The Boomer generation isn’t used to being inconvenienced after all these years.

There’s a curious thing that you sometimes see in certain parts of America – signs at gas stations advertising their fuel as “100% GASOLINE! NO ETHANOL!” If you’re wondering exactly what kind of seal-clubbing, earth-befouling hillbillies these signs are meant to attract, I’d like to introduce you to my parents.

They drive giant SUVs any time they have to travel farther than two driveways away. Everything they buy is either single-serving or disposable, to assure maximum trash. They print their emails, double–bag their groceries in plastic, and run the A/C with the windows open. And, they believe that ethanol is bad for their cars because someone once forwarded them an email saying so.

I, their tomato-canning, bus-riding, cloth-napkin-using pinko commie daughter, am a constant source of mild puzzlement to them, and whenever I visit, I always try to drop a few hints.  Judgmental, yes, but I can’t help it. “You know,” I say, “you guys go through so many soda cans, it’s a shame you don’t recycle.” I even point out that their town offers free unlimited curbside pickup as well as free bins. But to them, it’s just not worth the hassle. I once asked my dad if he’d ever consider switching to grass-fed beef, explaining all the problems with factory farming. “But Allison,” he said between bites of steak, “That’s what makes it so tasty.”

We recently had a conversation in which he claimed new research is proving that oil doesn’t really come from dinosaurs, and is actually a renewable resource. I am not making this up. He was totally convinced that once the data came in, the world could forget about all this wind and solar stuff and just drill baby, drill. (I actually looked into this theory, and it’s a fairly popular topic on World Net Daily, on the home page between birther conspiracies and ads for Goldline.)

Although my parents’ tendency to throw garbage from moving cars probably puts them slightly further on the spectrum of environmental disdain than the average American, there are sadly, millions of people like them. People who will only accept green living when it becomes cheaper, easier, and more convenient than the way they live now.

It’s not that they haven’t noticed what’s happened over the past 30 years – it’s that their generation, aside from that tiny vanguard who gave us the first Earth Day, doesn’t want to be put out. They care, just not enough to do anything about it.

This difference in philosophy isn’t about Democrat versus Republican, science versus religion, or coastal versus heartland. It’s a generational thing. My parents and everyone before them grew up believing that the environment and all its bounty were simply theirs for the taking. They came of age in a time when land was plentiful, oil was cheap, America was the greatest country on earth, and God put the fish and the trees there for us to consume.

To them, slow food, reusable bags, and riding bicycles is undoing decades of technology and innovation that made life easier and more convenient. When they play golf in Las Vegas, they don’t look at lush, green desert fairways and see an abomination, they see a triumphant example of man’s ability to harness nature.

The problem isn’t just convincing people like my parents to acknowledge scientific facts or making green technology affordable and available. The problem is convincing them to endure a little inconvenience. It’s convincing them to eat a little less beef, hitch a ride to work, and leave some cake for the rest of us. It’s also convincing them of the scariest thing of all – that much of that magical progress they and their generation made wasn’t really progress at all.

I don’t know what the solution is, besides waiting for them all to die out (doesn’t that seem like the answer to all Boomer-related problems?). For now, I try to nudge my parents in the right direction when I can. They’ll never install solar panels or think about food miles, but I’ve already convinced my mom to start buying vegetables at the wonderful farm stands that populate the Midwest during the summer and fall. That’s a start. The next step, when she gets home with a dozen ears of sweet country corn, will be getting her to recycle the damn bag.

Image: Dominic’s Pics

Tips to celebrate Earth Day every day.

Happy Earth Day. If your community is hosting one of many Earth Day events this weekend, have fun – and we hope the weather is nice. But Earth Day is just one day, and there are many things you can do all year around to live a more conscious, eco-friendly life. Here are some actions you can take anytime.

