"I vividly recall my mother's vehement aversion to vanilla. She could compose sonnets about her disdain; the scent was unwelcome in food, candles, flowers, or fragrances.

Now, after eighteen years of motherhood, life has served me an irony. When my daughter was young, I experimented with baking sugar-free desserts that would satisfy her palate while replacing empty sweetness with nutrient-dense, complex flavors. Despite my inherited aversion, Madagascar vanilla became my unlikely ally.

My father, a trained chef, often reminded me that when food's aroma excites the senses, one becomes more willing to embrace even novel culinary experiences.

Perhaps there exists a theory of "fragrance revenge" across generations: my daughter adores vanilla in every form and note. The connection between taste and scent is profound—as she grew, carried along by the comforting aromas of childhood desserts, she developed an affinity for fragrances featuring the very notes of vanilla that my mother and I had so thoroughly rejected. In this sweet rebellion, I glimpse the beautiful circularity of family traits"

"Our senses are our primary gateway to everydayness—the fundamental way we experience being alive.

New York City, our home, presents not just a skyline but a sensory symphony. Living here means embracing a city that breathes, pulses, and speaks through scent. Each neighborhood carries its olfactory signature: downtown summers whisper with the faint, unmistakable tinge of sewers beneath our feet, while Prospect Park offers respite with its cedar-infused woodsy breath. The Brooklyn Botanic Garden holds perhaps the most intoxicating treasure of all—the jasmine garden, where fragrance becomes an enveloping presence rather than a mere note in the air.

Our daily ritual is walking mindfully through the concrete jungle, deliberately attuning ourselves to the city's sensory symphony. This practice transforms ordinary movement into exploration—a kinda sensory pilgrimage that anchors us in the present moment."