The toothbrush dilemma solved

Last week, I installed the last of the replacement heads I had stored up for our Fuchs Ecotek toothbrushes. I'd known this day was coming for about a year, ever since I went looking for information about where to buy the Ecotek and discovered that it was no longer available. And I'd found two possible alternatives to replace it: the Greener Step Snap toothbrush, a similar plastic replaceable-head model, and the various brands of bamboo-handled toothbrushes available online. But I hadn't been sure which was the more ecofrugal alternative. The bamboo brushes were definitely cheaper, even with shipping costs, but which was greener? Was it better to discard an entire toothbrush made primarily of bamboo (but with non-compostable nylon bristles) every three months, or just the head of a plastic toothbrush? As I wondered in my original blog entry on the topic, "How do you even compare the two?"

Well, as it turns out, a team of British and Irish researchers with a lot more resources than I have to devote to the subject have figured out how. They did a complete lifecycle analysis of four different kinds of toothbrushes — electric, single-use plastic, replaceable-head plastic, and single-use bamboo — and compared their "Disability-Adjusted Life Years," or DALYs. That's the number of years (or in this case, hours) of life that each toothbrush would cost a human population in illness, disability, and death. This factors in all forms of pollution, including greenhouse gases, as well as costs such as water use, to figure out exactly which kind is the most sustainable overall. (If you don't want to read the whole study, you can read a summary here.)

The upshot is, measured in DALYs, the reusable-head toothbrush is definitively better than the bamboo one. It does have a larger carbon footprint, but only by a tiny bit, and its water footprint is significantly lower. However, both of them are much better than a single-use plastic toothbrush, as it's the plastic handle that has the biggest ecological footprint. And they are both an order of magnitude better than an electric toothbrush on pretty much every measurable dimension. (Of course, you could argue that an electric toothbrush has human health benefits not measured by this study, based on this study that shows it does a better job of preventing cavities. But dentists interviewed by Consumer Reports say the type of brush you use matters far less than your brushing technique and how often you replace it.)

Now, I should point out that just because a reusable-head toothbrush is the most sustainable of all existing options doesn't mean it's the best of all possible toothbrushes. The researchers also evaluated alternatives possible alternatives like:

• A single-use bioplastic toothbrush. This was not better than a single-use plastic handle, because it reduced the carbon footprint only slightly and increased DALYs significantly.
• Toothbrushes packaged in large cardboard boxes rather than individual blister packs. This is an improvement over the single-use plastic brushes we have now, but it doesn't reduce carbon footprint significantly.
  
• A toothbrush with a reusable handle made of aluminum rather than plastic. This significantly reduces both DALYs and carbon footprint, but not by as much as...
• A recycling scheme that allows both plastic toothbrushes and their packaging to be returned to the manufacturer and recycled, with new toothbrushes being made of 90% recycled plastic.
  

This hypothetical recycled toothbrush could reduce both carbon footprint and DALYs by a considerable margin. However, nothing like it currently exists. I've actually discovered a Mexican company that seems to be working on it, but their product, the Everloop toothbrush, doesn't appear to be available yet. So for now, at least, the plastic reusable-head toothbrush is the best we can do.

Which is why Brian and I are now the proud owners of a pair of Greener Step toothbrushes. I chose the "Value 12 pack" with two handles (we choose green and orange, though you can also go for red and blue) and a dozen snap-in heads. That cost us $19.95 (including shipping), for cost of $1.66 per brush. Brian's, the orange one, has already been deployed in our DIY hacked toothbrush holder; I'm sticking with my old Ecotek for now, since it has this brand-new head that it would be a shame to waste. But once that wears out, I'll switch to the green toothbrush, and probably change the head in Brian's at around the same time. Assuming we continue replacing the heads every three months, these should last us about a year and a half.

And if, for some reason, the Greener Step is no longer available at that point, I'll know I can simply order a pack of bamboo-handled toothbrushes that are almost as good, rather than having to go an another deep dive looking for a new sustainable option. (Or, who knows — maybe the Everloop will be on the market by then, and I can give that a try.)

