Assorted Blinding Brilliance

It is the first day of the winter quarter and, as promised, I am learning things. For instance, it is perhaps unwise to drink an entire can of black cherry/citrus Fresca during Anatomy and Physiology and then get straight into the car at noon to leave the parking lot at the same time that 200 other drivers are trying to leave the parking lot. And, if that weren't enough sheer genius for one day, I've also learned that, under duress (I consider a potentially exploding bladder to be significant duress) I can get from the car to the house in a matter of microseconds. At the same time, the cat has learned not to wait directly in front of the door when I am coming home from school. We're all wiser.

Leaving aside the matter of my brilliance, however, I promised you pictures of the new craft room. First, some background. We live in a largish house that is between 20 and 30 years old and so was built with, of all things, a formal dining room. It so happens that Mr. K and I, in spite of all this glorious learning, are nevertheless just backwards enough that we rarely use the informal dining room, much less the formal one (yep-we pile food on the plate and take it to wherever we're hanging out at the moment). Clearly, a formal anything is somewhat wasted on the likes of us. And let's face it--we're not on the short list of people whom the president is planning to visit for dinner (okay, so if he was, I'd be preparing a table out in the back shed where all the nasty spiders are, but that's a different matter. A matter that will likely cause my mother to remind me that I'm not being very nice, and my father to once again disown me. How my staunch republican father produced a liberal such as myself is beyond my understanding and his; I only know that he insists that he likes George Bush for a number of reasons, and also because "he seems like someone you could hang out and have a beer with". I tried asking him to please do precisely that and maybe thus distract W from believing he knows how to run the country...but I just got disowned again. But I'm digressing hugely. Back to the dining room.) After much thought, the divinely wonderful Mr. K suggested that, since he has two metal shops for his hobbies, I might want to make the formal dining room into a craft room just for me. I managed to not break the sound barrier putting all manner of craft goodies downstairs, but only just barely. Here, the tour (it's still in early stages):

Not the slightest bit crafty, I know--but very me-ish and so perhaps worthy of inclusion. It's a hutch that I painted some years ago in green and white, and it's completely filled with things that I love, such as my collection of children's books (I used to teach), pictures I took while hiking, a few small cat figurines. For some reason, I love knowing it's there.

Okay, that makes more sense. Serger, sewing machine, yarn meter, ball winder. Swift is behind the bag of yarn on the right, waiting to be set up. The painting was purchased in Hawaii and is the work of Hong Leung; I would leave it where it is but for some reason Mr. K thinks he'd like to look at it sometimes as well...go figure. I'll be putting up some of the stuff I've got in storage (updated pics to follow).
The good stuff, and lots of it. Also a sewing kit in a toolbox in the corner and some pattern magazines on top of the larger storage thingie (which I believe is the correct professional terminology for such an item.). Then, just in case he wasn't already up for hubby of the year, Mr. K came home last night with this:

I already adore this book and am positively itching (no offense to all the wool in the house) to make this:

Seriously crappy picture, I know...but a heavenly sweater. It's made in Cascade Pastaza which I adore but, given my current status as a desperately deprived stash dieter (the picture of the yarn up there pretty much blows any chance I have for sympathy, huh?) it will probably end up in some alpaca I bought the other day. Or some Lamb's Pride I have coming in the mail. Or something.

Oh, another thing I learned even BEFORE the school quarter started (my intellect is truly dizzying): when making a sock (in my case for the second time after I decided to change needle size from 1 to 2) in a multi-hued colorway, it is not necessarily wise to do so while watching a CSI marathon and not watching the burgeoning sock. I mean, unless one wants a sock wherein the colors have pooled into four separate panels of single color from top to ankle. I decided that I didn't. After using some special knitting terminology of rather crude anglo saxon origin. I've started again on the smaller needles after casting on with the bigger ones. If it doesn't turn out now, it's going in the shed with the president.