Ecofrugal (semi) successes

I don't have any big news to blog about this week, so instead, I'm sharing a few quirky little incidents in our ecofrugal life. To balance out my recent post on ecofrugal fails, these are all successes—well, sort of, at least.

Incident #1: A belated curb find

In the spring, my Citizens' Climate Lobby chapter spends a lot of time "tabling": setting up tables at public events so we can talk to the attendees about climate change. This year, one of those events was NJ Makers Day, at which all kinds of groups set up tables with craft projects for the public to try. The project we chose was this mini collage based on the global warming stripes, a graphic created by a British scientist to show how much the planet has warmed since 1850. (We used a simplified version of the graphic with one stripe per decade, instead of one per year.)

Since we knew we'd have limited time for the project, we decided to prepare all the materials ahead of time: bookmark-sized strips of card stock and narrower strips of paper in various shades of blue, pink, and red. My partner in the project bought some paper from an art supply thrift shop and cut out strips on a paper cutter, so hers came out nice and neat. But Brian and I didn't have a paper cutter, so I cut my strips by hand from a mixture of junk mail and origami paper. This was a time-consuming process, and the strips I ended up with were pretty uneven in size and shape.

I didn't want to rely on this imprecise method for the backing strips, so I turned for help to my lab-trained husband. After a little thought, he came up with the method of stacking the card stock sheets (old manila folders cut in half), clamping them to his worktable, marking off the correct width, and cutting across them with a utility knife. It took several passes to go through all the layers, but we ended up with neatly cut bookmarks all more or less identical in size and shape.

Right after he finished with this task, we went out for a walk. And as we approached the library, what did we see sitting out on the curb but a paper cutter, all packed in its original box. At first it looked like it had been discarded because the handle was broken, but we quickly realized that it had just been disassembled to fit it into the box. It was a perfectly good, practically new paper cutter, free for the taking—roughly 30 minutes after we could have used it.

Of course, we took it anyway. We couldn't just let it go to waste, and if we'd passed it up we'd surely have had another need for it right away. But the timing of the find was still perfectly ironic.

Incident #2: A tale of two grocery bills

This one happened on our last trip to Lidl. As per usual, we were waiting in line at the checkout with a cart full of mostly healthy, mostly plant-based foods. Our load included a cauliflower, an eggplant, a bunch of celery, a pound of mushrooms, three pounds of apples, a can of crushed tomatoes, a can of tomato paste, three cartons of soy milk, a dozen free-range eggs, a box of brownie mix, a bag of chocolate chips, and a bar of dark chocolate. The only non-food item was a bottle of dish soap. 

As we were waiting, I noticed that the guy in line in front of us had a much smaller load that was completely orthogonal to ours. He had about six individually wrapped steaks, a package of hamburger, a small bag of pastries, and just one produce bag containing three small zucchini. The clerk rang up this assortment at a little over $80. The shopper seemed a little taken aback at this price tag, but he paid it. Then we went through with our groceries, and they came to just over $35—less than half as much for about three times the volume of food. 

Feel free to share this story next time you hear anyone trot out the myth that a plant-based diet is more expensive.

Incident #3: The case of the conflicting egg prices

The one animal-based product in our Lidl cart was a carton of eggs. We always buy the ones that are labeled Certified Humane, since we're willing to pay extra to avoid contributing to animal suffering. The dozen eggs we bought cost $2.89—not so bad compared to the $4-to-$5-per-dozen price tags we were seeing a year or so ago, but still considerably pricier than regular, inhumane eggs. Or at least, so we thought.

On our way out the door, I grabbed a copy of the sale flier for the upcoming week. It prominently advertised a special on Eggland's Best eggs: $2.59 a dozen. These are just standard eggs with no certification, yet they're selling for just 30 cents less than what we pay for the Certified Humane ones. And according to the flier, that price is discounted by $1.28. If that's true, the regular price must be $3.87—roughly 34 percent more than the regular price for the Certified Humane eggs.

I'm not sure what to make of this. Is Lidl engaging in the same pricing shenanigans some retailers use on Black Friday, deliberately raising its "regular" price for eggs right before Easter to make the $2.59 "sale" price look like a great deal? Or is this a case of humanely farmed eggs being genuinely cheaper because smaller farms are less susceptible to bird flu? And more puzzling still, if these two types of eggs are sitting side by side in the refrigerator case, why would anyone ever pay nearly a dollar more for the less humane ones? Are people so prejudiced against brown eggs that they'll pay 34 percent more for white ones?

