Zoë Stagg

Making winners.

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 08:59:26 +0200

Making winners.

&...

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 20:19:16 +0200

Sometimes you have to finish a book in one night to make sure everyone gets to the end okay. Sometimes you have take breaks in the middle of plowing through, because it’s too sad. And it’s infuriating when the people you care so much about, aren’t even real.

FICTION (with all of the fist shaking.)

I noticed the book because of the striking cover art, followed the author on Twitter who is a delight, and finally started reading it last night. And finished it, too. (#2)

It has inspired a pretty incredible following and fan art — but most of the posts I’ve read about it, focus on the romance. Understandable, since it’s painted not with words, but with flesh and nerves. It’s a Norma Klein for a new millennium.

I was too distracted, too distraught by her awful, abusive home life to find much relief in the pleasure she wrests from Park.

Until this moment, she’d kept Park in a place in her head that she thought Richie couldn’t get to. Completely separate from this house and everything that happened here. (It was a pretty awesome place. Like the only part of her head fit for praying.)

THOSE KIDS. All those kids, her brothers and sisters, and their miserable, impoverished life. “They’d all learned to cry without making noise.” NO. No, no, no.

It was a beautiful book. Fiction that transcends make believe. Words in the arrangement of magic.

But I reserve the right to add an imaginary Epilogue: “And all of the kids were just fine.” It’s just too haunting without it.

She naps longer when he’s home. She falls asleep better in...

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 09:14:00 +0200

She naps longer when he’s home.

She falls asleep better in his arms.

She smiles biggest when he walks in the room.

And she’ll go fastest with him pedaling her in his/her new bike trailer.

(I really should have gotten them matching helmets.)

Twee/Meme...

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 08:09:00 +0200

A picture (app) is worth 150-200 words.

As long as one realizes that there is effectively no difference in the above from the below, go forth.

As long as one realizes the absurdity and ridiculousness of both processes, and chooses one’s subject matter with the correct amount of tongue in cheek, fine.

Dumb picture of your toes at nap time, okay. VERY SERIOUS IMAGE OF SALAD AT A VERY EUROPEAN CAFE, no. See, that would upset the balance; there is a per-photo limit of twee.

“Don’t you HAVE photos of a salad at a European cafe?”

“Yes, but see that’s the point. You can’t have that AND apply the dumb laurels. It’s much too much.”

So you can like the dumb arrows and borders and hearts and flowers — just apply them to a photo of a garbage can or something.

Practice some twee-straint.

Stars and Stripes Forever…

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 18:28:56 +0200

Stars and Stripes Forever…

The aforementioned Book Nook. Now that’s a nice place to...

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 20:52:52 +0200

The aforementioned Book Nook. Now that’s a nice place to read.

Design Blog? As If!

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 17:01:05 +0200

While nature and nurture are busy in the corner arguing, quick, come help me move this couch. I probably inherited a few traits, though chief among them is the incessant need to move furniture. If it’s been in one place for six months, it’s probably four months too long.

And then, there are phone calls like this. “First, I didn’t break the internet. BUT… Do we have any long extension cords?”

Because…

If the government could just get to the kitchen, rearrange some things…

It comes on slowly, this need. Then you find yourself lost in a mental Tetris, “What would happen if that were on THIS wall…”

And then suddenly, you’re summoning improbable Hulk strength, with a good bit of ill-advised shoving, to see.

It doesn’t always work out. Sometimes it’s worse.

But you can’t really tell, unless you leave the room, and come back in. It’s true. You have to be surprised. Walk away, come back, see if the couch is a disaster.

Because if it works?

Of all the rearranges I was compelled to do this week, the biggest hit was making Frankie a reading corner. All of a sudden, she can sit on a little rug next to her bookshelf and unpack the whole bottom. She sat in a drift of board books quite happily all week.

Book nook!

How You Say...

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 21:55:03 +0200

Wait, don’t tell me. I’ve got this one. It’s a Jeopardy! category a lot…it never took off…YOU KNOW, it’s that universal language that nobody speaks. Puh…starts with a P?

Nope. Don’t got it. Had to Google. Esperanto.

Therefore I must suffer from Reverse Eperantitis.

Not only can I not speak fluently to anyone, the scraps of languages I drag around in a handkerchief bundle tied to a stick, only serve to further complicate the matter.

