were sitting next to each-other she said that would be pure fate. But she was sat two rows ahead of me in premium class. I hadn’t seen any reason to book premium class on a less than two hour flight on which I was hoping not to need a “complimentary alcoholic beverage” until now. So that was my bad.

This was the first flight I ever took that they boarded us mega early even though we were delayed- just to get us into the air conditioned little flying tube. The flight attendant listened to my concerns and said they’d been doing this all day and they had no worries about the flight plan. They also were so kind and gave me a massive box of water and snacks. When I got to Haley’s row she told me she did not care at all about premium class and that we should ask the person next to me to swap and I did and she came and sat in the window seat.

We started talking. About how she’s going home to Portland for her brother’s wedding this weekend. That she has lived in LA for a bunch of years and is in “the industry.” She had a lot of work to do on the flight and hadn’t yet written her speech and her brother said she’s going last because her speech will be the best. She grew up in NW Portland and I told her my shop is in NW Portland and she asked what kind of store and when I told her she said “how very Portland of you.” I told her she didn’t need to have the speech fully written out but that she just needed the general framework and thread. We sorta finished another’s sentence about that and she nodded and told me she’s a screenwriter and she has a show coming out on Netflix and that she was amused by this entire evening because this scene of meeting me was in her show. So much so that she had already texted her producers and writers about it because it was so wild. A meet cute. Involving a flight. But literally it’s a horror show. She’s a horror writer. I said “are we the meet cute?” She said “yes.” I told her I don’t watch scary things and she said that in two years her show will come out and I have to watch it. She’s my boss now, so yes I said I will watch it.

It took quite a while for us to get going. We talked about all sorts of things. Lots about writing and her life and how she got into horror. About being queer and relationships and little dogs and the veils between the realms. When it was finally time for takeoff she asked me what my flight rituals are and we both put our AirPods in. There were some bumps as we went up and she held my hand. She already had her laptop and diary out, editing the draft our the meet cute episode. I took a photo of her hand with a shadow against the wall with amber light from a beautiful sunset. This flight was less than 20 minutes and they did not warn us when we started descending which we agreed was rude but she kept saying “this is normal, this is totally normal.”

When we landed in Ontario as our gas station most people went to pee. She told me her only hobby besides writing is gay line dancing and I noticed a cowboy boot tattoo above her ankle. When we took off again it was dark and we saw wildfires raging across the landscape. Minutes later, Haley tapped me on the arm to point out the moon. Everything was eerie and beautiful and I finally realized we were going to be ok.

Haley put on a Stranger Things sweatshirt and I put on my grey normie one. And when the drink cart finally came down the aisle I asked her what she wanted. She said she’s a whiskey gal. Jack and Diet Coke. I had Buffalo Trace with ginger. The flight attendant apologetically told us all the ice had melted due to the weather so we toasted our warm drinks to this horror flight meet-cute being diverted.

When we landed in Portland I was excited for her to see the new terminal. She agreed it was beautiful but said she doesn’t like change and it feels weird to have her hometown airport feel so altered. By now we know we’re both control freaks and this makes sense.

At baggage claim she needed to pee and I said I’d get our bags.

When we got outside she looked at me and said “we’re alive!” She gave me a hug and when Adam pulled up he gave her a hug, too, thanking her for being my person on this adventure.

I think I made a new friend.

Haley’s show “Something Very Bad is Going to Happen” is currently #1 on Netflix, and I’m so proud of her. She told me I must watch at least until episode 5 and we’ve secured friends to babysit us to watch this very not-our-genre show in attempt to heed her demand.

When it comes to these annual offerings of flower essences in their season, I’m reaching authentically toward reality as it is right now, and summoning the flowers in their guidance for the current moment.

This year, for Violet, the message is clear. The times are uncertain. So much is in flux, so much is unnerving, and Violet is here to support the leaps before the nets appear.

Specifically, leaning into affirmation of the complex, the acknowledgement of imposter syndrome, the whiplash of everything feeling like it’s on its head.

All the while, in spite of- and perhaps even because of- that, leaning into faith.

Faith is the task of every creative. And every human being is creative. When we go to make a move, create something, bring forth a dream to make it reality, faith is the bridge between the vision and the expression. If we didn’t have that, we wouldn’t be able to take any step forward at all.

The last few years, Violet season has brought some unexpected health/medical issues into the mix. Three years ago, I was healing from bilateral hernia repair surgery. I didn’t think I would be able to get out to the Violets, but then I was able to make it happen! Two years ago, I had a foot injury that made picking Violets feel difficult. I remember thinking there was no way I was going to be able to release Violet. But then I did! Last year, the week I was planning to make Violet essence, I landed in the ER due to an ovarian cyst rupture. Then, too, I was unsure if I’d be able to get the potion made. And then, I did.

