Don’t be hating on Scrooge. There might have been some green blood flowing through that iniquitous heart of steel.

True, Ebenezer was a clueless curmudgeon, hardened by celibacy and tortured by a dysfunctional relationship with money. An abusive boss and cynical social recluse, he shunned the caroler’s tin cup and community connection, holing up in his work space and bed chamber, destined to die unloved and alone.

In short, he acted like an ass – an ass with some weird-ass dreams. That’s what you get for eating kidney pie before bed, you old meanie. Any good EcoSalon vegetarian could have told you that.

But in revisiting the new 3-D animated Disney remake of A Christmas Carol with my 10-year-old daughter, Lauren, I detected traces of green in Scrooge’s social gaffes. Once we got past the unnecessary harshness of the production, directed by Robert Zemeckis and starring the agile Jim Carrey, I found a new appreciation for Scrooge’s commendable frugality.

He boasted a spare old house with no central heating and a vintage wardrobe. He steadfastly refused to associate personal happiness with material accumulation. Anyone who subscribes to Ad Busters (including my husband, Edwin) applauds these traits.

It is no coincidence the book, America’s Cheapest Family, is becoming a favorite read as the nation’s recession drags on. We yearn to learn how to be tight wads, too, and not to part so easily with our hard-earned cash.

True, Scrooge also withheld giving emotionally, but it can be challenging giving of one’s soul when its casing has been neglected for decades. A dearth of sex can make us stingy. I’d share my thoughts about this with you, but first I need some sex.

In terms of his anti-social life, I can’t say I blame him for rejecting his nephew’s festive fetes which encouraged insensitive guests to join a rousing guessing game of Charades at someone else’s expense.

There are no excuses for how the boss man treated Tiny Tim’s nice dad, Bob Cratchit, forcing him to work long hours and holidays at a poor wage, except for the fact I see this all the time in the American workforce as over-worked retail cashiers and migrant workers suffer at the hands of the profit-hungry corporate machine.

Perhaps the best argument that Scrooge was not just mean, but also rather green, was his strict no gift policy, a trend that is catching on as a rising number of celebrants choose to pass on amassing more junk they simply don’t need.

Some, like my friend’s 8-year-old son, Samuel, need more prompting than others. His mom, Susanne, convinced him to throw an “eco birthday party” last week (below) with paperless invites, no presents and a fun craft project of constructing a solar car.  In the end, she says, he got the message that sustaining is better than receiving.

Other friends of mine turning 30 or 40 or 50 are happily forgoing gifts and stating so on invitations with notations that say stuff like, “No presents: Your presence is all we need.” There was a funny Curb Your Enthusiasm addressing the issue at a party for an injured Ben Stiller, who was peeved when Larry David took him at his word and nixed the gift. At least old Scrooge withheld with conviction.

Who decided honoring one another requires spending money on new things? Here is a cashmere sweater and a diamond heart pendant to say you are special. Here is an electric razor, a Snuggie, an iPod, to make sure you know.

If you don’t agree Scrooge was a tad green, you might concede that the moral of the Dickens tale qualifies: Giving is a state of mind.

Giving from the heart, not the pocketbook, is the true message of Christmas – the message articulated by Christ and Buddha and other teachers who demonstrated how to be a kinder, gentler, carbon mass.

When Ebenezer turned the corner that fateful Christmas morning and became decidedly present, his new-found sense of positive Karmic energy was the gift that touched his community, even more than the massive goose he bought for the Cratchits or the cash donation he pledged to the needy. A re-birth is always something to celebrate, whether you’re talking about an old dog like Scrooge or the beloved planet.

This is the latest installment in Luanne Bradley’s column, Life in the Green Lane.

Images: Disney, Luanne Bradley, HBO

The post Revisiting Dickens’ Scrooge: Was He Mean or Kinda Green? appeared first on EcoSalon.

Getting Purelled is the growing phenomenon of sanitizing one’s germ-infested mitts with the alcohol-based, Johnson & Johnson product known as Purell.

