Keri Stevens's Blog, page 3

Magic People: Mermaids

It’s tough to be a fish out of water, even one as lovely as Leelu. She is part of mermaid pod who travels the world visiting aquariums and sharing information about human impact on our ecology.

Although they are educational mermaids, I find them absolutely delightful. These women (and a handful of men) took their childhood fantasies and have made careers out of them. They train in swimming, snorkeling and scuba in their off-season—and do it all while wearing gorgeous, glorious costume tails, which are handmade and custom-fitted just for them. 

Just as I cannot shake the belief that on December 24, in the middle of the night, lights at the North Pole glow from Santa’s workshop, I cannot shake the belief that these merfolk are the real deal. I’ve seen the documentary on their costume production. I’ve seen the photos on Instagram of them standing on two feet. 

And yet, I don’t care. Lelu needs an assistant to get from her throne to her pod in the ocean, because she is a mermaid. 

Maybe someday I’ll become one, too.

(For amazing photography of mermaids in the wild, check out @wwmermaids, @devonKphotographer and @mermaidleelu on Instagram.)

Magic Places: Barcelona Cathedral

   The Gothic Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia is everything a Gothic cathedral should be: It contains gargoyles, pointed arches, the tombs of not one, but two saints (the aforementioned Eulalia and Saint Olegarius). The side aisles lead into a number of small chapels filled with old paintings, tombs of important people who now only exist as street names, statuettes in alcoves and little numbered plaques that match the buttons on your hand-held audioguide. But the air is cool, the cathedral is dark and smells of chilled stone, which is a great antidote to a humid Barcelona summer day.

    It was built in the 13th to 15th centuries on the bones of churches that had come before, their ruins now lost in the foundations of this more “modern” church. Every last bit of it was dug, hacked, carved and polished by the hands of men (and who knows—perhaps a few dedicated craftswomen?) with only the aid of ropes and pulleys and wheels and wooden frames and blades that had been made by hand themselves. If you ever get to go inside, look up—lean back, and look straight up. That tiny grey creature parked up near the beam? A human on scaffolding mounted it there—so far away, you can’t even tell what it is.

    And when you look up, note the holes in the roof, where sunshine streams through like a pinprick star. After 600 years, even cathedral stone and joints wear away. What is it to worship in that pew on a rainy day? If they hit at the right angle, do the raindrops drip on your nose and rosary?

Magic Places: Barcelona Cathedral

  The Gothic Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia is everything a Gothic cathedral should be: It contains gargoyles, pointed arches, the tombs of not one, but two saints (the aforementioned Eulalia and Saint Olegarius). The side aisles lead into a number of small chapels filled with old paintings, tombs of important people who now only exist as street names, statuettes in alcoves and little numbered plaques that match the buttons on your hand-held audioguide. But the air is cool, the cathedral is dark and smells of chilled stone, which is a great antidote to a humid Barcelona summer day.

    It was built in the 13th to 15th centuries on the bones of churches that had come before, their ruins now lost in the foundations of this more “modern” church. Every last bit of it was dug, hacked, carved and polished by the hands of men (and who knows—perhaps a few dedicated craftswomen?) with only the aid of ropes and pulleys and wheels and wooden frames and blades that had been made by hand themselves. If you ever get to go inside, look up—lean back, and look straight up. That tiny grey creature parked up near the beam? A human on scaffolding mounted it there—so far away, you can’t even tell what it is.

    And when you look up, note the holes in the roof, where sunshine streams through like a pinprick star. After 600 years, even cathedral stone and joints wear away. What is it to worship in that pew on a rainy day? If they hit at the right angle, do the raindrops drip on your nose and rosary?

A Thistle is Worth a Thousand Words

In Nîmes, France, you can find a fun and funky little art museum. In that museum is this glorious pink velvet sofa, surrounded by larger, brighter, much fancier furniture in an exhibit devoted to modern design.

I don’t know if anyone has ever used the sofa—it was specifically created to be an exhibited artwork. But I do love how the museum staff make it clear that you and I shall not plant our butts on the velvet—they’ve laid two dried thistles strategically on the cushions of this and the other art furniture.

No signs with ugly slashes hang on these walls. No admonishments in four languages. French simplicity, elegance—and maybe a hint of a threat--rule the day with two symmetrically-placed thistles.

It’s that dark little twist that catches my eye—spines resting lightly on the faded pink velvet. I like a little shiver-shiver with my shiny-shiny.

What about you? Has anything recently stopped you in your tracks?