This year, my challenge looked different. Thankfully, my physical health is alright. But there are myriad intertwined complex issues going on with lease negotiations, the uncertainty of the future of my brick & mortar and how that will impact the next chapter of my business life, as well as preparation (and surprise curveballs!) for launching the new perfume house, Sima. So this year, the mental and emotional strain on my system is intense. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in more of a liminal space requiring faith, ever in my life. They say that when it rains, it pours. But in between rain storms, the Violets showed up.

About a month ago, a few weeks before I picked this year’s Violets, I was listening to a book called Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I’ve been “reading” more books lately, by listening to more audiobooks. They’ve become my companions as I navigate tedious spreadsheets and plans and this admittedly compounded stressful time of my life. In one chapter, the two main characters are driving their niece home from school and she says that someone in the schoolyard called her a pansy. The response from one of the adults struck me like a beautiful neon sign. She said “you should tell him that pansies are actually some of the toughest, resilient flowers out there. They seem low to the ground and fragile, but they can survive even through snow and frost, and still bloom!” I’m paraphrasing here, but the significance here was extra poignant because the main characters were closeted queer people in the 1980s. “Pansy” was used as a derogatory term- a slur- to describe gay people. And it’s true, what she said. Pansies are in the same family as Violets, and for several years during the last decade of working with them, I’ve noticed that it will snow shortly before or after I pick them. They survive. They are the vibrant startles of purple amidst the cold white. They are the insistent signal of creative expression when everything else feels stagnant or frozen. Yes, this is a metaphor for the context of the characters in the book, and for the beloved people in my life these days.

One of the very first perfumes that will be released under Sima, is Violet. When I realized I was starting a perfume house, I knew I wanted to integrate my many years long relationship with botanicals like Violet, Lilac, Rose with the art of perfumery. So half of the upcoming line is photo-realistic botanical perfumes. They’re fine fragrances- eau de parfums- but they’re true to the experience of being amongst the flowers.

I’m sure I’ve written about my Violet Crone before. The woman at the home where I pick each and every Violet for the essence each year. For the last several years, I’ve received a text from her saying “they’re ready!” And then I go over to her house and I listen to her talk all about her life and her ills while I gingerly pick these low-to-the-ground blooms. As I fill my basket, she tells me about her life. Her career, her thoughts about this changing world, the woes of people in her past. She’s a great-grandmother now, and she goes inside to get her phone to show me photos of the baby. She tells me about her dad who built this house. This house that she’s lived in her entire life. Her dad, the one who planted the first round of violets. Did he know they’d take over huge swaths of the back, side, and front yards? And that they’d eventually creep to take over the whole strip between the sidewalk and street? My Violet Crone lost her sense of smell years ago after taking some sort of medication. She can’t smell the violets at all. I tell her I’m working on something that I hope will change that for her. Part of my mission in capturing the scent of violets, is to have her be able to grasp it, too.

When I went over there this year, it was a sunny day and in her words, the “bumper crop is wild!” I notice that some of her thoughts and things she’s telling me are going around in circles. She’s 80 years old now, and it’s interesting to see how the brain clings to certain things. Like grooves in a track that become more difficult to move beyond. She’s wearing a purple sweater- the same one she wears every year on the day I say I’m coming over. I think it’s because the first year we met, I took photos of her and showed her how beautiful she is to me. She told me as I was taking her picture, that she thinks she’s ugly and when I showed her the photos she saw herself more how I see her. Anyway, she wears that sweater each year on Violet Day, now. I take out a little canvas bag containing a glass bottle of Violet perfume. I open the bottle and hold it to her nose. Her bright blue eyes light up. “Yes! I can smell it!” she says. My mission was accomplished.

I’ve been working on Violet as a perfume for over a year now. Last year, when I released the Violet flower essence, I added a prior iteration of this scent in sample size, to the orders that contained the essence. This year the perfume is complete and I’m so excited to share samples- complete in their branded vials- to whomever orders the essence. This is a special preview for the Sima line. It is appropriate that Violet comes first. Just like faith. Just like what holds us between the leap and the net. The promise that we are here as creative beings worthy of expression. And the affirmation of being perceived with loving integrity, when we dare to.

Amen,

Amen,

Amen.

