Settling In

I had torn through things looking for things, before heading for the beach, and I still have not sorted through the mess I made of my stores of knitting and sewing supplies and inventory. The mess looks like the sentence I just typed. 
The first time I lived in Portland, I lived in The Joan of Arc, a hotel for young women, a big, basalt building that used to be next door to Lincoln High School. The laundry was in the huge, cavernous basement filled with unused furniture. (I remember a couple of Victorola cabinets with the large amplification cones.) There were also framed admonishments for how to live your life: Cleanliness is Next to Godliness, and A Place for Everything, and Everything in Its Place. That's the one I think of when I see the mess I've made of needles, threads, and boxes not quite the right size.
Another thing I still haven't settled on is the thread, floss, yarn, or string to trim this felted bit with a blanket stitch. 
Tomorrow, short sentences.