What’s in the name, William Safire students might ask?

Pure, I imagine, denotes the opposite of tainted, which in flu terms translates into ralphing, the runs and the unpleasant sensation of having been poisoned by Satan. Elle is French for she, as in, she is cruel that H1N1 Virus, widespread in 47 states now. Elle also is a swank Fifties ad-on, like ette for dinette. It sounds real classy.

I first heard the term the other day after ordering my teenage daughter to wash her hands after school. She’s a nail biter, more susceptible than most.

“I just got purelled,” she explained, exhibiting a jellyfish-like, residue bubble in her palm, which she kept afloat because she was undoubtedly fascinated by its staying power.  She has been studying chemistry in school. And I believe pathogen is one of her SAT terms.

Sydney and her peers happily take advantage of the economy, vat-sized, plastic dispensers of the waterless germ fighter stationed in every nook and cranny of her school, from the bathrooms to the cafeteria, library and gym.

At the campus’s recent Grandparents Day buffet breakfast, I watched an elderly dude mistake the jug O’Purell for carbonated water, carelessly pumping a shot into his cup with a puzzled visage. I gently intervened to set him straight. “You don’t want to drink that, Mister.”

The sanitizer, albeit refreshing upon contact with the skin, is not desirable as a beverage, no matter how much the Dunder Mifflinaholic, Meredith Baxter, of The Office fame ingests it for its alcohol content.

Getting purelled sounds ironically similar to getting paroled. In fact, a link exists when you consider hand purifying might prevent weeks off from school, a form of prison for parents who can’t do squat during the duration of the relatively mild but ubiquitously feared illness. I know as a mom who recently emerged from the trenches with her Swine Flu-infected youngest.

“Mommy, I’m bored! Mommy, stop working, I’m bored! ” I call it Purell hell.

In an aggressive no-tolerance approach, our school armed itself with endless stockpiles of the weapon at the beginning of the year hoping it might slow what it cannot prevent. While the CDC says there are  plenty of the H1N1 vaccines to go around, many parents apparently prefer that surefire killer, Purell.

“I definitely think it has slowed down the spread since contact between these kids is so constant, maybe each child is contacting 20 others throughout the day,”  says Dr. David Abusch-Magder, the head of middle school at Brandeis Hillel Day School in San Francisco.

At least the school, which has an impressive recycling and composting program, is using refillable containers. If you must invest is this much plastic, you might as well maximize its shelf life.

In addition to schools,  I’ve spotted the dispensers just about everywhere these days, from Trader Joe’s checkout counters to business offices, exercise studios and even in the cup holder of my own car.  The truth is there is no place to avoid the risk of contamination. Many organisms continue to thrive in my car despite the Purell.

Another truth is that we are creating a population of Purelled humans immune to the small percentage of bacteria resistant to the liquid. Bacteria that don’t die simply reproduce.

Let’s just hope we can conceive of  a way to upcycle all of those plastic dispensers once we are restored.

This is the latest installment in Luanne’s column, Life in the Green Lane.

Top image: The Local

Image One:Upyernoz

The post Getting Purelled: The New Fixation of an Ailing Nation appeared first on EcoSalon.

No one growing up during the upbeat, Mattel-directed Sixties figures they’ll be worse off in middle age, forced to scrounge harder for work, buy less, live smaller.

Those Barbie songs my sister and I sang along to in our pink and green room constituted teenage visions of a supercalifragelistic future that we owned, co-starring Dick Van Dyke, four kids, a shiny Lincoln and full-service yacht.

“Here’s a cake, that you and I can make, I’ll share the recipe, if you say yes to me.”

But due to the recession and soaring costs of raising two girls in the city, I’m singing a different tune today on my birthday. Sure, I married Ken, but where are the other Camelot conquests I was guaranteed?

Gone is the wine country home, jaunts to spas on a whim, the black velvet boxes concealing gems he bought for me with cash from cases he settled.

Despite the unexpected Barbie plot twist, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude as I take inventory of what I do have.