But in theory I was very excited to go back to GJWW. This was my 7th year going, and also the 7th year it occurred. GJWW is Brandi Carlile’s oceanside festival in warm Cancun- generally a welcome vacation from cold winter weather and the post-holiday blues. It’s also the queerest gathering of thousands of people I’ve ever been to. I’m not typically a festival person. Even sold out music gigs in nice venues give me anxiety. But something about this crowd feels expansive and easy and joyful. The first year I was with friends, but each year since I’ve gone with Lucius- to assist my dear friends Jess, Holly, and their band. I’ve named my position “stage mom.”

In times like these, digging for justification for joy becomes an obstacle course of its own. Yes, yes we all know that joy is a form of resistance and gathering with people especially when we feel like isolating is important. But the week leading up to this trip I felt weird and shameful. How do we go and dance our hearts out and enjoy the landscape south of the border when this country is at war with all of us?

I missed Brandi’s welcome toast on the first night but apparently she addressed this very conundrum. She doubled-down on the fact these gatherings being what fuels our ability to show up. I think I know this in my mind, but it wasn’t embodied- yet. When we watched her sing before kick-off for the Super Bowl this past Sunday, I know this energy was behind her voice, too. Music from a place of love and hope- to defy the monsters. Bad Bunny’s performance took it to another level! Whew.

Something I was aware of, was that this year, Andrea Gibson’s widow Megan Falley was going to be at GJWW to do a screening and Q+A for Come See Me in the Good Light. This is a film inviting us into Megan and Andrea’s home and life during Andrea’s treatment for cancer. Glennon Doyle, Abby Wambach, and Brandi Carlile were all part of the production of this film, so it was not surprising they had her come this year. Andrea’s poetry has been a tender illuminating part of my world for many years, and their film began streaming on Apple TV on my partner and I’s 11th anniversary this year. We watched it, weeping and somehow feeling uplifted- despite it being a film that centers around such a heartbreaking diagnosis. It’s telling that more people describe this film to be a love story, rather than a film about dying. And it’s now nominated for an Oscar! If you haven’t seen it yet, this is your sign to do so!

On the second night, The Chicks were playing. I knew I wanted to see their set. I have a very early-root attachment to this band, and so I was in the artist’s tent side stage right before they went on trying to get a drink before dashing out to see the show from the audience. We could already hear applause and I had quickly ordered a drink and sort of bouncing impatiently while it was being made, when I turned and saw a bright sparkly blond person standing behind me. She was frantically saying “ahhh they’re starting and I need to get a drink!” I said, “what do you want?! I’ll add it to my order so we can get this done quick!” She said “whatever you’re having!” So I quickly said “make that two, please!” to the bartender and we got our drinks and ran out right as The Chicks started their first song. I stood with the sparkly person (Hannah) and her partner (who was actually Autumn Nicholas- an incredible queer singer who I had gotten to know from a livestream of GLAAD’s Love Rising LGBTQ benefit concert in Nashville, TN), and we scream-laugh-sang along with the first song which was Wide Open Spaces.

The Chicks played some songs that I didn’t know, and Hannah and I laughed amongst ourselves that we thought we were such die-hard The Chicks fans but turns out maybe we don’t know all their music. But then they played Cowboy Take Me Away and I know my voice was sore the next day from that.

When I was in middle school, we didn’t have gym in my all girls Orthodox Jewish school. But we had “night gym” once a week at a local public school where they let us use their gym for ridiculous sorta kinda “sports.” One night a newer friend’s dad came to get us for carpool in an old hippie van- they had moved from Colorado. And he had the country music station on and Cowboy Take Me Away came on and that’s how I found out about the radio! As in, that is how I found out that the radio existed and I could listen to it and hear music that wasn’t just classical music. That moment definitely changed my life. I have a cassette somewhere with as many recordings as would fit on both sides- just of this song. I remember sitting by my radio and screaming for my whole family to come into my room and hear it when it came on.

Seeing it live 25+ years later was incredibly profound. Talk about a full circle poignant life loop. And of course that country music station led me to the pop music radio station which slowly began to give me context and awareness about other popular music of the 90’s- which is what this year’s “decade” was. It’s also not lost on me that one of my first experiences supporting someone with the death of a loved one, was when this sweet father of my friend passed away a few years later. We were in our first year of high school and death was something new to us all. I think that was the year this same friend had me come over for a sleepover to watch Practical Magic for the first time. Another proven to be life-long love for my then-sheltered little life.

