a Scented Muse











{Tuesday, 15 January, 13}   Essential Living

book cover Aromatherapy Recipes for Health & Home

Andrea Butje

Call me shallow ~ but I do judge a book by its cover.  Sprigs of lavender on the cover invite your fingers to caress it’s glossy surface.  The virgin binding creaks, as if in protest, to protect the contents within…but with gentle persuasion gives way.  Whether you are just beginning to dabble or are a serious “sniffer” of Essential Oils, the author, Andrea Butje draws the reader into the world of Aromatherapy.

As the pages turn, Andrea charms the reader with photos from her visits of various distillers around the world, while in search of the highest quality Essential Oils.  Every recipe is keyed as a beginner, an intermediate or an advanced level with straightforward instructions ~ so pull on your kitchen tool belt, learn blending techniques and whip up various body butters, a nasal congestion relief inhaler or headache relief oil.  The possibilities are endless!

Essential Oils are not the unsophisticated liquid that one simply pours from a bottle.  Much like we humans, oils have a humble beginning; first as a seed; then as a sprout with a little soul; finally a complex personality.  Andrea encourages you to “experiment with the aromas.  Discover which scents become your BFF and which scents are meant to simply serve your purpose at hand.  One learns to coax each Essential Oil’s personality to its full potential through careful manipulation, layering notes and final composition ~ one drop at a time ~ an “olfactory orchestra”.

Whether a novice or an “old hand” with blending, Essential Living – Aromatherapy Recipes for Health and Home, is simple, elegant and an enticing invitation to discover, craft and enjoy a healthier lifestyle.



{Thursday, 12 July, 12}   The man…

…stared longingly at the Harley parked vertical to the sidewalk.  Nothing stood out about him.  He, as most business men, was undistinguishable from any other you would see standing around in any big city.  The look upon his face said it all.  An unfulfilled dream lurked somewhere within the depth of his spirit ~ as one often does within each of us.

 I wondered what he longed for.  Was it to conquer the desert dirt bike race or to simply don his suit for a pair of chaps, ride the wild highway as the flap of his bandana wrestled with the wind?  Could it be that it was only a reminder from a time when he was free; unburdened from the corporate noose society calls fashion~ the “neck tie” ~ impeding his every breath?  Whatever it was, his face mirrored the constrictions of his current life.

 The moment passed.  Afraid to ponder where he had lost his passion for life, he allowed the numbness to settle in ~ squishing the thought as quickly as he had done so often to his fellow board room opponents.  Gathering himself, he brushed his sleeve, straightened his tie and turned to walk back through the office building doors.  Without so much as a glance back at the bike, I saw his hand quiver, ever so slightly, as he reached for the door handle.  Was the tremble from his forgotten self making a weak attempt to shake him back to life?  It makes one wonder.  Do you?



{Friday, 11 May, 12}   Girls’ allowed only!

It has been a long-standing tradition to set one week aside each year to simply BE!  The sign on our suitcase reads, “NO MEN ALLOWED!”  In the past, we have explored islands and temples, lounged leisurely on house boats, and experienced many other adventures. However, this year she is not feeling her best, so we set out for a simple road trip out East.

While driving, I look in wonder at the woman beside me…my Mom.  Everything in the car vibrates to the Enigma song blaring through the car speakers—and she is lost somewhere within, eyes closed.  For the moment, she throws her hands side-to-side, face upturned in pure joy, swaying to a beat only she hears.  I glimpse the free spirit that is so often caged within—of her as a young woman with her whole life waiting to be discovered.

It is the small things I notice about Mom on our trips together.  Not only do I see the woman who taught me to maneuver my way through life, but a woman that put her own wants and desires aside to pursue what society expected of her—like many women of her generation.

We talk about her past dreams.  Did she have any regrets?  Her answer remains consistent. “I would not have the 4 wonderful children I have if I had made other choices. No, I am very content with my life.” 

We laugh, we cry, we argue (like most Italian families) and we talk about our bucket lists.  “What happens when her bucket no longer has a list inside of it?” I silently wonder to myself.  Quietly, I say a prayer that she will continue to add items so we can grow to be old women together, helping each other out of the car seat and adding another sticker to our suitcase:  NO OLD MEN ALLOWED!

I would not be who I am today had you not taught me to laugh and not take myself so seriously.  Thank you for swaying to your own music and teaching me to do the same.

Happy Mother’s Day!



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Narrated by Louise Morris, WWII welder/Transcribed by Christine Milano

Being the rebel that I was, I was not going to be a nurse.  I was an artist and I stood firm on my ground that was my destination.  Oh, poor mom, she was so frustrated with me!  As idealistic as I was, the day Pearl Harbor was bombed it forever changed me and the America I loved.  Fear seemed to ooze from the very canvasses that once were my haven.  I put down my brushes and picked up a welding rod and goggles and entered welding school my senior year in high school answering the call that went out to all women to support our troops and the war in whatever way we could contribute. 

