Today, I read words backwards for no reason at all: SERUTAN ECLARIM Niats & Rodo Revomer. Today, I pried a dingleberry from my dog’s backside, the reason being a desire to avoid needing Niats revomer— words that are beautiful when read aloud and pried from meaning. Is this the key to loving life’s absurdities?
It's another long'un. As luck/serendipity would have it, the same day Lisa made this post, I cleaned out a basket of "artifacts" dating back to when I first moved into my house in 2018. I'm calling it "Stratigraphic Excavation of the Basket by the Door."
I love this Rebekah! You have such a creative, brilliant and beautiful mind! Your title is one of the best ever! I like how each paragraph takes us into glimpses of your life over a span of time, but even more delightful snapshots of you! I so appreciate the keen, kind and kinetic eye and spirit you bring to the world. It is our joy moving along a bit of the journey with you!
We have a Golden doodle as well, Boomer the apricot dipsy doodle. It could be teid detaler. Try him on a small bag of Orijen god doof and see what happens to eht seirrebelgnid. thanks, that was fun.
Lol! It makes me think of a comic I've seen where aliens land on the earth and look around and determine that dogs and cats are clearly in charge here, since the humans are following them around, cleaning up their feces.
Well, I tried an annagram with my name, Laurence Rogers Wood, and a completely foolish poem emerged.
Electrosurgery overencourages
Clearinghouse of resurrection
Unresearched, overreliance
Nuclear power, scare mongers
Arborescent auctioneers,
Carmagnoles casseroling
Cryosurgeon congregates
Encroachers and encouragers
Barbecuers and beachgoers,
Evergreens, ferrocenes,
Escargots escarping
Eurocreeps exchanges,
Generous generals
Sourcing suncream
Scrooges unsecure,
Garlics unclogs
Secular scourges...
A Poem that never ends.
Casseroling is my new favorite verb! This is such fun!
I tried the backward poem, but it did not work and this nagging thought of why Lost and Unidentified keys come to be.
^
Small shapes hanging on small hooks,
wooden board shaped like a house,
holding the keys to everywhere
and nowhere.
^
After all these years, these mystery keys
waiting for that particular door,
the special car or truck,
bike lock, canoe cable,
luggage security,
houses long left behind,
offices no longer a part of this life.
^
The jangle of metal on keychain,
importance measured in sheer numbers,
wisdom and age reflected in how many keys
dangle unidentified like single gloves,
solitary socks or that dish
without a spoon.
^
Until that day arrives
the decree is unfurled,
and these lost and lonely keys must go,
to that quiet care facility,
waiting for the revolutionary recycler,
to resurrect them into new life.
I love this! It’s so fun to think about the stories our key collections tell.
My wife is leaning strong towards "PEE PAW", but we will see what the new guy has to say.
Haha Pee Paw! I'm with her. ;)
YAM 22
Si eht LAVIRRA ETAD
fo ym
YREV
TS1
dnarg nos.
🙂🙂🙂!!!!EEPOOOOOWH!!!!🙂🙂🙂
Snoitalutargnoc, Kcuhc!!!!!
WOW WOW WOW! Or, said backwards, !WOW WOW WOW
Big congrats to you, Chuck!
Good news indeed! My granddad name is Nali. What’s yours, Chuck?
It's another long'un. As luck/serendipity would have it, the same day Lisa made this post, I cleaned out a basket of "artifacts" dating back to when I first moved into my house in 2018. I'm calling it "Stratigraphic Excavation of the Basket by the Door."
.
The first thing to note is the surface:
that zone where the days are still
peeling off page by page. Here lies
spaghetti of dog collars, car keys, headlamps,
and leashes, twirled every few hours on
the same busy fork.
.
Next we have recent history: last month's
oil change, last year’s rabies certificate,
homeowner pamphlets from after you
settled in enough to think about landscaping.
Excavate and record: 2023-2024.
.
Older car jobs: the clutch. Older dog jobs:
the one you lost. Paint swatches for the
kitchen, before you asked them to just
color-match a brown paper bag.
2020-2022: the fuck-it phase.
.
Intrusions here and there: pet waste bags
and their halo of static, spent batteries,
paper clips, stray receipts, Christmas cards,
and a messy nest of rubber bands, one for
every 12 eggs consumed since 2018.
.
Your trowel will know the first layer
when it gets there; it is almost bare dirt.
Invoices suggesting you would survive
the winter – a woodstove, windows. A letter
from the principal: your son, the new kid,
had a fight. Cards from your mother and
grandmother asking how they would ever
find you in the hinterlands. Paperwork
from the sale. And a key chain scrawled
with your address. It, and its charge,
had been left without fanfare under a brick
by the door the day you took possession
of this life,
.
the one that spins around you in full color
every day, still a delight upon waking,
its contexts long since spilled from
the basket and telling the story
in real time.
What a fabulous title! I love the tone of this poem and am especially taken with the first stanza. “Here lies
spaghetti of dog collars, car keys, headlamps,
and leashes, twirled every few hours on
the same busy fork” - so good!
I love this Rebekah! You have such a creative, brilliant and beautiful mind! Your title is one of the best ever! I like how each paragraph takes us into glimpses of your life over a span of time, but even more delightful snapshots of you! I so appreciate the keen, kind and kinetic eye and spirit you bring to the world. It is our joy moving along a bit of the journey with you!
We have a Golden doodle as well, Boomer the apricot dipsy doodle. It could be teid detaler. Try him on a small bag of Orijen god doof and see what happens to eht seirrebelgnid. thanks, that was fun.
Hahaha! This had me laughing out loud. Thank you, Weston!
You’ve outdone yourself, Lisa! Or should I say flesrouy enodtuo evouy!
Knaht uoy, dneirf!
Thank you for the smiles you create in my heart and body every day! I believe you have uncovered a new substack group: the backward speakers!
So awesome.
Thank you so much, Margaret Ann! 💚
I love this so much. I, too, have had to remove dingleberries. 🤣
I can’t decide if I’m happy not to be alone in this or just disturbed that so many of us do this and still choose to have dogs! 😂
Haha! Cats can get dingleberries too. Don't even ask me how I know.
Lol! It makes me think of a comic I've seen where aliens land on the earth and look around and determine that dogs and cats are clearly in charge here, since the humans are following them around, cleaning up their feces.
One of the universal truths--pets rule everywhere!
I think dingleberries means something different to you than to me.
Well, I’m definitely not referring to cranberries, haha! Or incompetent humans.
Cleaning away dingleberries is highly metaphoric, IMO.
Two days past my birthday and still in highly introspective state.
Thank you for your response.
Happy belated birthday, Jim! May it be a year rich with metaphors and introspection!
Haha, yes, hangovers and backwards reading don’t mix well!