The last night of the GJWW festival is decades night. On this night, everybody dresses up for the decade and all the artists from the weekend play a song or two from that decade. For the first few years it was 80’s night and a couple of years ago it switched to the 90’s. My favorite earlier memories of this night were when Lucius covered Heart’s Alone, and I’ve Had the Time of my Life from Dirty Dancing. This year, instead of doing a Lucius set for their main set, they covered Cindi Lauper’s She’s So Unusual album start to finish. It was SO GOOD. I spent the hour or so before they took the stage meticulously painting their white sunglasses with red nail polish to get the desired effect. Jess and Holly never ever cut corners when it comes to this stuff. We always laugh about how even though we are literally children of the 80’s and 90’s it takes research to figure out the costume. Jess and Holly have always knocked it out of the park with larger than life wigs and their detailed outfits. I’ve pomped my short-short hair, rocked my mullet, and this year got to middle-part my long (for the first time in over a decade) curls with butterfly clips. I wore a baby tee tucked into high-waisted jeans and 90’s purse and overlined my lips and called myself a Delia’s Catalog model wannabee. Things I didn’t fully get to wear in my actual experience of the 90’s due to my religious upbringing and the dress code we all upheld.

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2025 started with a massive gift. Early in February right after my birthday I received a text message that would alter my course and give me something new and beautiful to put my energy into. Perfume! When I sat for the mornings leading up to NYE 2026, I sat with poignant gratitude that just one year prior I couldn’t have dreamed this up and it came in with life-giving force! Most of 2025 revolved around my discovery of scent in this new way. I believe that the 11+ years of working so closely with essential oils and plants and flowers set me up for success in this discovery. My nose is already attuned to perceiving nuance in scent, and my affinity for blending scent is a path I’ve already been tending to. I was born with a sensitive nose, and no doubt adding hundreds of new materials to my palette is still a big work… but the seeds had been planted long before.

In March I landed in the ER from intense abdominal pain and after two hours of moaning on the floor, they finally took me in and we discovered I had an ovarian cyst that had burst. The way the ER doctors nonchalantly mentioned that they should have guessed it because this happens so often, lit a fire of rage in my belly for the fact that so much of medical research revolves around bodies that belong to men.

Lilac season of 2025 fully gave me permission to pursue my perfumery more seriously. I’ll say it was even more than permission- it is as if a demand. An insistence. Which I happily (if not with all the imposter syndrome angst that is typical of all of us) say “yes” to. The biggest lesson of Lilac season for me was that, after years of sitting and writing with Violet, Lilac, & Rose in each of their seasons…this relationship is giving back to me ten-fold because of how the connection manifests in my scent formulas. Instead of extracting a notion of a scent, the energy of these flowers are flowing through me in the truest expression of my experience with them. I believe this is why my photorealistic scents are resonating so beautifully with so many people. And with how deeply I flung myself into the work of perfumery for so many months, it’s not lost on me that the response to Lilac even in its initial bare-boned form, is what financially saved my year. I now have 11 scent formulas ready to go for SIMA and I cannot wait to share the rest of the line with you all!

In May, the building that has been home to my apothecary shop for 7.5 years, sold. Aspects of the sale leave my future here uncertain, and since May I’ve been in a constant mental/emotional negotiation with the universe. Hoping I get to stay and grow here. Trying to see the signs and jump through hoops. I’m at the mercy of the new landlord, and I’ve had to dig for both patience and faith as I wait for the pieces to fall into place. This in it of itself has been exhausting. It’s true that sometimes we don’t understand the depth of our love for something until it hangs in the balance. I am eager to get this settled and move on with exciting ideas I have for sprucing the space up!

But in June and July I poured hundreds of candles and bottles of perfume for The Swell Season Tour. I got the first whiffs of affirming feedback about my frist fine fragrance creations, from an audience that wasn’t my own.

In September I got Covid for the first time ever, and it knocked me down. Again, a reminder that having my health is a blessing. If I am sick, my shop suffers. And thank goodness even though it took me weeks to feel like myself, it didn’t take my smelling capabilities along with it.

I’ve had a lot of quiet time. 2025 was a year of staunch commitment to my quiet mornings in my room. A room that began the year as my writing room, then became my writing room AND perfume lab. Every single morning of the year I’ve come in here with my glass of water, lit a candle, written my morning pages, labored over difficult text messages, written newsletters, blended hundreds of mods of fragrance concepts.

This is where I sit now, writing to you. With hundreds of neatly labeled aroma molecules in their little cubbies on my desk and affixed to the wall. A candle for Jupiter and a candle in Plum are lit, casting warm gentle light in this womb of a room. One year ago, this room was a dream I was still creating. Now I’m here aware that it has morphed into something so much more than I had fathomed then.