Changes at Home

• Make sure your home is in good repair. Leaky faucets and loose window seals waste energy. Exchange outdated appliances for energy efficient models. Use fluorescent bulbs in lamps and dimmers to conserve electricity, and turn down the thermostat. Have your furnace checked out before winter to ensure it’s in good working condition.
• Small changes around the house can reduce energy consumption, waste and toxins. Unplug devices when they aren’t in use, even chargers left plugged in and devices on standby use power. Turn down your water heater by a few degrees. Wash only full loads in the washer and dishwasher. Instead of using paper towels, use cloth dish towels instead. Carry your beverages in refillable stainless steel containers. Make sure your home is properly ventilated to discourage mold growth and guard against hazardous conditions when using gas stoves, kerosene or burning wood.
• Cut down on clutter. Unsubscribe from databases to eliminate junk mail. Scan documents and store photos electronically. Pay your bills and file your taxes online. Read news online instead of receiving print magazines.

Reduce, Reuse and Recycle

• Recycle all materials you can. Call 1-800-RECYCLE or visit Earth911 to find recycling centers near your home.
• Donate electronic devices that are still in working order to schools and charities. Those that no longer work should be recycled correctly.
• Streamline your belongings. Donate everything that you don’t use frequently.

Shop Responsibly

• Buy only when necessary. Check Craigslist and eBay for quality used items. Borrow things that you don’t need to use often instead of buying. When you do buy, purchase a few high quality items made with recycled content.
• Support local businesses and buy local products. It helps the economy and reduces distribution costs. Support green businesses and eco-friendly products. Buy fresh fruits and vegetables from local farmers’ markets.
• Carry your own reusable bags to stores. Buy in bulk and reduce packaging. Use refillable containers.
• Buy eco-friendly products. Use green cleaning products (here is a good list), and buy personal hygiene and cosmetic products that have environmentally friendly ingredients and no added perfumes. Buy and wear as little as possible.
• Buy quality clothing. Aim for classic styles that can be worn for a long time. Avoid replacing your wardrobe frequently.
• Climate Counts ranks companies on their eco-friendiness. If you need to buy a product, it’s worth checking their score and there is an iPhone app available on iTunes.

Going Out

• Use public transportation and carpool when possible. Choose the most fuel-efficient car that fits your needs. Here are some ways you can save at the pump.
• When eating out, choose restaurants that use local produce and meat.
• Leave no trace behind when camping or hiking. Report any environmental damage to authorities.

Action

• Join environmental organizations and learn about current environmental issues. Communicate your point of view to local and state government, and encourage action. If you are involved in the education system, find a way to incorporate environmental studies into the curriculum.
• If your company hasn’t already started, suggest they develop a CSR strategy. Share what you’ve learned with friends and family. If more people make even a few small changes, it can all add up to a big difference.

Image: Sarah Ackerman

ColumnIf you can read this sentence without corrective lenses, you are pre-disposed to eco-activism.

Let me make one thing clear: I am not old. Although, to be perfectly honest, I am not exactly young, either. On the continuum of age, I happen to fall at the precise numeric midpoint between Miley Cyrus and Betty White – a piece of pop culture trivia which somehow strikes me as deeply significant. If I had to guess, I would say that I am also somewhere between those two women when it comes to my wardrobe, my taste in music, and my bong habits. But when it comes to recycling, I feel like I belong firmly in the ranks of the elderly.

Recycling, much like computer skills, comes organically to those in their 20s and younger. Being planet-friendly is natural to them, since they have never known a world where newspapers could be carelessly thrown out, along with banana peels and tuna fish cans. For young people, recycling is easy and automatic – it is embedded in their DNA, along with Facebook and an endless fascination with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. But the biggest eco advantage for young people is that they can easily read the teeny tiny numbers inside the teeny tiny triangles on the bottom of plastic recyclable goods. Whereas I – squinting, in full daylight, and holding the item as far away from me as my arms will allow – cannot.

Those numbers tell you what a particular item is made of: a number 1 means the container is polyethylene terephthalate, and a 3 signifies the presence of polyvinyl chloride. Items with a number 1 or 2 are the most likely to be recycled, but for anyone over the age of 40 these numerals – especially when imprinted on clear plastic – are almost impossible to read. My friend, Pat, solves this problem by waiting until her kids come home from school before disposing of anything plastic. My own solution is to be constantly surrounded by a ginormous collection of reading glasses.