For instance, I spotted a gold necklace on Fillmore Street with a round charm that that bore the words I am completely blessed. I didn’t dare buy the $600 trinket but I have kept the affirmation close to my heart.

So, I’ve decided to count my blessings today (my colleague Sarah Irani should know that quite a few of them came free!). Here are a whopping 50, plus one for good luck.

I am completely blessed because…

1. I birthed two healthy, spectacular daughters who teach me something new each day.

2. I married a great father.

3.  I follow my bliss every day that I write.

4. My girls are strapping amazons because God gave me super human breast milk.

5. I’m surrounded by friends who are like family.

6.   My mother is still around and down to just one biting criticism of me a day.

7. I am never hungry when I don’t want to be.

8. We live without war in the  streets of San Francisco.

9. I have not been killed by a truck like my brother.

10. My religious faith has connected me to a community of fellow yentas to grow old with.

11. My older sister is an exceptional auntie.

12. My older brother is keeping the family business afloat during rocky times.

13. My pug and cat think I’m their mommy and I am.

14. I married father nature.

15. I’m healthy and strong from exercise and can climb the fence when I get locked out.

16. The builder’s daughter has always had a roof over her head.

17. I have commercial-free TV.

18. I have art on my walls from friends who made it.

19. I have memorized dozens of bedtime songs.

20. My daughters sing the songs I have sung to them.

21. My children are known for being creative and kind.

22. My beloved camera almost always works.

23. My children can read and write and like to do both.

24. My children make me exquisite birthday presents and set a regal table with a tiara at my place.

25. I can walk to the movie theater on Saturday nights.

26. No one at the theater asks me if I want the senior discount.

27. My city has excellent public transportation.

28. I can still see very well when I wear magnified lenses.

29. My mom, who unloads much, has kept her box at the iconic Hollywood Bowl.

30. My children get to use the box at the Hollywood Bowl and hear live music.

31. No menopause yet.

32. Menopause will come sooner or later.

33. I think I’ve seen god.

34. I think god is the miracle of birth.

35. I have learned how to kayak.

36. I have learned Italian.

37. Henna makes me higher than jewelry.

38. I married a great teacher.

39. My husband rarely spends money. When he does, it is on books and candy.

40. I have kept my commitments.

41. I’m in a bad girls book club.

42. My book club is all about the food.

43. Decent chick flicks are still being made, i.e. Julie and Julia.

44. I can grow vegetables in my yard to make soup.

45. I can pick flowers in my yard for table bouquets.

46. I can find stylish Sixties-inspired fashion on sale.

47. My Weight Watchers Guru is a Stanford Nutritionist.

48. I have gained the wisdom to see my own culpability.

49. I was born a healthy female in a rich land.

50. I’m a survivor because my Polish grandparents were survivors.

51. Today is my 51st birthday.

Main image: Sparkleneeley

Second image: Luanne Bradley

This is the fourth in Luanne’s new lifestyle column, Life in the Green Lane.

The post Another Year Older and Deeper in Debt: A Shift in the Barbie Paradigm appeared first on EcoSalon.

This is the third in Luanne’s new lifestyle column, Life in the Green Lane. Read the inaugural column, “The Pros & Cons of Being Married to an Eco Man” and the follow-up, “Why Is it So Hard to Get My Mom to Go Green?”.

My dog has fleece. And that’s not all. There are dozens of reasons why this impossibly adorable pug is leaving behind a puny carbon paw print.

If you consider dogs part of the family then it’s important they’re pulling their weight in the eco department along with the rest of us.

My little Smokey may not be as earthy as those drooling, stick- fetching, shaggy water dogs you see at Ocean Beach. But he plunges into nature pretty darn well for a pampered, toy breed favored by Tibetan monks, Chinese emperors and 16th century European royalty.

Plus, he’s a champion chick  magnet. I can’t take him anywhere without hormonal, puppy-loving teenage girls gushing over what looks to them to be a huge stuffed pet. Their devoted boyfriends stand by while they give up some love to my guy. “Ohhh, is that your pug? Can I pet him? What’s his name? OMG, he’s sooooo cute!”