It’s only 8 days into 2026 and I’ve already “read” several books. I put “read” in quotes because I actually listen to most of the books I read. First I read The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah, and yesterday I completed Lilac Girls by Martha Hall Kelly. Since I was young, I’ve had an affinity for historical fiction. But I generally tend to read nonfiction and the last few months I’ve shifted to allow myself to read novels. It’s great company while I work! I’ve been thinking about how both of these novels based on true stories in previous eras of hardship can bestow some gifts of awareness unto us. The Four Winds takes place during the Dust Bowl years of the 1930’s. I was struck by how horribly people treated those fleeing starvation and climate chaos. This, in “America,” where citizens with one sort of luck in California turned their noses up at citizens with another sort of luck, migrating from places like Oklahoma, Texas, and Kansas. The police violence (and murder!) towards people exercising their rights to protest. The hospitals who refused to help the sick because they were unhoused from climate migration. In Lilac Girls, the people “just doing their jobs” in Nazi Germany or Occupied Poland, or anywhere else. How fascism isn’t something new and how just two days ago ICE shot and killed a citizen in Minnesota, and yesterday federal troops shot two here in Portland.

It’s an important sickening truth to realize that these themes of fascism, police violence, the wealthy taking advantage of the poor in need of work, systems of oppression in general… aren’t new. They are deeply embedded in our stories for centuries and we need to be brave and do what we can to finally change the script. That starts with seeing the truth for what it is.

In both of these books there were other themes mirrored for us here and now, that often made me cry as I listened. The strength of two mothers in impossible situations doing whatever they could to protect their children. The Californians secretly meeting to rise up against the landowners for better wages in the cotton fields. The Polish teenagers joining the underground to help people survive. The bravery of these people who were so far out of their comfort zones and risked their lives— not to allow the wretched status quo keep them from fighting for a better future.

I also read books with new awareness about how ubiquitously scent is used to illustrate written stories. They bring dankness to times of hardship- the bunkers, the ditch, the dying fields. They also bring sparkle to times of vitality- the smell of ocean air, the perfume gifted to survivors, and of course…the Lilac groves of Connecticut whose saplings eventually bloomed in Lublin.

When people come into my shop, the most ubiquitous first remark is “wow it smells so good in here.” But the other most ubiquitous comment is “it feels so good in here.” These two are connected now in a new way for me. There are many thousands of hours of effort that go into making Roots & Crowns a space and care products that foster something good in hard times. I’m so grateful to be doing this. An offering for anyone who walks in the door or orders online, you all get a piece of this effort. The work of my hands and my heart, to support you wherever and however you are. May 2026 allow me to continue this work.

Between first words where parents are cheering on “dada” or “mama” or “dog.” And final words when people are holding hands and clinging to every last syllable. Messages of connection. Learning. Assigning meaning. Codes within etymology and what falls short in translation. This worldly experience is created and destroyed by words.

I’ve been introducing visitors to the perfumes that I’m going to be releasing this Spring. When I realized that the project that led to the creation of my first fine fragrance was turning into something more than a temporary hyper-fixation, and that it was becoming its own house…the name was important. I chose to call the perfume house SIMA. This is my middle Hebrew name, a very old name that is also a name in Persian, Indian, & probably other languages, too. But in Hebrew it means “precious treasure.” It’s indicative of embedded treasure of the earth. It felt fitting to reclaim this part of my identity, while unearthing a long held love (albeit, sensitivity) for scents that connect us to memory. Names are important, names are words, names are codes embedded with significance.

All my perfumes have stories. And what I’ve noticed from offering my “show and smell” experience to visitors, is that these stories are very powerful. Not just for giving context for experiencing the scents themselves, but for the individuals receiving the stories. It’s like my stories relate to their stories and there’s a web of meaning alchemizing between us, via aroma molecules. The first time someone got emotional during one of these sessions, I was a little taken aback- it was interesting to me that something that felt special to me in order to understand the fragrance- could land in such a particular way for the person hearing and smelling what I was showing them. But this became a more regular pattern and it made me realize that the stories woven through SIMA are just as critical as the scents themselves.

In Hebrew, the word for “Tree” and the word for “Advice” share a root. Literally, they’re one letter apart. As someone who loves trees, hikes in the forest, and tends to be partial to woodsy olfactory notes, this makes sense to me. Trees are the silent wise advisors, witnessing and guiding our lives. I write about this often on Tu Bishvat, the Jewish holiday of the trees. But when I was musing about this in scent formulation terms, I knew I wanted to make a beautiful scent that had this linguistic message at the center.