I used to think of glasses as fashion accessories –  like an extremely functional pair of earrings. When I was young, and didn’t really need glasses to see, I enjoyed the “smart girl/sexy librarian” vibe I thought they lent me. If I liked a pair of frames, I would buy the glasses and wait for my eyes to deteriorate into them. Then came a near catastrophe, when misreading the directions on a medicine bottle almost caused me to give my daughter an overdose of Robitussin. At that point, glasses were no longer an accessory, but a necessity. Today they have become something of a fetish. I have glasses that I keep upstairs and some that stay downstairs; there is always one pair in my car, one in my office, and another in my purse. This past week alone I discovered forgotten glasses in my junk drawer, the pocket of an old winter coat, and under the dog’s bed. And there is one massively strong pair I keep around just for texting.

But the numbers on the bottom of jars and bottles are so ridiculously small that even plentiful access to reading glasses doesn’t necessarily help.  This strikes me a galling example of ageism. The Boomers invented ecology – we are, after all, the generation that dreamed up Earth Day. We should not be carelessly shoved aside by a youth oriented eco culture.  Recycling information should be printed in a font size that even mature adults are able to see. It’s bad enough that people my age can’t wear skinny jeans or two-piece bathing suits anymore – at least let us recycle our Activia containers.

Editor’s Note: Susan Goldberg is a slightly lapsed treehugger. Although known to overuse paper products, she has the best of intentions – and a really small SUV. Catch her column, The Goldberg Variations, each week here at EcoSalon.

Image: e-magic

Another Christmas, another disappointment. For the gazillionth year in a row, my husband didn’t give me the one gift I’ve been hoping for – a dumpster.

Dumpsters are not generally admired by environmentalists – the ease with which they allow you to dispose of stuff discourages a careful sorting-out of recyclables. Still, green or not, I love the wholesale housecleaning a dumpster makes possible. I have been coveting a dumpster for ages now, ever since we had one during a long-ago construction project (a girl never really gets over her first bulk-waste disposal unit). I have spent many years pathetically trying to recreate the giddy high I got from that dumpster – the incomparable rush that comes from making decades worth of household junk quickly disappear.

Just thinking about this makes me smile dreamily to myself. I imagine floating from room to room, systematically throwing out the accumulated debris of family life. McDonald’s happy meal toys? Gone! That sad pile of semi-deflated soccer balls? Out! In my head I am humming a happy little song as lanyards and flash cards and countless broken swim goggles are hoisted into the pit, followed by the instruction booklet for a coffeemaker I no longer own.

The way I see it, a dumpster is suburban shorthand for a brand-new start. It signals to the world that some lucky woman is getting a second chance to live a sleek, uncluttered life. Why shouldn’t it be me?

There is a remote and wildly optimistic part of my brain that still thinks it’s possible for me to live a life of austere and Zen-like simplicity. I imagine this existence playing out in serene white rooms with crisp, linear furniture and long stretches of empty counter space. There are no precarious piles of junk mail, no gnarly tufts of dog hair wafting by. I have somehow convinced myself that living in a stark and streamlined place will sweep all the gunk and folderol out of my head, leaving my thoughts as pure and sparkling as my surroundings.  Which is why I keep trying – even without my own private garbage bin – to purge my house on a semi-regular basis.

This, I can assure you, does not make me popular at home, where my family suspects (although they can’t yet prove) that I throw out their stuff when they aren’t looking. To their faces I profess an earnest, if begrudging, respect for their possessions, but once they leave the house, I rub my hands together and cackle in demented, witch-like glee as I dispose of their long-forgotten treasures.

Of course “treasure” is a very subjective word, and one that my family throws around way too liberally for my taste. My husband thought his 1983 Atari video game system was a priceless artifact of his past, but to me it was merely trash; I tossed it out, along with some Barbie coloring books and a musty assortment of soccer cleats.

When my family asks where their stuff has gone, I shrug my shoulders while trying to look innocent and ever-so-slightly distracted. This is a multi-purpose expression I have perfected over time; it is equally effective when my daughter asks what has happened to her Halloween candy.