Money Crashers: 4 new articles

Several of my new articles for Money Crashers dropped yesterday and today, covering a variety of topics. First up is a piece on home power generators — specifically, on whether buying one to deal with disasters like the recent crisis in Texas is a good idea for you. I explored this idea myself during a series of rolling (and totally unpredictable) blackouts in 2014, and I concluded that the answer was no; we didn't have a reasonable place to set up a portable generator, nor to store it and the fuel for it, and a standby one would be far too expensive a solution for what was, for us, a fairly infrequent problem. This article walks you through the same process I went through to reach this conclusion, covering the pros and cons of owning a generator and the questions you should ask to determine if it's right for you. I also discuss several alternatives to consider for getting through a blackout, such as the gas heater we eventually ended up with. (And in case you decide a generator is the right choice for you, there's a companion article to this one due out soon on how to buy one.)

Should I Buy a Backup Standby Power Generator for My Home?

The next two articles deal with the cost of long-term care and how to deal with it. According to HHS, Americans over 65 have a 70% chance of needing long-term care at some point in their lives, and the costs can be astronomical — anywhere from $1,603 to $8,821 per month, based on a Genworth study from 2020. The first of the two articles focuses on ways to reduce this cost, such as relying on family members for care (which can take a toll on their mental health and yours), government aid programs, relocation, and long-term care insurance. (This, too, can be quite costly, so the article also explores ways to keep the premiums down as much as possible.) The second article approaches the topic from a more long-term perspective, discussing how you can plan ahead to deal with your costs, using products like insurance, annuities, or reverse mortgages. Between the two, they offer a complete primer on how to protect yourself from catastrophic costs.

How to Lower Long-Term Care Costs (Nursing Homes & Insurance)

Long-Term Care Options and How to Plan for the Costs

Finally, an article on a topic dear to my heart: podcasts. I'm a regular consumer of podcasts, listening to one every day in the shower. (In fact, I now have so many I listen to regularly that during the winter, when I don't always shower every day, I have trouble keeping up.) Many of my favorite podcasts are about economics, but I know many other people would rather learn about money on a more personal level: how they can use it to their best advantage for particular personal goals. The podcasts in this roundup can help. Whatever your goals — getting out of debt, earning more money, choosing investments, retiring early — there’s a podcast out there that can help you reach them, and this article can tell you where to find it. 

15 Best Financial Podcasts About Money, Business & Investing in 2021

Recipe of the Month: Oyster Mushroom "Steak"

I often have trouble figuring out what to do for Brian on Valentine's Day. Because both Hannukah and his birthday fall in December, by the time February comes around, I've used up all my gift ideas for him, and he's not that big a fan of presents anyway. Doing things together is more his speed, but going out (for dinner, a show, even shopping) isn't really an option right now. Outdoor activities are still okay, but February isn't a great time for them. And all our favorite at-home activities (watching TV together, doing puzzles, having me read aloud to him) are things we do all the time anyway, so they're not that special.

This year, however, I happened to hit on a good idea more or less by chance. I forget exactly how we got onto the subject, but I was asking him whether he missed eating meat (something he hasn't had in a while, since we have entirely stopped cooking it at home, and we haven't been able to eat out for over a year now). He said he didn't mind missing the occasional burger, especially since he usually plumps for the Impossible Burger these days anyway, but he admitted that the idea of a well-cooked steak had not lost its appeal. However, when I asked him if he'd care to spring for a free-range beefsteak to cook at home, he demurred. Then I recalled the oyster mushrooms we'd had at the vegan restaurant we visited on my birthday last year, and how he and my dad both said they tasted a lot like steak. So I suggested some of those for a special Valentine's Day meal, and that he agreed to right away.

I did a quick search on "oyster mushroom steak" and found a simple recipe on the Plant-Based On a Budget blog. It recommended a single large oyster mushroom for each serving, grilled in a pan for three to four minutes on each side and served with a tahini-lemon sauce, accompanied by roasted potato wedges and cherry tomato halves. February not being the ideal time of year for cherry tomatoes, we skipped that part of the meal in favor of some frizzled leeks à la Molly Katzen, but otherwise we stuck to the recipe as provided.

