Kerri Below

My friend Kali’s recent post about the myriad sides of ourselves, some of which we indulge, and some of which we blatantly deny, started a train of thought chugging along in my head that I haven’t been able to stop.

Having also semi-recently read Gaiman’s Neverwhere (Are you tired of me talking about Neil Gaiman yet? TOO BAD, HA!) the idea of cities that aren’t really cities swirling above cities that are really cities, and the study of the general antithesis of things, has become a prominent theme in my imagination.

You see, in Neverwhere there is “London Above,” that is, London as we all know (or wish we knew) it. There is also an (in my opinion) even more amazing and eclectic array of non-city called “London Below,” reachable only by fully abandoning London Above.

The idea that I myself have my very own London Above and London Below (and that you probably do, too) is one that is endlessly fascinating to me.

What would the landscape of Kerri Below look like?

Maybe I would be a world-wide traveler, escaping to far away places on a routine basis to fulfill the wanderlust in me.

Maybe I would be a local hermit in a quiet village, happily writing away my days as I sit with my eyes to an open window facing the ocean, salt-water mixing with my five senses as I tell story after sea-faring story.

Maybe I would play roller derby, skating myself around a track with teammates cheering me ever-forward.

Maybe I would sell everything I own and move to another country to serve a cause, a people, a need.

Maybe I would teach kindergarten or fifth grade in a sleepy community where neighbors still bake pies for block parties, or maybe I would be a professor of Literature in a bustling college town.

Maybe I would live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere and ride horses to my heart’s content.

Maybe I would swim competitively, pushing my body’s boundaries to the limits while I glide through water I’ve always felt at home in.

Maybe I would learn to draw, to paint, to illustrate, and create colorful visuals to rest alongside my words.

Maybe I would immerse myself in French culture in an attempt to prove to myself that I do, in fact, remember how to speak the language.

Maybe I would learn to cut and sew, adorn and dye fabric, and make my own clothes.

Maybe I would be the Marine Biologist the 12-year-old-me always wanted to be.

Or, maybe, just maybe, I would do/be/see all of this, and more.

I’m beginning to see there’s nothing stopping me, but me.

Do A Big Sister A Favor?

Today is babycarrot sister’s 26th! Day of Cake. Being that my sister happens to be (awesome, yes! and) one of my favorite people on the planet, I think instead of being here, you should go here, and read all about what made her day great. (Seeing as how we’re all very visual learners around these parts, I will tell you that there are most definitely pictures. Of cake, even!)

You could even wish her a happy! birthday. You know, if you → Read more...

My Heart Is A Nautical-Themed Pashmina Afghan

We interrupt copious amounts of Asia recapping this broadcast for a maritime digression of sorts.

You see, I’ve been a lover of the ocean, and of all things aquatic and nautical-inspired, ever since I can remember.

My love for sea-faring-everything might very well have been fostered during the myriad spring breaks spent exploring quaint coastal communities in and around Port Ludlow, Washington. Some of my fondest childhood memories spring forth from days spent poking my curious face into every trinket shop in → Read more...

Paint By Numbers

Or, My Asian Adventure, Numerically Speaking.

1: Raw Ginseng root eaten after being offered by a kindly man with wrinkles showcasing his eyes at the Yangyang market. Also the number of photos I was asked to be in with total strangers (at the Forbidden City in Beijing).

6: Times I was asked to take pictures for total strangers.

2: Cups of mineral water I drank directly from a spring in the ground (in Osaek).

3: Flights (out of 5) wherein I had two (or → Read more...

Eggers-How We Are Hungry

I knew the Red Pyramid had just been reopened, or was about to be reopened, though I didn’t know why they called it Red. I wanted to ride on a horse through the desert. I wanted to see if this man–slight, with brown teeth, wide-set eyes, a cop mustache–would try to kill me. There were plenty of Egyptians who would love to kill me, I was sure, and I was ready to engage in any way with someone who wanted → Read more...