I’m currently in Houston, visiting Mama Jolie in the hospital.  Longtime readers know that my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma earlier in the year, and while she initially seemed to be fighting it, things have not been looking positive these past few days.  I saw her tonight for the first time in a few months, and it was shocking: she’s dwindled to 80 pounds, can neither walk or talk, and seemed to use all her energy mustering a fleeting smile as my brother and I entered the room.  I don’t know what awaits, but I don’t look forward to it.

It’s hard to blog at a time like this, and yet, enjoying mini-luxuries like makeup and fragrance are part of what keeps life…well…beautiful.  A few days ago, at Studio at Fred Segal in Santa Monica (my new favorite beauty emporium!), I sniffed Juara Tiare Jasmine Perfume oil and fell in love.  I seek pleasure in perfume the way some oenophiles discover Nirvana in a bottle of Pinot, and let me tell you–this Indonesian-inspired scent is what dreams are made of.

Everybody deals with loss in their own way: some shut down, others work like fiends.  Me–I suppose I blog about it for the world to read, carelessly wrapped up in a throwaway post about perfume. 

One of the big lessons I’m taking with me is not a cliche but a truth.  It’s the small stuff that matters. I won’t miss the vague notion of a mother, but the thousands of details that added up to Nancy: her bright laugh, her unflappable belief in her children, the fact that I could put the phone down and walk into the bathroom and she’d still be yammering away three minutes later upon my return.  Like every human, she was not perfect, but she was mine.  I’m already staring down the long road that remains with the realization that I will regret the missed phone calls, the days, months and years spent apart, the time focused on the minor negatives instead of the shining positives.

Jolie’s beauty advice for the day (okay, other than buying the Juara Tiare Jasmine perfume oil) is to call somebody who means something to you, and tell them that you love them.  It will make two people’s worlds happier, and the bundle of all those wonderful memories is, in the end, what makes a life worth living.