We already had some potatoes, and we picked up the leeks and the oyster mushrooms at H-Mart. We found several kinds of oyster mushrooms, in fact, and we got into a bit of a debate in the store about which variety was most appropriate for the recipe. There were large king oyster mushrooms, dark clusters of black oyster mushrooms, and large clumps labeled as oyster mushrooms with no adjective attached. Not knowing which variety the blogger had in mind, we eventually settled on the unqualified oyster mushrooms as the safest bet. A half-pound package cost us $5 — about as much as we'd have paid for real steak, but without the hefty carbon footprint.

We then had another debate at home about what constituted one oyster mushroom, the recommended portion size, since there were a whole bunch of little caps on each stem. Eventually we decided we'd just cook half the package for the two of us, and if that wasn't enough, it wouldn't take long to do the rest. We also cooked one potato apiece and frizzled an entire leek, since we knew we'd have no trouble using up any leftovers. (Frizzled leeks are great in soup or pasta, or you can just snack on them like chips.) The entire lot — shrooms, potatoes, and leeks — made one overflowing plateful, which we split between the two of us.

The cooked mushrooms certainly didn't look much like steak, but they had a satisfyingly chewy, "meaty" texture and a rich, savory flavor — particularly the bits that had stuck to the pan a bit and got extra browned. In fact, Brian ended up tossing the rest of the mushrooms in the pan and cooking them on extra high heat to get them as torched as possible. This produced a lot of smoke, but also produced extra flavorful mushrooms. Brian's observation was that the flavor seemed to get better the browner they were, but cooking them too thoroughly tended to dry them out and make them tough, so it was a bit of a balancing act to optimize both flavor and texture. The potatoes and leeks both complemented the mushrooms well (better than tomatoes would have, in my opinion). As for the tahini-lemon sauce, it was fine, but neither of us thought it did much to enhance the mushrooms, and we probably wouldn't bother with it another time.

It's been over twenty-five years since I last tasted steak (and even that was only what passed for it at my college dining center), so I couldn't really say how the oyster mushrooms compared to it. When I put the question to Brian, the more recent carnivore, he said, "A mushroom is not a steak, but then again, a steak is not a mushroom." In other words, the mushrooms weren't just like steak, but they had virtues of their own that steak couldn't offer. They couldn't fill you up like a big hunk of animal protein, but they had a stronger natural flavor, even in the parts that weren't all that well browned. And it was a flavor that both Brian, a once-fond fan of beef, and I, who never much cared for it, could enjoy.

So now for the thousand-dollar question (or in this case, the $9.98 per pound question): would we make this again? Well, based on the price, I don't think it's something we'd want to have on a regular basis. But then, I imagine most meat-eaters on a budget wouldn't choose to pay $10 a pound for real steak on a regular basis, either. So I think we can look on this dish the same way a meat-eater could view the cow-based alternative: a nice treat for special occasions. Especially when followed up with a nice lemon pudding cake, coconut whipped cream, and Critical Role.

A closet tinkering experiment

Like last week's, this post is about clothing that doesn't quite fit. But while that one was about a garment I've been afraid to try altering because I didn't want to mess it up, this is about one that I decided to go ahead and mess with because I pretty much had nothing to lose.

The piece in question is a simple white blouse that I bought many years ago from, if I recall correctly the Newport News catalog. While many of the garments I bought years ago have grown too tight for me, this one has gone in the opposite direction. Its stretch cotton fabric has gradually lost its resilience, leaving it too loose all around. This is mainly a problem because the over-large shirt no longer stays tucked in neatly, so whenever I wear it as part of my Morris dance costume, it pulls itself loose as I dance, even with a snugly cinched belt over it. And even when I'm only wearing it about my everyday activities, the shirt keeps pulling free each time I sit, stand, or otherwise move around, and I have to keep tucking it back in.

Taking the shirt to a tailor obviously wouldn't be worthwhile. It cost less than $20 when it was new, and now it's decades old, worn thin and with yellowish stains about the armpits. Having it altered would definitely cost far more than the shirt is now worth. And yet, at the same time, it's still a wearable and pretty nice shirt. True, I own a couple of other white shirts I can wear for Morris dancing, but this one is warmer, so it's useful for gigs in cold weather, as well as for wearing under a sweater in the wintertime. It seems like a shame to just throw it out, even assuming I could find a new one that's just as good.