This does not reflect well on me, I know – clearly I have issues with honesty, not to mention respecting other people’s property. But I am powerless to stop – throwing things out has become a hobby, a vocation, and quite possibly, a mild addiction. And having a dumpster would elevate this pastime into something of an art form. It would certainly make it a hell of a lot easier.

It’s too bad my husband didn’t come through for Christmas. Luckily, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.

Editor’s Note: Susan Goldberg is a slightly lapsed treehugger. Although known to overuse paper products, she has the best of intentions – and a really small SUV. Catch her column, The Goldberg Variations, each week here at EcoSalon.

Image: shedboy

Here are two clever ways to incorporate upcycled wine bottles into your home. The Wine Sphere Chandelier from Wildflower Organics is a delicate glass globe dangling from heavy gauge wire. The Antiqued Mercury Demijohn Wine Bottles from Mothology add a bit of gleam and glamor to any space.

Looking for an excuse to imbibe a ridiculous amount of spirits? Enjoy the pleasure of at least twenty bottles of wine, add handfuls of taper candles, and you have everything you need for a sultry and flickering centerpiece. It isn’t often that preparing for a gathering is as amusing as the dinner itself. Cheers!

(These last images are by Tom Mannion for Elle Decoration – as seen on This Is Glamorous).

I am not what you would call adventurous when it comes to makeup. I wear lipstick, a little tinted moisturizer, some mascara and nothing more. This is not because of any God-given beauty that renders me naturally stunning – it’s just that I am supremely clumsy and untalented when it comes to cosmetics. I have never, ever known how to apply two colors of eye shadow correctly onto my eyelid. And no matter how many times my daughter has tried to show me how it’s done, I still can’t use blush to create the illusion of cheekbones. My face is somehow makeup-averse. Even when it is skillfully applied by a friend or makeup artist, it looks wrong on me – I end up looking painted, garish and overdone. I have invested in several professional makeovers and each time I’ve come away looking like some kind of demented, bad-girl circus clown.

The only sure-fire trick in my makeup arsenal is a particular MAC lipstick, a shade called “Hug Me.” I can’t tell you why, but this one perfect, pinkish brown lipstick adds warmth and definition to my face; it detracts attention from the dark circles under my eyes, and subtly rearranges my features, instantly making me look years younger. Well, I think it does, although not everyone seems to agree (as my mother used to say “It’s lipstick, not a friggin’ magic wand.”)

In a rare blend of shallow vanity and noble altruism, my lipstick addiction not only improves my appearance, it lets me feel that I am doing my part to help the planet: MAC’s recycling program allows you to return any six empty makeup containers and get a free lipstick on the spot. This program delivers a double whammy of feel-good opportunities: it saves me $15.00 while also letting me reduce my carbon footprint. I am not generally the most organized person and I’m not known for my long game, so the fact that I can save and keep track of half-a-dozen empty lipstick casings shows a surprising amount of discipline and foresight.

I do have one small problem with the recycling program – when you purchase a MAC lipstick it comes nicely sealed and sensibly protected in a small black cardboard box. But when you recycle your six used-up containers, the ladies at the counter drop a naked lipstick tube into your hand – no box, no bag, no nothing. There is something jarringly casual about this transaction, and it also seems a little shady – the lack of a box always makes me think that the lipstick may have been found in the street, or on the floor of some gas station ladies’ room.

When I’ve asked the MAC saleswomen why there’s no box with a trade-in, I always get the same vague response, an airy non-explanation that trails off after some mumbling about “policy” and do I need any eyeliner? But I never push it. These ladies know I’m hooked on Hug Me. They can sense my panic as I anxiously ask if the shade is about to be retired. Because as any woman knows, the more perfect a lipstick is, the more likely it is to be abruptly discontinued. I was caught unaware when this happened in the late 1970s with Maybelline Frosted Mocha, but I won’t be caught off-guard again. I call the company periodically, and I check on the website for news of my favorite shade’s demise. Before it disappears forever, I plan to purchase a lifetime supply of Hug Me. But I wonder what I’ll do with all those empty lipstick tubes…

Image: striatic

Men like to cook outside.

