Pop-sicle Psychology
Sandy and I are both packrats, but in different ways. My excuse for hoarding is always to plead sentimental attachment. It was a gift. I had one just like it when I was little. I’ve had it since I was ten.
Sandy’s saving habits appear to have been formed during his imaginary childhood in the Great Depression. We might use that again. It could be fixed. Those are probably still good.
But we’re both making progress, I think. I’ve been doing a great deal of self-directed closet cleaning. And Sandy, completely on his own, opened up the freezer on Sunday and disposed of many items, including the following three things that we actually packed and moved to the new house:
1. Most of a gallon of strawberry ice cream, untouched since July 2003.
2. An entire cheesecake, several years older than the ice cream.
3. Most of a package of President’s Choice Cheese Hors D’Ouevres, probably of a similar vintage to the cheesecake.
It’s a good thing we made some space in the freezer, too, since my mom picked up an ice cream maker for us this weekend, and its cooling cylinder takes up a lot of space. We’re keeping it no matter what, though: I had one just like it when I was little.

...
I mean, enjoy your ice cream maker.