The only formal language training I’ve had is six years of French — about enough to get you to the language proficiency of a six year old — mmm, no. Less than that, say half. So by the time I’d been in Italy long enough to oust the French and not to default to “Oui,” we up and landed in Germany. Here, the “Hallo!” has been integrated but not the “Ja!”

Take all of that linguistic bumbling full circle, and you find me in France last weekend, basking in the glory of VERBS, but mangling all three languages into a slurry of “Scusi? Hallo! Je voudrais ein petit baguette, bitte. Si, si!” There is no rhyme or pattern to what has stuck from which language, it’s just a desperate vocab grab .

There is no universal. And apparently, now I speak nothing but Frankenperanto.

It’s perishable, they said. It’s refrigerate only,...

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 21:13:39 +0200

It’s perishable, they said.

It’s refrigerate only, they said.

What about some nice Nasoya*, they said.

You have to accept all risks of shipment, they said.

RISKS ACCEPTED.

In the name of science, I needed to consume a significant enough sample to ensure quality of the rest of the jar. Science says like a quarter of a cup. If this is my last blog post, you’ll know where to start the investigation.

*No. Nosoya. Grossoya.

Morning.

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 07:14:10 +0200

Morning.

“Did you get the shirt I sent?” “That was...

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 20:36:30 +0200

“Did you get the shirt I sent?”

“That was you?! I love it. It’s packed. It’s going to be my sleep shirt.”

In the midst of the preoccupation with the battles of history, the battles of present wage on. I can have perfectly cheerful goodbye calls, all logical and upbeat until it comes time for the, “Keep your head down,” part.

That never gets any easier.

Seriously, This Kid...

Sun, 09 Jun 2013 08:39:00 +0200

I don’t tell her stories here, but this one is more my story — and I am naïve enough to think that putting this here for her to find some day is a good idea.

My six-month old kid did two 450-mile car trips in four days. I’ll just put this (!!!) here as an IOU she can cash in later.

— Zoe Stagg (@zoestagg)

June 8, 2013

She did better in the car than I did. I bet HER phone isn’t full of pictures of herself blowing bubbles, pouting out of the window, and shots from above trying to get all three of us in without taking off her seat belt. In short, she dealt with her car boredom in a much more civilized fashion than me.

We chose the route back through Paris. It’s the most direct, though we avoided it on the way fearing traffic. “But how bad could it be on a Saturday?” we figured wrongly.

We saw the Eiffel Tower in a, “Look kids, Big Ben!” kind of way, and sat. And sat. And I started to get inspired by the repetitive (billboard) scenery.

“If she was two years older, I’d be angling for us to stop at EuroDisney right now and go home tomorrow.”

Third times the charm, kid. I’ve been on the EuroDisney shuttle (part of the Great Journey of MomCon ‘11) now I’ve driven past it — and on account of her good behavior, next time we’re going in.

A whole day strapped in her car seat, and she came home, worked on her new tricks (downward-facing dog, mostly) and went to bed at almost normal time, no meltdowns. Not to mention, this was after days of being escorted from monument to ceremony, away from her kitty, introduced to the pool for the first time, and on and on. It was a lot. And she did SO well.

And while I scoped out the bored teenagers at every stop and know that I’m probably in for a lot of that in the future, for this trip?

This trip I’ll trade her a EuroDisney.

Teamwork: He drives a 900-mile round trip on her WWII history...

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 21:24:19 +0200

Teamwork: He drives a 900-mile round trip on her WWII history quest, she listens to that many hours of System Administrator podcasts.

(They exist. And hashed and salted are not just potato words.)

We went to see Albert’s tank today. It was right where...

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 17:57:34 +0200

We went to see Albert’s tank today. It was right where he’d described it, on a roll in the topography almost too gentle to call a hill — and yet this vantage point afforded a view of 360 degrees of countryside. 7,000 men died in a struggle from July 10 to the middle of August, 1944, to claim the hill where Albert’s tank now sits.

You can find photos of that July, and a place to help with the next part of his plan on his Hill 112 website.

(The end of this story is my favorite. I could listen to it over and over. Maybe it’s the accent, because in news of small worlds and odd coincidences — he also just happens to be from a town or two over from where my dad was born. You really never know who you’re going to meet.)

This.

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 17:54:36 +0200

This is why.

This morning in Vierville sur Mer, it was quiet. The wind buffeted the long grass on the bluffs, and the sun couldn’t compete. The waves rolled in upon Omaha Beach, and as soon as one would crash, the next would follow suit. In the eerie blank light of 69 years hence, you couldn’t help but stop and stare.