Okay, so being a magnet doesn’t earn you an LEED certification, but these other things count – things you won’t learn at obedience school.

Here’s why my dog is cuter..I mean greener…than lots of other dogs.

1. Carpools on Playdates

Smokey gets picked up for his group, The Littles, a couple of days a week, and this has helped him become the socialized, refined gentleman neighbors invite over for biscuits and tea. Also, his owner (me) is saving fuel by not driving him myself.

2. Named for the Bear

Every time we call out his name, “Smokey, stop eating those Bounce sheets,” people are reminded of that famous ranger bear Smokey who first appeared in 1952 to get clueless cigarette smokers and weekend campers on a campaign to prevent wildfires. My mother argues he should be named Oliver or Churchill or something that goes with brandy and a cigar. But Smokey was already named when our babysitter gave him to us ’cause she was moving and couldn’t keep him.

2. Reuses Everyday Household Objects

A savvy consumer not taken in by the notion that new is best, Smokey forgoes the fancy, synthetic dog bed for a cozy laundry bag or basket filled with warm sheets and socks. Good boy! That’s my good green dog! However, his favorite mount is our laps and that costs nothing at all and we like it because he is so lovable and sweet.

3.  Maintains a Strict  Organic Diet

We feed him Newman’s Own organic pet food, as well as organic kibble and free range chicken broth in a reusable stainless steel dog dish. Occasionally, we let him have a treat, such as organic string cheese, which was a great training aid for prompting him to sit, lie down and stop eating Bounce Free sheets.

4.  Walks the Walk

Smokey is an avid walker who adores cruising to a nearby playground or hiking at Fort Funston. Walking keeps him fit (pugs have a tendency to pack on the pounds) and also calms him down. Walking is great for me, too, and for pet owners like you! Besides, Smokey gets rather nervous riding in cars. He insists on having the windows rolled all the way down and whimpers uncontrollably until we arrive at our destination. My husband is the same way.

5.  Wears Made-in-the-USA

Whether starring in a 4th of July parade in Sonoma or escorting his sisters on Halloween, Smokey wears locally-made garb, from patriotic bandanas to harnesses and muscle shirts. He feels we import too many toxic toys and products from China, and although he springs from the Asian culture and resembles the Foo Dog in looks and stature, it all stops there.

6. Creates a Warm Fur-ness

If you can sleep through the intense snoring (being hit over the head with a large mallet can help) then you don’t need to turn up the heat on a cold night in San Francisco. When Smokey stomps on your ribs and flops down on you or near you, it’s like a natural furnace that keeps you toasty all night. Just ask old Audrey. She likes to hang with Mr. Smokes for sunny afternoon cat naps. Audrey showed him who is boss from the very start, but now she needs him. Oh, yes she does, girl.

8. Prefers Biodegradable Pooper Scooper Bags

He won’t tolerate any other sort of bag for scooping up his shit. Funny, that’s one of the reasons I love him so. I once tried to pick up a poop using a plastic grocery bag and boy did he yelp. He likes that Bio Bags are made with planet friendly corn that breaks down. We use bio bags for composting, too.

9. Is Never, Ever Wasteful

Kids might kvetch, “there’s nothing to eat,” but Smokey never takes that stance because he will eat just about anything that resembles food. While I’m preparing his meal, he cries and dances manically in a circle, a tribal dance reminiscent of Native American rituals praising the buffalo. If a scrap falls on the floor, he laps it up. If he feels the compost we set aside could be more useful as a snack, then he asserts himself like a good steward of the planet should. And if Audrey won’t finish her own breakfast, Smokey recycles that into his dessert.

10. Conserves Energy

Like the best hybrid, Smokey is efficient at conserving fuel. Here he is after completing a five mile course along the Great Highway bike path. He parked his tired pug ass on the sofa for a snooze before dinner.  After dinner, he usually rests until his late night walk with dad. Then he parks it until breakfast.

