A palindrome for Loren

So yesterday afternoon, my Bible professor colleague broached the subject of palindromes. I thought for a minute or two and came up with one that included my name: "Le Doyle, el yodel." Not exactly deathless verse, but it serves. That left him empty-handed, so we talked for a moment about how we might work his name into a palindrome, but nothing presented itself, and he had to run on to class.

Now, every day I have a half-hour walk to and from work, which is a nice, unhurried span of woolgathering in my day. All sorts of doodads and geegaws cross my mind. This one raveled together on this morning's trip. Imagine that, to everyone's surprise, an active volcano roared up out of the ground right behind the Pomajevich Faculty Building. I mean, it's been that kind of year, right? In keeping with our luck? And since we're all academics, the first order of business wouldn't be to call 911 or run for our lives. No, we would have to label it. The volcano would need a name. Since this volcano would obviously have as its agenda burning up Christians, we'd name it Nero.

I'm sure you see this coming.

Our reckless, wildly irrational students, bringing to bear the same good sense that drives them to take nutria on a merry chase -- because, after all, you can shake off rabies with nothing more than a good night's sleep and a dose of Airborne®, right? -- would frolick in the magma. Naturally, they'd borrow Tracy's shovel to scoop up a big helping of it, put it in a heat-resistant bucket, and bring it to BTH class. And when Loren asked, "Youngsters, what in the world is that?" they'd answer ...

"Nero lava, Loren!"

QED.