My memories of Palo Santo go back to when I was a kid. My grandmother would clean her house every weekend, but the cleaning didn't end once the floors were squeaky clean; it was only when the smoke of a lit Palo Santo stick had been passed from corner to corner, room to room of the apartment. Although I saw her ritual as eccentric at the time, as I got older I came to admire mi mama's spirituality. It also helped us form a deeper connection, like when she recently came to bless the new apartment I'd be sharing with my boyfriend. From the smoke of the Palo Santo to the Holy Water that she tossed around — and even the baby Jesus statuettes she left in the office and kitchen — every detail felt like an expression of her love.