"You're looking with your man's eyes" I say to hubby when he can't see the pickle jar, the very large one right in front of him on the fridge shelf. Sometimes I catch him on the verge of accusation, thinking I've hidden something, but I think he has learned better. He will say to me now that he needs my woman's eyes to help locate this or that.
I could never be a hoarder; perhaps my mild claustrophobia prevents such a condition in me. Those homes where you have to climb over mounds of stuff to wend your way through make me almost breathless to watch. With such in mind, I have been steadily cleaning out the basement. Four decades of accumulation translates into lots of stuff to be weaned for the garbage. I always let hubby see into every bag. He possesses a hawkish memory and I always know somewhere down the road he would think of some widget or other and go looking for it and you know who would be blamed for its disappearance. He's been wonderful, I have to say though, about supporting my basement ditching efforts.
Here is my summer project I label "ongoing" (rather than "unfinished").