I know that sounds like a sweeping generalization – my only defense is that it’s absolutely true. I have lived with a man for 25 years and in that time I have learned a few things about the opposite sex. Being outside puts men in touch with their caveman roots; it lets them hark back to a time when their forefathers wore animal skins and cooked their prey over an open fire. Most guys will admit that cooking outdoors somehow elevates simple food preparation to a manly endeavor, right up there with belching and fantasy football. If you ask my husband to boil water for pasta he will sulk like a four-year-old being sent to his room. But if you ask him to throw hamburgers on a grill, his chest will puff up and he will take a primitive, Tarzan-like glee in preparing that meal. This is a man with two post-graduate degrees, and yet his inner monologue goes something like this: “Meat good. Bob like meat.”

For my husband Bob, the end of summer does not signal the end of outdoor cooking. He will bundle up in down jackets and thermal underwear in order to barbecue comfortably during the colder weather. And now, with Thanksgiving approaching, he’s begun gearing up for his favorite of all outdoor meals: deep-fried turkey. It was seven years ago that Bob first discovered the ultimate outdoor cooking gadget: a turkey fryer that can cook a bird in no time flat. It had to be set up in the backyard, due to a scary and inconvenient tendency to burst into flames. My husband followed the directions carefully, but a quick Thanksgiving grease fire still cost him a burnt wrist and 70 percent of his eyebrows.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. We had driven to two separate supermarkets to find enough peanut oil to fuel this propane-powered monster. After the turkey was cooked and eaten, my husband and I looked at each other over a sea of dirty oil and shared one of those completely empty marital thought bubbles, each of us realizing that we had no idea how to clean up the mess (I wonder – is that how Tony Hayward felt?) The next day, when we tried to leave 12 bottles of oil out with the garbage, we were informed that our town does not recycle or dispose of cooking oil – we were on our own.

Looking back, I have to admit that this was the best turkey that has ever been cooked in my home (well, on my property, anyway.) The flesh was moist and flavorful with a delectably crisp skin. It was the only Thanksgiving we ever had where the turkey itself outshone its sexier sidekicks of stuffing and sweet potato casserole. But when my husband proposed deep frying another holiday dinner this year, it occurred to me to ask what had happened to the oil from our previous bird. Sheepishly, Bob led me down the back porch steps, and showed me the space under the stairs where 12 bottles of peanut oil have been quietly residing since November 2003.

We still have no idea how to get rid of this oil. I fully expect that someday we will pack up those bottles and take them with us to some nice assisted living facility. In the meantime, there will be no fried turkey at my house this year. And for that I give thanks.

Image: jemsweb

In a former life, I worked at an agency and I can remember the day we celebrated landing Starbucks as a client. The young-at-heart caffeine king had some hip and clever style, which got our creative department’s juices flowing, and they were based in Seattle – a bonus for quick runs from SF to a city that was a pretty cool place to suffer business trips. Most important, though, was Starbucks’ relatively positive reputation. Though all agreed that the coffee monster was a local-corner-coffee-shop killer, clients with an earth-and-employee-friendly rep were few and far between.

I also remember the first time I arrived on-site at the company’s headquarters. Behind the well-designed doors, past the state-of-the-art eco-office interior, and inside the elegant, glassy and awesomely coffeed conference rooms, our kick-off meeting was (drum roll) … just like any other. It was about time and money and effective communication and, you know what? It occurred to me that that was just fine. That’s what a corporation is supposed to have meetings about, and despite a recent and inane court ruling, they – excuse me – it is not human and it should not be expected to display human qualities. I mean, the people were nice and all, but the purpose of our being there couldn’t have been clearer: It was time to do business.

That said, the Starbucks story – and the fact that as we speak the company is so frantically trying figure out what to do about its damn paper cups – is a pretty good one.

Here’s the deal with the cups: About 3 billion of the more than 200 billion paper cups that end up in U.S. dumps each year are from Starbucks. This is a bad thing and the company has been flailing around for years now trying to figure out what to do about it. Reports Triple Pundit, Starbucks says “disposing of the cups is the top environmental concern of its customers. The angst over the problem has reached the highest levels of the company.”