OMG! My pug is sooooo cute!

Images: Luanne Bradley

The post 10 Reasons Why the Planet Loves My Dog appeared first on EcoSalon.

My mother, the nice Jewish lady seen here at her box at the Hollywood Bowl,  is among the biggest paper and water consumers in the country. It hasn’t been easy getting her to turn over a new leaf. (Or rather, fewer of them.)

She has a varied and colorful history of helping herself to fistfuls of disposable napkins at restaurants, collecting hundreds of brown paper grocery bags from Gelson’s Market and requiring daily soaks or showers. She’s pretty darn clean, my mother.

“I never, ever get dressed before bathing,” she has always told me.

“What? So you’ve never heard of French cologne?”

Last summer, I played the dutiful daughter and learned Italian to help mom out on our trip to Italy in September. Turns out, the only phrase that came in handy from Rome to Como was piu l’asciugamani, por favore: More towels, please. Uttered even more frequently to the nice Italian chambermaids was piu faccia l’asciugamani: More face towels!

If there’s someone out there who uses more wash cloths than my 80-year-old mother, I’d like to meet her. No exaggeration, there were several 3-foot high stacks of  Italian terrycloth squares atop the marble vanity of each hotel we visited. How does one person use so many towels without wiping off their face?

The thing is, she would never use a towel more than once. Some people go through towels but they hang them to dry and use them again. Mom won’t even wear one of her 200 Façonnable print blouses more than once without dry cleaning it. Who knew daily treks to Gelson’s Market could work up such a sweat?

And as far as paper napkins and facial tissues are concerned, I think she associates having ample supplies on hand with being well-cared for.

Yep, that’s how Cherie rolls. I love her dearly and wouldn’t trade her in for anyone (except of course, Joan Rivers, and who wouldn’t?). But I have been frustrated trying to convert her to the ways of the unwashed revolutionaries fighting to conserve resources.

Funny, mom is a dichotomy in some ways; she stays out of the sun, shuns drugs (even aspirin) and sips herb tea instead of coffee. But she can’t seem to get on board that eco bus, apart from abiding by L.A. drought restrictions on water use.

Before he died two years ago, my dad, a real estate developer, considered himself to be an early conservationist.

The logo on his office stationary read, “The environment is our business.” He was  frugal and a stickler about turning off lights, shutting off air, cutting down on sprinkler and telephone use, buying used cars for his kids and only building as much housing as he felt the market required. He was one of the first advocates of a mass transit system in L.A. He swore by solar power and used it to warm his pool starting in the 70s.

After dad’s years of chronic scolding, mom did learn to turn off lights and only cranks the heat when she is “freezing to death.”

Yet visits to her McMansion in the Valley become guilt-ridden ones for me and my conscientious kids as we stand idly by watching Nana toss paper and plastic into the garbage. Her gated community even offers recycling and composting bins to be picked up by the waste removal company. The kids and I have explained the benefits of composting to her many times, to which she has replied:

“Why would you throw extra food into a container when you have a garbage disposal?”

In truth, I can’t see her stomaching such a crude process as composting. After all, her breakfast room place settings go into the dishwasher even if no one has touched the utensils. “They’ve been out and so they are dirty,” she informs me. She glares at me with one of those disapproving scowls as if to say that I’m the one who’s crazy.

I forgive her these limitations. Mom is what you call a neat freak. My therapist has urged me not to elaborate.

The good news is that I am making a few inroads with the recycling lectures.

“Now, listen carefully, Mom, when you use a glass jar, let’s say of spaghetti sauce, and you toss it into the trash, it goes into a landfill. Landfills are really full and bad for the planet. If you recycle it, someone can reuse the glass to make something consumers can use.”

For years, she has refused to buy these arguments from me, her youngest. But the other day, when I questioned her about trash disposal again on the phone, she checked in with my older sister who was sitting nearby.

“Do you recycle your trash?” she asked Deb, while I waited patiently for the survey results. “Yes, of course I do,” said my sister. She’s the oldest.