The causes may be murky, but the upshot is clear: the eggs that are better for the environment and animal welfare are better for our wallets, as well. For now, at least, our eco and frugal instincts are in perfect harmony. 

Gardeners' Holidays 2026: First Sowing (and accidental First Picking)

Spring is officially here, with weather to match: sunshine and highs in the 60s yesterday and today. And with the arrival of spring comes the planting of the peas, our first crop of the year to be sown directly into the soil. But before we could put the peas in the ground, we had to prepare the ground to receive them. When we put the garden to bed last December, we didn't really bother pulling out all the remnants of last year's crops: roots left in the dirt, stems clinging to the trellises, and leaves scattered across the surface of the beds. All that had to be removed to make room for this year's crops, along with the few early weeds that had already started to sprout.

As we worked, we made a few discoveries—some pleasant, some less so. One of the pleasant ones was that our efforts last year to add more organic matter to the beds have already made a noticeable difference. The soil we pulled debris out of was dark, rich, and crumbly, not dense and compacted like it was the year before, and it filled the beds nearly to the top. There was barely enough room to add one bucket of our homemade compost to each bed without overflowing the edges. And when I poked my finger into the dirt to plant the seeds, it went in easily to the second knuckle.

But while the soil looked highly satisfactory, the light level did not. It was nearly noon when we started working, and roughly half the garden was still in shade. Most of this, as best we could tell, was coming from the one large tree in our yard, a scrubby cedar growing at the back right corner of the garden area. It's not clear whether we can legally remove this tree; if its trunk is more than 6 inches in diameter, we can't take it down without a permit from the borough (and if we did, we'd be required to replace it with another tree somewhere on the property, which would be difficult to accommodate). But we can certainly limb it up—that is, cut off the lower branches, some of which are not merely shading but physically impinging on the garden area. Doing that will give the garden a bit more sunlight and, we hope, improve the yields from the nearby beds.

Another pleasant discovery we made was that some of our crops from last year had overwintered. We found a few scattered scallions, some undersized leeks, and a few tiny heads of lettuce and arugula poking up through the soil. Since most of the spaces occupied by these crops won't need to have anything else planted in them for another month or so, we decided to leave them there and see if they get big enough to harvest. At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, I got a little too aggressive with the stirrup hoe and accidentally uprooted one of the wee bunches of arugula. So, rather than let it go to waste, we cleaned it off and added it to last night's salad. 

Thus, this spring Gardeners' Holiday turned out to be not just a celebration of our first sowing of the year, but our first picking, too. I'm choosing to take that as an auspicious sign that our 2026 garden is going to produce early and often.

Ecofrugal fails

I usually post here about our ecofrugal wins: successful repairs, DIY projects like our new planters, secondhand finds like Brian's new laptop. But I try to report on some of our failures too, partly to help you learn from our mistakes and partly to present a more accurate picture of the ecofrugal life, rather than a carefully curated glossy social-media version. So here's a quick midweek post to tell you about two recent problems that we could only fix in the least ecofrugal way: with a brand-new, store-bought product.

Case #1: The unsatisfactory window blinds

One of the last finishing touches we made to our guest room in 2014 was install window treatments. Rather than go out and buy some, we just hung up a set of bamboo window blinds that we'd acquired for free somewhere. We figured they'd do until we found something better, but of course, twelve years came and went and we never got around to replacing them.

These shades are just about the worst possible window treatment for this space. You have to pull the cord all the way to the right to raise them and all the way to the left to lower them, which is difficult to do with the seedling table in the way (particularly if you've got stubby little arms like mine). And even if you can manage to pull the cord across, eight times out of ten it gets caught on one of the slats, and you have to try to maneuver it loose before you can pull on it. Every time I try to open or close the blinds, I spent at least five minutes wrestling with them.

I finally decided I'd had enough and informed Brian I wanted to replace the window treatments. Since i had a meeting in Somerville last Saturday, he proposed we make a short jaunt afterwards to the Habitat ReStore to see if we could find something secondhand. And jaunt we did, but we found that the selection of window treatments was woefully limited. There was only one shade in the size we needed, and it was a Venetian blind like the ones we were trying to replace—not exactly a solution.