Upon graduation, I began welding on Navy contracts.  Within three months, I became part of the research group researching aluminum welding procedures on depth-charge canisters.  I learned quickly and was assigned to train the teams, mostly males, of proper welding techniques.  More Navy contracts followed and my team begin welding triggering devices, 155 millimeter gun parts, hatch covers— well, you get the idea.  Unheard of for a woman, I was promoted to Working Foreman, teaching Navy Certified Welding to employees in the evenings on acetylene, electric arc and heliarc®.

Little did I know at the time, but this was the beginning of many twists.  While building jet target planes, there he was—standing there as if a spotlight was upon him—the retired, renowned Arctic Explorer, Admiral Byrd, working as an advisor to the Navy.  He was touring the plant.  To use a young person’s term…OMG!  He was walking toward me.  I looked around; could he really be walking toward me?  He stopped in front of me, stuck out his hand and introduced himself.  He talked to me at length about welding, asking many questions.  Shortly thereafter, I received an invitation to attend an event for the Washington representatives.  I had to decline.

So here I stand years later, reminiscing, as a guest, in attendance at the September 2011 United States Submarine Veterans National Convention in Springfield, Missouri.  I was surrounded by a sea of heroes wearing vests covered with the names, numbers, ribbons, braids, pins, patches and emblems that signify courage and bravery.  My part during World War II seemed so insignificant in the big picture.  When the war began, I was in high school, later welding depth charges, the very bombs used against the enemy submarines lurking within the depths of the sea.  At the time, we knew the enemy and the challenges we faced; each person experiencing a private hell. However, it’s a different world now, more sinister, with different challenges and dangers to be met.  Veterans of all ages and wars are here.

I was now rubbing shoulders with those ever-elusive Superheroes of the Sea—Angels of the Deep. They searched, watched, listened, and assisted in missions of the most dangerous nature; missions unknown to the public and now sealed within government records—and all conducted under less than desirable conditions for our nation’s peace, safety, and freedom.  The unsung, unspoken stories cannot be shared with us mere civilians; they are only shared amongst themselves.  These are the men, after studying and training, who qualified for service on nuclear and conventional powered submarines during the cold war years.  This was a service that would deter the faint-hearted—all contained within a hull each would call their home, miles under the surface of the ocean.  At the forefront of survival was the constant vigilance of the radar, surveying the sea around them for other steel life…bleep…bleep…bleep…a fellow submarine, a surface ship, and those days, when, Godforbid, it was a depth charge coming straight toward them.  Dive!  Dive!  The sirens screamed across the loudspeakers.  Would this be the time when they would become another sinking statistic, to be forever buried deep in the sea—a sealed casket—some never to be recovered?  Valor, bravery, and courage are not words; they are in the faces of these Submarine Veterans.

I know I will never know the story of each Veteran.  I do want to thank each one, in my own humble way, expressing how grateful I am for their sacrifice for our freedom.  May each of you always be carried to safety and back to your families.  Thank you!



{Tuesday, 28 June, 11}   Off Beat!

Moments cherished by myself ~ ah, so precious!  I rarely write these days.  A revelation yesterday – but how do I even begin?  Was life carefully planned?  The answer is no.  Perhaps, that was my mistake.  Without a specific game plan, I’ve floated, as a feather, wherever the winds of life blew me.  A very different path from those that had their whole life mapped out; a specific career, when to marry, have children, etc.  In my younger years to live life so planned out, seemed, well, shall I say predictable, boring ~ I wanted excitement, unpredictability!  If I were to croak at 60 – I am over ½ dead – with only another good 15 years to cause trouble.  How quickly has time passed?

My mind drifts to George in “It’s a wonderful life”.  If I had the capacity to “flash” back to events in my life ~ me being non-existent – what would be different for the other “actors” ~ if anything?  I wonder what ripples I have made upon the energies of the world?

I disagree with those that have often referred to me as brave.  I think I was running; afraid to stand still, afraid to love and be loved.  It is a time of reflection, new body aches, and slowing down to savor life as it swirls around me ~ as a simple bystander, as a participant and at times, just being ~ simply allowing God’s touch to permeate my essence; the very fiber of my soul.  It is in those moments, that the veil between the physical and spiritual world are lifted.  Miracles happen and answers are clear.  My step is lighter and Joy resounds within my heart.  Perhaps had I created a life full of agenda, I would not be able to empathize with the unseen side of my life, other humans, and maybe not even be drawn to the work that I do with essential oils.  If only for a moment, we humans, feel the subtleties of the earth’s energy through the plants, our fellow humans, and God would an inner quiet ensue?  Perhaps it was never the Universe’s intent for me to beat my drum in chorus with all the other drums.  Heck, I could never keep a beat anyway!

The wind has often whipped me around like the loose feather that I am.  I survived, not by chance, but because of sheer willpower not to be defeated.  Here I stand ~ ready to love and allow myself to be loved, to step out and shout loudly “I have arrived”.  I am ready to allow life to flow through me without resistance.  I AM that feather floating upon the wind to heaven’s heights, crashing down to the earth, to once again be picked up to freely float to new experiences and new loves all the while to discover another dimension of me.

To quote Forest Gump “I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it’s both.”  Whatever it is ~ I like the person that I have been molded into through my experiences, both the good and the bad ~ ever changing, always grateful.



et cetera