“Oh,” said mom, now seemingly convinced. “I’ll have to tell Mariano (her helper) to start separating the stuff.”

And to think, all it took was a family intervention.

Main image: Visual Panic

Other images: Luanne Bradley

The post Why Is It So Hard to Get My Mom to Go Green? appeared first on EcoSalon.

How do I love thee? Let me count the watts!

And so it goes when betrothed to a well-meaning eco sentinel, a man on a mission to recognize the dangers and combat the plagues of global warming.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m very committed to a greener lifestyle. I write for EcoSalon (Exhibit A) and turn off the tap when brushing my teeth (Exhibit B). I recycle, compost, carpool and use bath towels at least twice before washing. I rest my case.

Still,  I never figured the “other woman” in my marriage would be our beloved Mother Earth, a demanding temptress in constant need of love and attention.

Image: E.L. Bradley

Here’s a  list of  the ups and downs of my low energy/high drama, marital life – one  fraught with the challenges of not just getting along with a spouse but also saving a beleaguered planet.

Pro: I have learned everything I ever wanted to know about sustainable living, including never wearing  flip-flops when I leave the house because you can’t outrun a tsunami in these poolside-only shoes.

Con: Vigorous beach walks are often disrupted by his loud, pedantic diatribes on the dangers of the sea level rising due to melting ice and the heating and expansion of the ocean. “This will all be under water, soon enough,” he observes. Sometimes a gal  just wants to talk about the pretty day or how many calories she’s burning.

Image: Cutco

Pro: It can be quite romantic preparing and eating dinner together in the dark.

Con: It’s tricky wielding sharp Cutco blades to chop organic vegetables assisted only by the flick of a BIC® . I have a tendency to turn the lights back on to see better and that can cause some friction in the relationship.

Image: Edressme

Pro: There is tons of space in the closet and dresser for my stylish dresses, tops, swimsuits, lingerie, shorts, shoe troves and workout clothes.

Con: His one purchase in five years, a cruelty-free patchwork vest from Haight Street, is embarrassing at black-tie events. I know, I know, I should be less conventional, but I do miss the Brooks Brothers-clad Ken Doll I married. Give him back, earth lady! Ken was the best prop a stylish girl ever had.

Pro: All this frugal living has greatly lowered the utility bills.

Con: My living room is the Tundra. “Hey, it’s summer in the City, honey,” I complain, teeth chattering, frost accumulating on my bob. He jokes, “You aren’t cold, you’re just dying.” Very funny, Ken. Toss another blanket on your Barbie, mate, while we await those solar panels.

Pro: Fuel-efficient bike riding has greatly aided my summer weight loss program. Where did my big butt go? Anyone seen it? Anyone seen a big Jewish tush?

Con: The uphill battle of saving energy is murder. His legs are iron.  That’s why he can climb the Alps of San Francisco saddled with a backpack of groceries without a huff or a puff. Damn him!

Image: Wiki

Pro: I’m not tied to one of those superficial yuppies who talks about money and deals at dinner parties, has a wandering eye or sports tacky pinkie rings on our jaunts to Vegas.

Con: I never get Yurman jewelry from Neiman’s on my birthday; flights to the Four Seasons in Mexico are replaced by short getaways to rustic cabins at Costanoa; we have to walk to the Avenue for dinner or take the train downtown (sometimes scary) even though my legs are sore from biking. His old, 8-cylinder Mercedes remains lifeless in the garage. He refuses to sell it ’cause someone else will drive the gas hog.

Pro: Eco sentinals  are virile, sexy real men – like Jack Sparrow and Paul Watson. They give great massages, build toasty fires and have that fresh, Tom’s Toothpaste breath.

Con: You are on board as first mate every day of your life whether you like it or not. Once they get their hooks in you, their whale wars are your whale wars. Hence, a simple walk at the beach, trek through a forest or hour of CNN will never be the same again.

Main image: CarbonNYC

The post The Pros & Cons of Being Married to an Eco Man appeared first on EcoSalon.