As I worked on the scent formula, I suddenly had a vision of my long-departed Grandfather sitting in the corner of my living room. He looked calm with his cute thin blue metal framed glasses with a gentle smile on his face, and he was smoking a pipe. Now, I don’t know my grandfather to have smoked a pipe. But that’s how he appeared. Grandpa Solomon was a quiet, wise, successful man. And whenever he spoke, everyone wanted to hear what he had to say. I remember the last time I saw him during a family gathering, something made me ask him what his advice for us all would be. He was quiet for a little while and didn’t immediately answer. The conversation went on, and it wasn’t until we were getting ready to leave that he called me over and said just a few words. The crux of it was “love each-other and take care of each-other.” I wrote the exact words down but everyone in the room paid attention and I’ll always be grateful I thought to ask him that question at that time. When I had this vision of him, I realized I wanted to use this scent to be an ode to our ancestors of blood and ancestors of wood. The advice that we can glean when we get quiet and pay attention. I added in tobacco, oud, and- despite not liking when perfumes smell too much like vanilla- a touch of lactonic vanilla. I named this scent A Lineage of Advice. It’s stunning. It’s fresh and captivating, the dry down turns glowy warm and resonant. I’ve already sold out of the samples I made for the “show and smells” in person. But it wasn’t until I was telling this story and showing this scent for the first time that I realized something even more wonderful. My grandfather’s favorite food was ice cream- often vanilla. This scent was absolutely guided to completion by him.

When I was in the sauna the other day I closed my eyes at one point. From the intense blazing heat on my skin, and the sound of the trees rustling in the wind, I mused that if I was describing this feeling I could have easily made it seem like I was in the hot sun, by the ocean. This is where words can be tricksters! And this is where scent can be the discerning sense. Hot cedar wood and the faint smell of cold air or decaying leaves. But I thought about how in this world of dualities we work our whole life to define and describe and connect and express. With words. Love letters. OpEds. Scientific papers. Fantasy novels. This essay! We learn colors, codes of conduct, time tables. That nouns can become verbs. And verbs can become nouns. And yet, when the final words are written or uttered, what’s left? What’s done is never done. Beyond this world of words and codes, I kept thinking about how so much of this experience is about love- sharing it and feeling it.

I finished my sauna session, came inside and went about my morning.

When Adam came home he told me he was talking to someone about running errands. He said, “and then I thought, where does the word errands come from?” I laughed and looked it up. Errands comes from the old English word arende. Which means “message” or “mission.” This used to mean that someone was out delivering a message, on a mission. In modern usage it was expanded to include any short trip to complete a task.

I told Adam about how the timing of his wondering was funny, since I spent my time in the sauna thinking all about words and meaning, how they can both forge and fall short of this task.

But I guess that’s it, isn’t it?

It’s all true, isn’t it? Your words and mine and all the ones ever expressed, begging to be received. Sometimes they fall short. Sometimes they grow into something bigger than their fumbling parts.

We’re all running errands.

But first…

I have a confession. 

I can’t really say I like perfume. I’ve never been one to wear perfume regularly, I don’t collect it, I don’t seek it out. And I think this causes some imposter syndrome in me. As someone who makes perfume, and has to some extent for over a decade- it’s strange to analyze my complex relationship with scent and reconcile some of it. So here’s my go at that!

I LOVE scent. But I don’t like most perfumes. If I’m in an airport, I avoid the duty-free perfume sections at all costs. It makes me physically ill. I remember when I was young and my friends and I would pour over older sister’s magazines, those perfume inserts gave me headaches.  I’ve had to switch seats on a number of flights because of how doused in fragrance other passengers are. In my opinion, there should be a scent measuring booth that you have to enter before being allowed to be in a tight public area. There have even been times in my own perfume room over the last few months that I’ve had to completely air it out- windows open in the dead of winter- because of how some of the aroma molecules were mixing with others- causing that sick feeling in my stomach. 

Growing up, I lived a very fragrance-free life because my mother was “allergic” to fragrance. I put that in quotes, because with what I know now, I realize that fragrance load, specific molecules, and the quality of a fragrance can all have an impact on people’s levels of tolerance for fragrances in general. But even if a guest brought fresh flowers as a host gift, we generally had to keep them in a different room than my mother was in because of her sensitivity. 

Over the course of my nearly four decades of life, there are specific scents that I can now look back and see make up a constellation of my journey/love/fascination with scent. They are few and far between. But they are most certainly there. Some are scent memories that I can still conjure up, others are actual perfumes that I was able to trace. When these crossed my path, I would buy the perfume after getting too many samples from Sephora or the niche perfume boutique they came from. I rarely wore them. I’d simply enjoy sniffing them. 

