where I think it might be going

Because I really don't know where this one is going...

But it started, really, with the Psalm, and the hope at another of my blogs to create a space for some of my work that had been published at still another blog...

And then the background came up. Suddenly. It was there. One of Isobel's photographs, and I knew it had to be the background for a blog.

I had to create a blog, just for that background. I knew then that 84.3 and the background had to be linked.

Along the way of that, I realized that I have one other voice in me that does not have voice. An everyday voice. So I think perhaps this will be that voice—yes, memoir, but in that lazy fashion of a live lived amidst recipes cut out and strewn through a drawer (or now, saved from on-line sites) that fascinate but are never tried, a cloche knitted (and then another) (and both with one hole in the pattern that wasn't supposed to be there), a pretty dress, a dream...

A love.

Little snippets of everyday.

And then, perhaps, like another blog I ran across and found most delectable (although filled with foods I would never try to cook; enough to look at them, and enjoy)—maybe I will learn to try these new ones I am finding (and maybe some of the old), and photograph (like the other blog did) the results...

All the while adjusting a tweak here, a bit there. And sketch out and rewrite all the possibilities and different directions herein. 

A recipe box...

But more. Small things that give beauty. Movies or books. Random moments. Small and everyday and made up of 'girl things.'

And, to be sure, the devotional and other writings for which 84:3 was originally designed (but never used) at the other blog...

Yes. I think I can do that. My mother used to quote the line from Keats. And I, in turn, quoted it often to my own.

I wonder if they remember it as marvelously as I do—tinged not just with its essential meaning but overlaid always with the woman who said it to me...

And thus a directive to how to live—and to life itself.

Mothers are the guideposts to how to live. Fathers, too, yes. But here in this moment, I rise up and call her blessἐd who pointed me to this moment.

This new path.

And yes, all paths that I have trod.