And imagine what was.

We, and all others who believe in freedom as deeply as we do, would rather die on our feet than live on our knees.

It’s almost impossible in this time of nano-processed attention, to think of an example of something that is celebrated and revered with full-throated and unabashed enthusiasm 69 minutes later, let alone 69 years.

But here in this tiny coastal town, with sturdy bisque-colored stone houses, now neatly in rows, it is. This day is.

Flags of all of the Allied countries whip in the wind and everywhere is a clatter of time-worn medals, awash in poppy-studded lapels, and ahush in remembrance.

In the past 24 hours, I’ve met a 93 year old who called the experience the “best in his life,” a man who traveled from Omaha Beach on D-Day +1, through Europe, to bring supplies to a liberated concentration camp, a group of school kids who’d practiced hours to make sure their performance of appreciative song and dance was perfect for the dwindling but hardy row of veterans, and a kid who was gathering veterans’ autographs on a glossy photo, starstruck like you’d expect to see a kid his age at an NBA game.

This. Because there is still reverence in this disposable world. Though may we never again experience that which inspired it, it is up to us all to save it.

To be good stewards of the stories. And each other.

Outside the first house liberated in all of France. It’s...

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 06:23:07 +0200

Outside the first house liberated in all of France. It’s next to the Pegasus Bridge in Bénouville, and it’s where I met this man.

Absolutely outstanding.

The Eyes of the World...

Tue, 04 Jun 2013 07:12:17 +0200

My birthday isn’t really my own. I share the date with the 156,000 Allied troops who landed in Normandy on June 6, 1944. I have always wanted to go and commemorate the day — and this year, when I’m turning the age that’s almost the precise halfway point between here and history, I am.

YOU ARE ABOUT TO EMBARK UPON THE GREAT CRUSADE TOWARD WHICH WE HAVE STRIVEN THESE MANY MONTHS. THE EYES OF THE WORLD ARE UPON YOU…I HAVE FULL CONFIDENCE IN YOUR COURAGE, DEVOTION TO DUTY AND SKILL IN BATTLE.

Those words from Eisenhower are on the Northern wall of the WWII Memorial; the same memorial I’ve accompanied two Honor Flight groups to see. I’m hoping that this short trip will afford the chance to understand a little bit more clearly, that great crusade that happened 69 years ago.

I’m also going in order to bring back images, audio, stories — and leave behind my respects paid. Because it doesn’t escape me, looking at the top picture, that that guy once offered Frank a drink in a field in Tennessee. It’s stories like this that make it so important to go. To remember. And to take Frankie, too.

I just registered for the Stuttgart-Lauf. It makes it sound so...

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 18:16:57 +0200

I just registered for the Stuttgart-Lauf. It makes it sound so cheerful and LOLly. “Are you having a lauf?”

It’s 7k and in three weeks, so I shook out a little speed work today. Speedier than intended given that I spent a half mile thinking that 7.0 mph was a 9-minute mile.

The stupid. It burns. In the lung area.

Pretty kitty.

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 18:11:47 +0200

Pretty kitty.

Top 5 Things In My Life That Are 30...

Fri, 31 May 2013 13:59:11 +0200

Inspired by this list, which will make you weep (Plinko, Mama’s Family, SWEET VALLEY HIGH) and reminded by the inclusion of the Moonwalk, here are the Top 5 Things that are celebrating a personal 30th Anniversary. Which is Pearl. Like the tears mentioned above.

My First Kiss: To the Thriller album, on the story carpet, this story is now 30. And I still have never found the guy.

The Idea That Politics Exists: His name was Ross, he sat next to me at the snack table and declared, “My dad doesn’t like Ronnie.” Whoa. Wait. You can just not like the president? And that’s allowed? But he’s the PRESIDENT.

Painting My Nails: It started with a faux-denim, Tinkerbell nail kit featuring Bo-Po peel-off polish — THIS KIT which is featured on “Antiques Navigator.” RUDE.

My tastes have clearly advanced as I found this weirdo manicure kit this weekend and as the instructions are similar, I am sure to look like a very sophisticated lady.

The Death of My Innocence at the Hands of Sesame Street: These stories are brought to you by Mr. Hooper, Bert, Ernie, and O. Henry.

Ryan: He keeps forgetting, but yes. This is the year that he’s 30.

AW.