When I started my apothecary 11 years ago, my affinity for scent became more liberated because I started formulating blends with pure essential oils. This felt good and true to my lane- something natural- therapeutic, even. They had purpose along with olfactory pleasure. But honestly, along the way, I often wished I could dive deeper into scent as artistry. I wanted more complex, longer lasting fragrances. I wanted a bigger palette to play with. But I was consumed by the rest of my work, and the sort of unspoken commitment to keeping everything super pure. In my mind, and for all I knew at the time…essential oils were it.

However, when I was approached for a project in February, a whole new world came open to me. I wanted to do this project justice, I wanted the scent I formulated for The Swell Season to be something more. As I dove head first into a hyper fixation that has taken over my whole life, I hungrily learned a lot very quickly. Some of what I learned revolutionized my previously held beliefs about what perfume even is. What I knew up until then, was that there were natural perfumes (essential oil or absolute-based) and synthetic perfumes (everything else). What I learned was that the world of scent is vast and nuanced. There are natural raw materials that can be irritants or even toxic. There are synthetic materials that can be perfectly safe and tolerated, even by the most sensitive noses. Each essential oil is made up of hundreds, if not thousands of aroma molecules. With the invention of modern perfumery starting in the 1800’s, we were able to analyze and isolate each of these molecules. And slowly, we were able to replicate them. When I used to think of synthetic fragrances and my aversion to them, it was because I’d often describe that as smelling “chemically,” but now I know that each aroma molecule is actually a chemical. Whether linalool is isolated and derived from a rose, or replicated exactly in a lab, they are both chemicals. 

I learned more about why fragrance oils- the components often used in scented candles- always felt “off” to me. I also learned why my essential oil candles needed so much essential oil to have any scent, and why the throw wasn’t as powerful as most scented candles you find at markets. The reason is, essential oils are the most volatile form of aroma materials. They are potent, but they fade quickly. This is also why most natural perfume needs to be reapplied often. And many struggle to come through under heat. Fragrance oils, on the other hand, are composed of any variety of aroma materials- largely synthetic, likely with fillers- and have much stronger scent throw. They are formulated by perfumers who are specifically formulating them for their ability to perform well in hot wax. But you may notice that a candle that says it’s a lilac candle, doesn’t actually smell like lilac. When I went into this deep study, I ordered a bunch of fragrance oils. Some smelled nice, many smelled awful, but none of them smelled true to their description. I wanted to make a “fragrance oil” that smelled real, and that is how I stumbled behind the curtain of how perfume is made. 

Fast forward to now, I’ve accumulated 100’s of aroma molecules. Sitting in my room with dilutions and blotters and formulas in process has become a bit of a life line. The amount of curiosity and inspiration and stubborn play this has brought to my days is an incredible gift. The Swell Season scent, Thread the Light- which is my first official perfume to be released- sold out on the first leg of tour and I’ve received such beautiful feedback about it. For an artist date recently, I went into a few shops to smell perfume. It was amazing to notice how much I’ve learned by how much I was able to identify what I was smelling. But still— there are very few that captivate me in a way that would make me want to have it in a bottle, let alone to wear it on my skin. 

My imposter syndrome hits because in the fragrance Tiktok world of it all, there are creators who have huge collections of perfumes, and speak about them in such depth and analysis. I don’t have a perfume collection at all! They’re well-studied in a way I am not, in a way I don’t really even want to be. I’ve always been more interested in creating from a place of my own heart and dreams, instead of letting other ideas influence mine. But when I think about other areas of creativity like writing, I ask myself, “is it possible to be a good writer if you don’t love reading books?” Then I try to tell myself that this is an imperfect analogy because while learning the materials and ways they combine and synthesize is critical for learning the art of perfumery, consuming a whole bunch of it really isn’t a prerequisite to being able to make something beautiful.

This is what I’m telling myself as I begin the process of building my new niche perfume house. This house is built with a strong affinity for natural materials. For scents that make you want to lean in closer and hug a little longer, instead of shouting into a room and smothering you with its presence. This house is built from my story, my unique life experience, my relationships to plants and people, my scent memory and how they gently meet your own. I can’t wait to share more about all this with you!

I got a text message in early February from my friend Marketa telling me that she and my friend Glen (known musically together as The Swell Season) were going back on tour this summer and she wanted to know if I would be willing to create a scent and/or a candle for their merch. These particular friends are ones I am connected to on a soul-level, they’ve been in my life for over 16 years and I love them deeply. So to be asked to formulate a scent that captures them was a task I instantly knew I not only wanted to do- but I needed to do. 

Roots & Crowns is about to turn ELEVEN. I’ve been doing this for a long time and I love what I do, but there are ebbs and flows. Times that are lacking in inspiration, or straight up that feel volatile. Any small business owner or artist will understand this. So when something exciting or unexpected crosses my doorstep, it can feel a bit like a life line. 

