My love affair, with Lego
It's International Lego Day!
My love affair, with Lego
December 1974. We meet.
“Christmas is gonna suck for the kids this year,” I said to my neighbor MaryAnne. “Since Edward died, I just don’t have it in me to buy gifts, much less create the magic.”
Even though I’d known for almost two years it was coming, the reality of widowhood was only four months old. Between stiffening my shoulders to bear twice the responsibility, and trying to maintain a chirpy face for our two little ones, I was so pooped I hadn’t even bothered to ask the kids what they might want.
MaryAnne thought a minute. “How about J.C. up the street? He’s single now,” she said. [J.C. was a dashing British architect, so I was quite aware of his new status.] “His daughter is back in Liverpool with his ex-wife, so I bet he’d appreciate being included.”
Whether MaryAnne nudged him or he’d already been thinking along those lines, I didn’t care. We had already kinda been eyeing each other, in the way suddenly-single 30-somethings do when they’re miserable and lonely and it’s Christmas.
He called. “We’ll start at Mr. Mopps,” he said. “I know the perfect gift—I’m getting it for Jacqueline too.”
“Good. I hate shopping for toys. If I have to play another round of Candyland or Chutes and Ladders, just kill me now!”
At the toy store, J.C. quickly located what he had in mind. “Here,” he said, handing me a big box of knobby little rectangular bricks in red, white, blue and black. “Give them these. They’re called Lego—best toy ever.”
I’d never seen or heard of them, but I trusted J.C.’s architecture training to make him a good judge of quality design. Plus his Beatle-ish Liverpool accent lent his opinions an air of legitimacy and whimsy.
After the kids went to bed on Christmas Eve, J.C. stayed to help me wrap presents. Except he insisted we open both boxes of Lego for a test run. Together we made a crazy castle, then reluctantly dismantled it to rebox the pieces.
Thus began our family’s fascination with these small bumpy pieces of colored plastic.
It was also the beginning of a delightful affair, so it’s possible I’m conflating fascinations.
After his wife left, J.C. moved from our neighborhood to San Francisco’s Telegraph Hill, where he set up his bachelor pad in hip-architect aesthetic—white walls, white furniture, white chrysanthemums in a white vase, and a fluffy white flokati rug by the white-tiled fireplace. The only color in the apartment came from a random collection of food containers on the kitchen shelf—chosen not for their edible contents, but for showing their brightly designed exteriors.
J.C. did not cook for himself. Obviously. Or for me. But he could dance, he made me laugh, and he bought me a white flokati rug for lounging beside my own fireplace. For a handful of weeks that bleak winter, we found comfort in each other.
And the Lego bricks were a long-lasting hit for the whole family. Fifty years later, a few of the original bricks still survive, slightly tooth-marked, in the family collection. (They’re engineered to fit so perfectly that biting was often the only way to separate them until Lego introduced an ingenious separation tool.)
When my kids went off to college, the collection went to the basement —the only toy (besides the Play-Doh Fun Factory which extrudes “pasta” in crazy shapes) that I kept in case of grandchildren.
My daughter’s two boys added exponentially to the collection. They too went off to college and she passed it on to her younger brother’s kids in France, who at 8 and 10 are already the most gifted creators of us all. I mean— a device to dispense ketchup? You push the gizmo on the right into the side of the Heinz bottle and it squirts onto a hamburger on the rotating plate below.
During the pandemic I began amassing a collection of my own. If you’ve been to my studio you’ve seen some of them: ornate 3-story buildings, a typewriter whose keys “type” with a distinct typing noise, and a replica of the VW Camper Van (complete with sink, table, bed, shelves, rear engine etc) my husband I drove around Europe before the kids were born. (Topless, below)
I’ve also got bins of colorful random pieces—my multi-sensory stress reduction center. I just let my fingers mindlessly assemble whatever weird stuff they fancy (see top photo). Unlike jigsaw puzzle pieces, Lego pieces are three-dimensional and lock into place with a satisfying snap or click—There! Sometimes it’s enough just to sift through a bin of them, like the pebbles in a brook—I swear you can hear the water. (Great ASMR - sounds that can cause your scalp to prickle.)
“So, Joy,” you ask. “What happened to that other love affair?” Well, J.C. wanted to enjoy his new bachelordom and I had 6- and 3-year-old children to raise. Alors, je ne regrette rien.
More cool Lego stuff
History and astonishing facts about Lego.
Just like an Instagram cooking video, a LEGO Chocolate Cake. ASMR to the max.
World famous Danish architect Bjarke Ingels uses Lego to make his building models. Watch on Netflix— Abstract: The Art of Design Season 1, Episode 4 (all so good!)
If Nathan Sawaya’s Art of the Brick exhibit comes to your town, you MUST see to believe. Local Lego conventions are also astonishing. For kids of all ages.
Put Yourself in the Way of Beauty
The complicated innards of my Lego typewriter. Most challenging assembly yet for me. Gears are not intuitive. Had to redo several times.
Shock and awe commentary can wait another day. I have plenty to say about the sheer chaos and rampant illegality unleashed by the new administration this past week. They’re an ignorant herd of enraged bulls intent on trampling everything in their path, with ZERO concern for unintended consequences and we’re already witnessing plenty. However you voted, you will be negatively impacted, and it’s going to hurt. (Unless you’re filthy rich…) Maybe you shoulda voted for the Black Lady.
LET ME KNOW: Have you or anyone you know been affected by what they’re doing? Or maybe you have a Lego story of your own. Do tell, please
We are a LEGO fam. If you want a. Inside view of working at LEGO headquarters I like this book called The Year of Living Danishly. It’s not all LEGO (authors husband works there) but it has some great glimpses into LEGO corporate culture.
Great column today - just what I needed to get my mind off of the daily deluge of the latest dastardly acts from Trump compounded by the introduction of his very annoying press secretary!