Home-made Essential Oil Body Butter


I use essential oils for many things and even cook with them especially cumin, lemon, rosemary, fennel, etc.  I tried so many lotions and none really worked for the dry climate in which I live.  This year remains exceptionally dry–no measurable moisture in over 100 days.  This causes dry skin itching and discomfort.  Therefore, creating my own body butter seemed a good solution.

1/3 cup oil–I use olive oil

5.5 oz. jar of organic shea butter

20 drops frankincense essential oil

20 drops myrrh

20 drops geranium

10 drops jasmine

These ingredients can be adjusted to suit your preferences or whatever essential oils you might have on hand.  I always use frankincense and myrrh.  The last time I made this I did not use geranium and jasmine; I used neroli and sandalwood.  Find out what works for you.  If the jar of shea butter is larger, you can adjust the rest of the ingredients to larger amounts as well.

Warm shea butter in a microwave but do not melt.  Place in a bowl.  Add oil and essential oils and whip until smooth and thoroughly mixed.  I use an electric mixer just as I would for creaming butter and sugar for a cake.  Sometimes in colder weather the shea butter can become somewhat crystallized.  The crystals will melt in the warmth of your hands.

Your skin will love you.

 

 

Sunday Poem–Gifts


IMG_2903

For many Christmas means gifts.

What are gifts?

Material things–the new toy, new technology,

perfume, clothes.

People spend hours and money

many lack to give gifts.

Yet the most wonderful gifts remain:

joy

love

beauty

birdsong

touch

wonder

peace

 

 

Sunday Poem–Rain


It’s raining! It’s raining!

It has not rained in more than a month.

I run out the door,

spreading my arms skyward.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

A smile smears joyfully across my face.

I run across the patio,

rain drops pelleting my face, my arms.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

My dog stands, rivulets of rain running off her.

Lightning explodes, thunder booms bass,

the steel roof plays staccato music.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

IMG_1578

From my book “On the Rim of Wonder”.  This poem holds true today.  After a summer with lots of rain, it quit.  It is very dry with a high danger of wildfires now that the summer vegetation has dried, perfect fuel.

 

Poetry Reading


23622546_10212763863162805_8472929759460388736_n

A busy time of year, this holiday season.  Here is what I will be doing this week on Thursday.  Now I have to decide which poems to read, the Puma Poems, Hot Pink Toenails, Star–the sad one about the death of my grandson’s horse, poems about aging, death, what?

Sunday Poem–“Hair”


No females in my family had long hair.

Dad did not like it,

said it showed male domination

over women.

Once when grown and gone

from home, I began to grow mine

out, experiment.

When he saw it, he told me

he thought it unbecoming.

I cut it.

Mom said she had long hair

when she was young.

Her dad forbade her to cut it.

In her twenties she chopped her golden locks

off, flapper style, then hid her head

in a scarf, afraid.

 

Note:  This poem is from the family section of my book, “On the Rim of Wonder”.

 

 

 

 

Walking Among the Flowers


After feeding the horses, completing chores, a late afternoon walk to look for the last of the wild flowers took my fancy.  Here in the canyon country of the Panhandle of Texas, the majority of wildflowers are three colors:  yellow, white, purple.

IMG_2856

Butterflies feeding in the gay feather.

IMG_2857

At first I thought this might be bitterweed but now, not sure.

IMG_2858

Although this one and the last one may resemble each other, they are different.

IMG_2859

Looked up, the sun decided to shine–at my place four inches of rain in the last week and more than seven inches ahead of normal.

IMG_2860

Black foot daisies and prairie zinnias bloom from early spring almost until frost.

IMG_2861

IMG_2862

Athena among the flowers.

IMG_2863

Prickly pear can grow almost anywhere.

IMG_2864

I almost missed this one hidden among the grass.

September 30–Morning


Silence sits

like a wet, grey rag

no bird song

no insects or frogs singing

junipers unmoving

yesterdays footprints

impressions in adobe mud

Silence sits

like a wet, grey rag

 

IMG_1591