Gone, baby, gone.
(Thanks for the phrase, Dennis Lehane. I use it often. Not exactly sprinkled in like croutons or bacon bits. More like a lone slice of pickled ginger. Or a kick of wasabi.)
Somewhere lost to the ether are all the pixilated pixels, pretty colors and gorgeous pictures of blackberries, a pat of butter, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Twitter bird, chocolate truffles, manuscript pages flapping into the Monongahela in a scene from Wonder Boys, Julia Child holding a big fish, Poseidon rising from the sea, Romeo climbing Juliet's balcony, John and Abigail Adams, and Rip Van Winkle snoozing beneath a spreading chestnut tree. (Well, I don't actually know that it was a chestnut tree, but let's just say. Less flat. More filling.)
Regrets few. Though I did like all those pretty pictures. And some of the posts. And all of the comments. And do not really wish to spend the time recreating the blog from scratch.
Sometimes it's better when you start from the beginning. If you can only figure out where that is.