Supposedly, eco-focused CEO Howard Schultz has promised that by 2012 all Starbucks cups will be recyclable.

They even had a really big meeting about it. Earlier this year, Starbucks hosted its second Cup Summit at MIT, hosting “municipalities, raw material suppliers, cup manufacturers, retail and beverage businesses, recyclers, NGOs, and academic experts together to drive the development of solutions that will make both paper and plastic cups more broadly recyclable.” Attendees even included competitors such as Dunkin’ Donuts and McDonald’s.

This all fits in with the Starbucks’ green-and-all-around good-guy thing, says Fast Company, as “the company is pursuing more LEED certifications and working toward a goal of purchasing 100 percent fair-trade and Coffee and Farmer Equity-certified coffee by 2015.” Indeed, the Starbucks as standout corporate citizen story is well documented – and well marketed.

Now this shouldn’t translate into a non-critical or even a non-judgmental approach to the whole Starbucks phenomenon. Anti-union issues and the previously mentioned local-shop carnage aside, no matter how green a process and product, more stuff – and more stores – means just that, and no spin can erase that footprint. (See “Green? Perhaps. But iPads Don’t Grow on Trees.”) Says Fast Company: “Environmentally… Starbucks has bigger concerns than disposable cups. Its 8,832 company-owned stores and its international supply chain both affect resource use and climate change more than cups in the trash.”

On the other hand, I’m not calling into question the intentions of Schultz and his reportedly hopped-up-on-the-environment team. They do seem to be doing some good in a world where big business is more known for its trail of slime than caring about what is left in our dumps. Nevertheless, they are corporate folk and they represent a money-making team that’s busily trying to bounce back after their stock hit a “multi-year low” in 2008.

What’s good about all this is that a major corporate player knows the concerns of its customers and that it sees its competitive advantage, its winning formula, if you will, as pounding out a constant and consistently green drumbeat. Yes, the only establishment to ever make Cat Stevens seem corporate knows that a good many of us care about those cups and have a habit of buying into, literally, feeling better about our ourselves. (I’m partial to Triple Grande Lattes and my editor, I’m sure, has her own formula regarding the relationship between my word count and my caffeine intake.)

And it’s here where we note what famous criminal Willie Sutton supposedly told a reporter when asked why he robbed banks: “That’s where the money is.” In today’s marketing world, to a growing extent, green is where the money is.

So consider Starbucks a bit of gauge regarding one of our biggest hopes – the extent to which committing to the approach makes sound economic sense in terms of how it plays with consumers. This is not to say that the corporate world will ever see the light. In fact, it has no eyes to see. What it does have is a nose for coin. And Starbucks is following its nose. As a result, hopefully, they’ll figure out what to do with their damn cups.

Image: serendipitys

In the earth-friendly circles in which I travel, I meet a lot of extremely dedicated eco-activists. They are all outrageously well meaning, if a bit overly caffeinated. The fact is I tend to keep my distance from the true zealots – those endlessly earnest composting vegans, the ones who wear hemp, sew their own cloth diapers, and vibrate with positive energy. Instead, I seem to gravitate towards women who are more like me: well-intentioned but slightly slothful and just the tiniest bit cranky. Basically, I am committed to the Earth but reluctant to break a sweat. I would describe myself as “chill” except that my kids have forbidden me to use that word (unless it’s in the context of chocolate pudding). For low-key gals like me who want to make a greener, cleaner Earth – while still finding time to relax – I offer the following tips:

1. Resist the urge to procreate. This will protect the Earth from the harmful effects of 4,000 disposable diapers while saving 100 gallons of water each and every day. Also, it will save you 18 to 22 years of hard labor. As a side benefit, you will be able to wear clogs and use inappropriate, youthful slang without anyone criticizing you for it.
2. Stop eating mayonnaise. There is absolutely no way to get those jars clean enough for recycling, so just switch to mustard and call it a day. In the long run, the Earth will thank you – and your arteries will, too.
3. Buy a Toyota Prius. This will earn you such massive eco cred that you won’t really have to do anything else except stand around looking smug and virtuous.
4. Get a dog. Dogs are an excellent way to dispose of leftovers, and most of them will also eat junk mail, couch pillows, eyeglasses and other household items that would otherwise end up in landfills. Cats will perform many of the same functions, but on the downside”¦they’re cats.
5. Go to a car wash. This is counter intuitive and flies in the face of all that homespun, simple life, do-it-yourself rhetoric, but the fact is a professional car wash is much more water efficient than using a garden hose in your driveway. Plus, your dog – and husband – will find the car wash endlessly amusing.
6. Start buying Diet Coke in cardboard boxes containing 24 cans. This way, you won’t have to cut up those annoying, plastic six-pack rings. Also, you’re less likely to run out of Diet Coke.
7. Announce that you will no longer cook any endangered species of fish. Also refuse to buy chicken or milk containing antibiotics or PCBs or eggs that aren’t cruelty free. This will knock so many foods off your menu that you’ll be able to serve microwave popcorn for dinner without feeling guilty.
8. Designate one day a week as “Stay in Bed Sunday.” On this day you will use very little electricity, you won’t contribute to the out-of-control consumer culture, you will produce almost no waste, and your skin will look refreshed and wonderful.
9. Work at home if you possibly can. Telecommuting saves the planet from harmful automotive carbon emissions. Plus, it is sometimes possible to nap during the workday.
10. OK, I know that’s only nine, but frankly, I’m exhausted. And I really believe that nine tips are more than enough. Yessiree, nine tips are plenty.

Image: bredgur

I hate to admit it, but I’m an instant gratification kind of gal. On the rare occasions that I rouse myself to do something positive, I like to be rewarded with the immediate and obvious results of my efforts.

When I clean, I want to see a sparkling and orderly house that smells, however briefly, of Pine Sol and Lemon Pledge. When I diet, I like to see immediate results – either on my scale or on my thighs. But when I recycle, I see”¦absolutely nothing.

There is, of course, the satisfaction of knowing that I am helping the planet – in an amorphous, down-the-road kind of way. But the fact is I will never really know if the mayonnaise jar I rinse out and recycle today will improve the ozone layer tomorrow. I have nothing concrete to show for my efforts and no definitive proof that I am improving the world even a smidgen. For me, recycling has always been the epitome of a delayed gratification task. Until now.

I have found a wonderful new way to recycle, one that lets me do my part for a greener planet while rewarding me with an immediate payoff – literally. I have begun recycling coins – the heavy and unsanitary loose change that weighs down every purse I own and rattles around in my pockets. I am no longer burdened with those funky nickels and dimes that reproduce like rabbits and clutter up my counters in a depressing, down-market display. Coins are everywhere in my house – collecting dust in shoe boxes, carelessly scattered on top of night tables, and stuffed into plastic takeout food containers. My house is an unlikely cross between Chase Manhattan Bank and an episode of “Hoarders.”

But it turns out that the coins you accumulate in your home are not just unattractive, they are bad for the environment, too. It is estimated that nearly 10 billion dollars’ worth of loose change is sitting idle in American homes right now. And every coin sitting in a jar on your dresser is a coin the U.S government feels the need to replace. Minting money is a drain on resources and energy, so putting your loose change back into circulation is, ultimately, an eco-friendly thing to do.

And now, thanks to the Penny Arcade machine at TD Bank, going green is easy – you just toss your unwanted coins into the machine, and accept paper money in return. If you’re not the most pristine of money hoarders, there’s even a reject tray where your non-coin items will be spit out. When my husband and I brought in our last haul, the machine coughed out a bunch of Canadian nickels, a button, a rusted screw and two Advil tablets. We walked away with over $400 in crisp, clean bills, and it was, by far, my favorite recycling experience to date.

I’d like to be the kind of person who’s enthusiastic about recycling – even without a cash incentive. But the reality is, I have a daughter starting college in 11 months, and most American universities charge $40,000 a year.

It’s time to pull apart the couch cushions and look for more change.

Image: tsmall