Magic Places: Carbon & Carbide Building, Chicago

I took this photo of the top of the Carbon and Carbide building from my 33rd floor hotel room on the opposite side of the street. 

According to local legend, the top of this 1929 building is supposed to resemble the gold foil on a champagne bottle--and certainly, when the light is right, it lives up to the story.

But just see the magnificent detail at the top! Flowers and medallions, ladders and vines. None of which can be seen from the street below. None of which can be seen from the rooms themselves. Even if you were to stand on the piazza on top and look up, you would miss so much of the beauty of this building.  

And at the time it was built, almost nothing else comparable was there! Of course, Chicago was busy developing its skyline, but even now, surrounded by high-rise hotels full of camera-phone wielding tourists, there are aspects of this facade that none of us can see.

Which begs the question--who was all of this hard work intended for? Was this a wave a God? A greeting to aliens with dubious intent? Or just the desire on the part of the architect to create his best work because he alone would know if he skimped on one single sheet of gold leaf? 

Magic places: Carbon and Carbide Building, Chicago

I took this photo of the top of the Carbon and Carbide building from my 33rd floor hotel room on the opposite side of the street. 

According to local legend, the top of this 1929 building is supposed to resemble the gold foil on a champagne bottle--and certainly, when the light is right, it lives up to the story.

But just see the magnificent detail at the top! Flowers and medallions, ladders and vines. None of which can be seen from the street below. None of which can be seen from the rooms themselves. Even if you were to stand on the piazza on top and look up, you would miss so much of the beauty of this building.  

And at the time it was built, almost nothing else comparable was there! Of course, Chicago was busy developing its skyline, but even now, surrounded by high-rise hotels full of camera-phone wielding tourists, there are aspects of this facade that none of us can see.

Which begs the question--who was all of this hard work intended for? Was this a wave a God? A greeting to aliens with dubious intent? Or just the desire on the part of the architect to create his best work because he alone would know if he skimped on one single sheet of gold leaf? 

Magic Places: The Sandstone Boulder

These large sandstone rocks (and their bear) sit in the front yard at my parent’s home in the forest in southern Missouri.

As a little girl, I used to pound on these rocks for hours. The fun of sandstone is that you can beat rock on rock and end up with sand. I’m pretty sure I had it in my head—at least for awhile—that I would be able to fill my own sandbox with the sand I created. Eventually I gave up on that idea—and on breaking rocks in the hot sun. Probably decided to dig my way to China instead.

There's something magic about those  long, pointless tasks that kids call "playing" and adults call "boring." While I worked to chip and flake away the edges of these small boulders, my mind riffed through the fairytale anthologies I read incessantly. Between you and me, I had completely different plans for the Little Mermaid than both Hans Christian Andersen and Walt Disney. Walking, digging, breaking rocks were the best tasks for writing fanfic back when it was simply fan fiction that nobody shared with anybody else.

Walking still works—when my feet move, my thoughts line up and my characters start narrating their stories to me in reasonably coherent ways. 

But if I get a real block--the kind that has me kicking my desk and rubbing my sore toes-- I can go back to the rock.

Magic Places: The Moss Patch

Before I discovered the comfort of cushy chairs—back when I was nine, and didn’t realize that my joints needed fat padding for comfort—I had the moss patch. It was a perfect hiding place, surrounded on all sides by grass almost as tall as I was. The ground was soft, bright green moss straight out of a Russian fairy tale about a vain princess who wore a necklace of captured souls. I could sit, lie down (if I curled up around my fairy tale book) or attempt headstands, which I never did master.

Grasses get mown, or eaten by a stray cow. Moss dries out and the rocks beneath them cut through. The spines peel off old fairy tale books and young girls move on to V.C. Andrews and Stephen King.

But sometimes, you can go back and catch a glimpse of the brightest green you’ve ever known.

Magic Places: The Invisible Pond

Buried deep in this tiny meadow is a red plastic disk sled. I know it’s there, because that’s where I left it: On a frozen pond when I was about nine years old.

The pond thawed. The disk sled sank. I considered slogging around in the muck at the bottom of the pond to find my sled, and quickly abandoned that idea. I didn't know what lurked in the muddy brown water, and I had no desire to find out.

Over the next few decades, Mother Nature and a backhoe filled the pond.  I don’t think my father ever knew the sled was down there. But I knew what was buried beneath the surface.

And now, you know, too. 

Where I'm Working Today

Meet my new buddy--the pig at the library in Independence, Kentucky. 

I come here because it's spacious, quiet, but not lonely.  

How could I be lonely with him around?