LEGO paradise

A few weeks ago, Pd and I happened to be in Etobicoke, so we took a small detour to Sherway Gardens to visit the LEGO store.


It's smaller than I imagined it to be, and had about the same atmosphere as the Apple store — lots of people milling about, adults playing with toys.


The famous wall o' bricks
Supposedly, when they first opened, they had had a LEGO R2D2, which I would have loved to see. Unfortunately, we had to make do with a stunning Tower bridge:


Pd told me that, apparently, LEGO's patent on their bricks had run out, so that anyone can make LEGO-fitting bricks. Thus, the company has pivoted its emphasis from making plain architectural bricks to what he calls "set pieces" — boxes that people buy to build specific things. I don't know if this is true, but the store certainly didn't carry any of those giant plastic buckets o' bricks that I remember, and each section of wall had a theme.

There was the Harry Potter wall, which was very, very tempting.


The Star Wars wall, next to the Pirates of the Caribbean wall.


I love LEGO buildings — even the set pieces — but ultimately it's a bit of a let-down, really. I mean, you have to compromise on size, of course, but why is the Hogwarts Great Hall so small? Why does the Death Star only have four levels?

(I complain, but still: I would have happily spent my mortgage payment at that store. They have Diagon Alley! And the Queen Anne's Revenge!)

a new year, a new hobby

It's not very auspicious, is it, to start off the new year by leaving my blog untended for more than a week — however, there it is. My only defense is that the first week back to work after 10 days of faffing off were rather stunning (in the literal sense). We have had two large parties since then — a New Year's Day Recovery party (which was exactly as it sounds), and a birthday party for me (er — ditto). I am now partied out, and so are the cats.

I was going to do a Christmas post, but the holidays seem like a lifetime ago. And really it wasn't terribly interesting — fun, but quiet. I also turned 30 last week, which sort of superceded the whole holiday thing (I mean. My birthday happens after Christmas every year, inevitably, but usually it gets overshadowed by the glitz. This year was different, because 30 is special — or so I was told. I am still waiting for my tiara).

The most cogent things about turning 30 is that I don't actually feel any different than I did two weeks ago, and that I now have a new pet project, thanks to my brother-in-law. I'll give you a clue:


Lots of points if you can figure out which specific kit it is. (There are indications, in that photo.) It has now entirely replaced the garter stitch blanket in my consciousness, which probably bodes ill for getting said blanket done any time in this new decade.

attack of the killer gingerbread

Last weekend, we had our annual gingerbread decorating party. (Well, it was the second year. But it was never meant be an annual sort of thing, and this year people brought props, so I think it might be turning into a Thing.)

It's pretty amazing, how certain ... personality traits come to the fore. You take a room full of perfectly reasonable adults, and for some reason all the gingerbread houses turn out like this:


(I told you they brought props)

... or like this:


In case the latter seems innocuous to you, here's a close-up of the two amiable gingerbreadmen at the front of the house:



Yes. It is a gingercide in freeze-frame. Last year we also had the "CSI House," and a horrific "Katrina in New Orleans" house.

Then there is the house that was built by my invitation-only team. (Invitation-only because I think there are very few people who would have the patience to be as anal-retentive as we obviously are.)


Front view, and back view.


This took about six or seven hours. I mean, there were other things in between, including some fairly silly carolling, and a lot of it was waiting time for the mortar frosting to dry enough for our effects, but still. You may notice that the colour pattern of tiling on the roof match on both sides, as do the mini M&Ms surrounding the circular "window." And just look at that old-fashioned wood piling fence, not to mention the woodpile itself. And then remember that, of the two main perpetrators, one was drinking eggnog with something like 25% alcohol content, and the other was drunk on champagne. (That would be me. Somewhere around my second glass, I frosted the roof on — upside down.) We are superstars, is what I'm saying.

Next year we are thinking about tackling something from The Gingerbread Architect. Just think about what we could do wtih the Tudor Revival house — or the New York Brownstone! I've always wanted a brownstone. We just have to recruit someone else to do the baking.

easily distracted by shiny things

So ... lately, I have been thinking about taking up quilting. Which is stupid, and insane. I do not need another hobby, especially not one that lets me have a giant, ever-growing stash. (I already have two of those. Check.) Also, I really, really hate the sewing machine. A few years ago, a friend of mine and I took some sewing classes. She's a great seamstress (she was, even before the class) — and she always finds the cutest patterns and makes the most adorable clothes, so it seemed like a good idea to go with her. We took two 6-week classes. The first one, which I really enjoyed, we learned to use the sewing machine and made a messenger bag, which I still use and love. The second one, slightly more advanced, we learned to use a serger — and that is in the loosest sense of the word "learn" only, because all I really did manage to do was cut up pieces of my laboriously-traced fabric. Repeatedly. And then I forgot that I was supposed to have taken the grain of the fabric into account before cutting, and I had to make up the dimensions of some of the pieces because the sizing didn't go as small as I am (granted, I am abnormally midget-sized), so by the end of the class I was only halfway into the stupid project and it is now in a little ball crammed into the back of my closet. I didn't want to finish it anyway. The pants looked stupid.

So maybe quilting is not the best idea (unless I can somehow make a bag out of it; apparently I'm okay with that). But quilts are so pretty! I actually don't like them as a bedspread — I love my white duvet — but as a dash of colour they're gorgeous. And so nice to snuggle up to. Here's a nice one I found on Etsy (click on the picture to go to the listing):



Wouldn't this look lovely spread on a white bed?