Glen and Marketa know my work, they know what I do and they weren’t asking for anything different. But something about the request made me realize that I wanted to make something extra special. I thought about how I have a complicated relationship with scent- since I began my business, I’ve kept to making fragrances solely made from essential oils up until now because my impression was “aromatherapy is healing.” “I want everything to be natural.” I was turned off by the ubiquitous fragrance oils used in scented candles and other “synthetic” materials. But I’ve also always been curious how perfumery actually works. Because there are rare but significant perfumes that I’ve noticed and had in my life over the years even if I haven’t worn them, simply because I actually found them beautiful despite myself and my (partially misconceived) notions about what “synthetic” meant. 

I can speak more to this top of natural v. synthetic in fragrance, perhaps in a Substack, but the bottom line is, this request for a scent catapulted me into an intense, all-consuming study of perfumery. For nearly two months I disappeared into this study, and I learned so much. Anyone with propensities toward hyper-fixations can understand what this means! I turned my writing room into a perfume lab burgeoning with more and more dilutions of a growing collection of raw materials. My previously-held understanding of fragrance was somewhat humbled, I worked hard and blended and studied, and by the end of March I met Marketa and Glen in NYC to show them 9 different options for the perfume. They finally chose one, and alongside a (different but complimentary) scented candle– and I’ve spent the last several months working on the design, the packaging, getting all the pieces together. This was a massive feat. And now the first batch of the candles and fragrance are in their hands, beginning the US leg of the tour tonight! 

A little bit about the inspiration and intuition behind the scent. I’ve known Glen & Marketa for many years. If you’ve seen the movie Once, you’ll recognize them. If you haven’t watched that film, I highly recommend it! The Swell Season is the band they created after winning an Oscar for their film, and they’ve played together as time/their lives allowed ever since. When I thought of Glen as a scent, I thought of patchouli, warm wood, mossy forests, animalic musks and gorgeous familiar mystery. When I thought of Marketa, I thought of rose, frankincense and myrrh, and a potent dose of the ethereal. My task was to bring these together in sensual (scentual) harmony. While I was working on the scent, I listened to a lot of their music. One song on their self-titled album (The Swell Season) is called In the Arms of this Low, and it has a repetitive singing of the lyrics “thread the light.” I thought Thread the Light would be a really nice name for the fragrance. Because of this song, (all music, really), a call of action for our times, and also because it speaks to this beautiful bond between us. So when they chose “GM7,” it became Thread the Light. What’s interesting, is that whenever I’d smell this scent, I noticed that it smelled like a golden orb to me, I can’t explain it- it just did. And I thought that was funny given how many earthy notes there was in it. When I was making the first big batch of the perfume to begin production for the first order, I was delighted to see it turn to a golden orb in the beaker! I guess this is a bit of synesthesia. 

The Swell Season just released their newest album (their first in 16 years!) today! Forward is heart medicine. They also begin their US tour tonight in Virginia and are traveling all across the country. I cannot recommend going to see them perform live enough. They have something extremely unique and special that will make you feel something deep and beautiful. While you’re there you can visit the merch stand and smell/purchase what I’ve made for them yourself! 

And if you want to order it directly from me, they’re allowing me to do that. 

So please welcome The Swell Season collaboration to the shop! Go see them on tour! Thank me later!

Metaphors for life are best borrowed from the flowers.

When our God-kids were just a few years old, we were having dinner at their house. And as we sat around the table, their parents asked them what the thorn of their day was, and what the rose of their day …

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A day to remind us that this is our one home planet.

And yes, today and every day, it’s a good idea to steep ourselves in gratitude for the sheer awe and beauty and LIFE that this planet bestows unto us. Today and every day, we have the opportunity to LOVE (in action) our place here, in a way that shows we understand that we’re not sepa…

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We never had nice cars when I was growing up. I remember being embarrassed in the carpool pickup line as friends' parents drove up with shiny new Camry sedans and Toyota minivans. My parents drove other people’s leftovers- old Oldsmobiles, Chevrolets, Buicks, and our fanciest …

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Lyrics to a song on one of the few cassette tapes that frequented our car rides when I was young. Most of the music we were allowed to listen to was Jewish. Or classical music. There was one Jewish series of cassettes, which consisted of all sorts of covers of mainstr…

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I can’t believe it, because it feels like the entirety of this year has been swallowed up by such intense life stuff …

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“I don’t know.”

This is a recurring dialogue I have with your wife and your mother.

I held one of them as she stuck her head in the freezer to stop the tears so you wouldn’t see her cry. …

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