O wise bird guru, show us frustrated plebians the way

Beatrix just pushed one button and erased my entire blog post. I feel downcast, especially since I'd paused twice to stand up and help the children with various tasks. Good deeds are not always rewarded. There you have it. Solomon was right all along.

Once, in the dark ages of computers before "Autosave," I was typing an enormous research paper for a college class when the electricity blinked. In one terrible instant my entire paper vanished. All those polished, carefully chosen words--gone. I shook with anger, tears streamed down my face, and I cried the entire time I rewrote the paper. Determined, not broken, but deeply grieved.

Now why would Blogger set things up so that one mislaid finger from a three-year-old whom you've just convinced NOT to sit in your lap so you can read a Richard Scarry book yet again would ruin everything? That's what happens when you're all full of your own rhetoric instead of vacuuming the house before your mother comes to visit.

Well, here's the summary of my last blog post, just the bare bones with no embellishment:
It was hot and humid
It rained
I slept
Martin's in Louisville with thousands of penniless English professionals grading GREs and sampling bourbon
I wish I could sample bourbon
I forget the names of things (such as the Bird Tree and the black and yellow birds)

I think that's it.

O, wow. A beautifully patterned, solitary robin stands calmly on the low porch roof, his black beak in the air. Occasionally he turns his head as if to assess the change in the air after the storm. No feathers ruffle; he is strangely unaffected by the screams of the girls and the rumbling of Bea's ride-on bus as she rattles through the dining room. He looks wise beyond worms or nests, a bird guru. Maybe I'll ask him a question. He will show me the way.