Taking all these facts into consideration, I decided, well, I really have nothing to lose by tinkering with it myself. It's not much use to me as it is, so I'm not running the risk of spoiling a useful garment; the worst that can happen is that I'll have to discard it and buy a new one, which is probably what I'll have to do anyway if I don't mess with it.

So I got out some safety pins and started experimenting. I found that by pinning it in several places across the back, I could get it back to a reasonably snug fit - still comfortable, but tight enough to wear and keep it tucked in. However, I quickly discovered that wearing it with the pins in place all the time wasn't really a solution, as a sudden movement could cause the well-worn fabric to tear around them. I'd need to stitch it up somehow.

Rather than simply stitch the two sides together, I decided to try a technique I'd seen while dabbling with DIY Renaissance garb: adding holes and connecting the two sides with laces. This would make the shirt adjustable, so I could make it tighter or looser as needed to accommodate any future fluctuations in weight, as well as giving it a cool, vaguely Renaissance vibe.

So I dug through my scrap bin for the longest piece of white ribbon I could find, then searched through my sewing box for a needle large enough to accommodate it. I tied a knot at one end to keep the ribbon from slipping all the way through and started poking holes in my shirt. I knew this would probably make the shirt unwearable if it didn't work, but again, since it was pretty close to unwearable anyway, I didn't have much to lose. It took a bit of repeated jabbing and wiggling to get the needle all the way through the fabric, but I eventually managed to create a series of holes, crisscrossing from bottom right to middle left to top right and back over and down. Then I adjusted the ribbon until it was more or less even on both sides, tied it loosely in a bow, and tried the shirt on.

And it fit, sort of. That is, the shirt was snug enough in the waist to wear tucked into trousers without it coming loose. Under a sweater, in fact, it would look perfectly normal. But by itself, well...it looked a little weird. Basically, the upper part of the shirt was now much looser than the lower part, so there was all this excess fabric that bulged out on top like a big balloon. I don't think I'd really want to wear the shirt for Morris dancing in its present condition.

So, if this experiment wasn't really a success, why am I sharing it here? Because I think it's important to talk about the ecofrugal endeavors that don't work out, as well as those that do.

 The trend nowadays seems to be to curate the public version of our lives, as presented on social media, and show only the best bits - the parts that make us look more successful, more glamorous, more fun, more exciting than we really are. The problem is, seeing only the best parts of all our friends' and acquaintances lives makes us less satisfied with our own. So, for instance, if you're a regular reader of a blog about ecofrugality, and all the ecofrugal experiments you read about on that blog are incredibly successful, you might easily become frustrated that so many of your own attempts to save money and/or the earth don't work out very well. Perhaps you'd even conclude that you just aren't cut out to live an ecofrugal life, and you shouldn't bother trying anymore.

That's exactly the message I don't want to send. I want you to know about the things I do that don't work so that you can learn from my mistakes - but I also want to show how I keep plugging away at my attempts to live an ecofrugal life, even if I don't always succeed at it. I want to encourage you to try little money-saving experiments like this one, even if they might not work out, because trying things that don't work is an important part of learning what does. Maybe something that doesn't work the first time can work better on the second or third. (For instance, I'm already considering the possibility that this shirt might look better if I just continued the lacing farther up the back, and planning to keep an eye out for cheap white ribbon so I can give it a shot.) And even things that turn out not to work at all - like all the crops we've tried in our garden that we couldn't grow to save our lives - provide useful information about what not to do. Now that we know we're no good at growing Brussels sprouts, for instance, we can just set aside more space for green beans.

In the words of Samuel Beckett: "Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

What if you can't repair OR replace?

Have you ever owned an article of clothing you were deeply attached to, one that you held onto long after it wore out or stopped fitting properly because you just couldn't stand to get rid of it, and that you've never found a suitable replacement for?

That's happened to me many times, but the best example I can think of is this old cardigan sweater. I've had it for literally decades — in fact, if I recall correctly, I received it as a gift from my late grandmother when I was thirteen. All through high school and college, I wore it pretty much all the time in cold weather, because it was cozy and warm and went with absolutely everything. And I continued to cling to it throughout my adult life, even as it got harder and harder to button, because I just couldn't imagine anything else taking its place. When I wore holes into the elbows, I hired a knitting-empowered friend to repair them so I could keep wearing it longer.

Eventually, it got to the point where it was simply no longer practical to keep wearing it. Only the middle two buttons could physically be fastened anymore, leaving big gaps uncovered at the top and bottom. This clearly wasn't a problem that could be repaired, so I reluctantly set out searching for a replacement...and I couldn't find one. This particular decades-old model, obviously, was no longer available from the manufacturer, and there was simply nothing at all on the market like it. It seemed like a simple enough thing to look for — a warm cardigan in a multicolored pattern that would go with most of my other clothes — yet I searched everywhere, from department stores to thrift shops to Amazon and eBay, without finding anything that really fit the bill.

Over the years, I've tried a couple of other cardigans that seemed like they might make acceptable replacements. In 2012, my sister gave me a really nice one as a Hanukkah present, and I kept it for several years, but I found that I just wasn't pulling it out to wear very often; it was too long on me, and the brown background color didn't go with the rest of my wardrobe. So I finally decided to pass it on in the hopes that it would find some taller, warmer-complexioned person who could truly appreciate it. Another given to me by my mom met the same fate; though it was comfy, the length and bulk weren't flattering. And while my latest pick, a plain grey zip-up from L.L. Bean, went reasonably well with everything, its cotton fabric just wasn't up to the job of keeping me warm in the coldest weather.

Over the past few weeks, I've become kind of obsessed with trying to find a suitable replacement for my beloved cardigan. I've searched endlessly on Google, eBay, and all the online thrift shops like thredUP and Swap.com. I've bookmarked pricey wool cardigans on Etsy and The Irish Store, but never hit the "buy" button because they weren't exactly right (wrong assortment of colors, didn't look like they would fit properly) and I didn't want to waste money on something that might not be any better than what I've tried already. 

But the greatest source of frustration for me is the fact that I already own a sweater that's almost perfect. It's this extra-large men's cardigan that I picked up some years ago at the local thrift shop. It's the right material, a warm blend of acrylic and wool. It's the right color, with a dark grey background and a variety of jewel tones in the pattern that go with most, though not quite all, of my winter clothes. It doesn't have pockets, which I would prefer, but I could deal with that.

The problem is the size. A men's extra large isn't just big on me, it's absurdly big. The length is actually fine, and the width in the body isn't too much of a problem, but the volume in the sleeves just drowns me. I could deal with the excess length by rolling them up, but they're so wide that I can barely stuff them into my coat. And the V in the front is so deep that it leaves a big portion of my chest uncovered, which isn't great for warmth.

If I could only adjust it to fit me, this sweater would be closer to a perfect replacement for my cherished old cardigan than anything I've ever seen in a store. But is that even possible? 

According to this site, there are several ways to take in a too-big cardigan. Shrinking it in the wash is the simplest, but that probably wouldn't work with this one, since it's not 100 percent wool. Pinching off the excess fabric and sewing in new seams might work, but I'm not sure my sewing skills are up to it, and I'm afraid of ruining the only sweater I've ever found that's even close to what I'm looking for. I've thought about taking it to my favorite tailor, but I'm not sure if (a) she's even open during the pandemic,  (b) she would be willing to work with a knitted garment, and (c) she would charge more to alter this cardigan than I'd pay for a fancy new one. 

Then again, given how much difficulty I'm having finding anything else suitable, maybe that's still the best option. I would at least know up front that the material and pattern are suitable, and I could have it tailored to fit me exactly. And making something usable out of an existing garment — while using the services of a local business, to boot — would presumably be more sustainable than buying a new one. So maybe I have nothing to lose by at least checking to see if the tailor is open and willing to do the job. Even an altered version of this big cardigan still wouldn't be as perfect as my old one, but it would be better than anything else I've found in over ten years of searching.