So we ended up making a trip up to IKEA yesterday and dropping $88 on a new set of honeycomb shades. And, of course, while there we also spent another $40 on other odds and ends: more rechargeable batteries, a few new dish towels, a couple of bowls to replace the two we've broken over the past two years, one new bed pillow for guests, and a couple of lingonberry products. Plus we spent $23 having lunch at the cafe, and while his falafel balls (a new menu item) were okay, my salmon filet was woefully overcooked and not at all satisfying.

I know it's silly to feel bad about this expense. The old blinds really were a problem, and we really did make a good-faith effort to find secondhand ones first. But I can't help feeling like a bit of an ecofrugal failure for having to resort to retail.

Case #2: The broken sink

I feel even worse about this second failure, because in a way, it was my fault.

I treat my hair every day or two with a solution of rosemary oil to reduce thinning. And, foolishly, I've been keeping this mixture in a little glass jar, allowing myself to be swayed by sustainability influencers railing against plastic use. Yesterday, as I was reaching for something else in the medicine chest, this little jar came tumbling out and landed in the sink. Fortunately, it landed top side down, so the jar didn't break and no harm was done.

Or so I thought until this morning, when I noticed a small damp spot under the sink. Brian checked it out and discovered two large chips nearby that had broken off from the porcelain of the sink itself. At first he thought he might be able to patch the hole with epoxy, but closer examination revealed that there was a huge crack running all the way up the side of the sink bowl. So he had to spend most of the morning removing the nice new sink that we just put in three years ago, heading out to Home Depot for a replacement, and installing the new one in its place. This cost us $50 and most of the morning, and we still can't use the sink until the caulk has set. And worse still, in the process of extracting the old sink, he also cracked the new laminate of the vanity top. Fortunately, he was able to stick it back down with some superglue, and the pattern of the laminate hides the crack pretty well, but still, our nice new vanity top is now permanently damaged, all because I stupidly paid more attention to anti-plastic screeds than to my own common sense. (I've now transferred the rosemary mixture to a salvaged plastic container that should prove less hazardous.)

For someone who devotes so much time and energy to looking for ways to save money, I seem to be doing an awfully good job of spending it.

In search of middle-hanging fruit

When I see an article offering advice on how to save energy or shrink your carbon footprint, I usually click on it, but without much hope or enthusiasm. I can be pretty sure that most or all of the advice in it will be about things we already do, such as:

• Replacing single-use water bottles, napkins, grocery bags, etc., with reusable ones 
• Eating less meat and dairy 
• Composting 
• Walking or biking for short trips, instead of driving
• Washing laundry in cold water and drying it outdoors
• Taking shorter showers and/or using a low-flow showerhead
• Setting the thermostat lower in winter and higher in summer
• Insulating your home and sealing up leaks
• Switching your electricity supplier to one that uses clean energy (or, better yet, community solar)
• Upgrading your old, inefficient light bulbs (honestly, is there anyone who hasn't done this yet)? 

Occasionally, these articles also recommend some bigger changes we haven't made yet, like getting solar panels, driving an EV, or swapping out your furnace for a heat pump. But in every case, we've already considered these ideas and concluded that they just don't work for us at this time. We can't get solar panels because our home electric usage is too small to meet the minimum size requirements for a solar array. We don't want to replace our only car with an EV until we feel confident that it will be practical for long trips. And we aren't prepared to spend $24,000 on a heat pump that would probably increase, not decrease, our winter heating bill.

At first glance, our problem appears straightforward: when it comes to living a greener lifestyle, we've already harvested all the low-hanging fruit. If it's cheap and easy to do, we've already done it. Our house and our car are about as efficient at this point as anything running on fossil fuels can possibly be. To improve any further, we need to reach for the higher-hanging fruit that involves more hassle and/or expense. And that's only to be expected.

But in fact, it's more complicated than that. It's not just that we've already done all the easy stuff; by doing so, we've actually reduced the value of doing the harder stuff.

Take the heat pump, for example. According to the EPA, the 295 therms of gas we burned for home heating last winter produced about 1.56 metric tons of CO2. An electric heat pump would cost us about $24,000 and would last around 15 years, for a cost of $1,600 per year, plus another $100 or so in increased heating bills. That works out to over $1,089 per metric ton of greenhouse gas saved—far higher than the $190 a ton that the EPA under the Biden administration estimated as the "social cost" of carbon emissions. And the reason that cost per ton is so high is precisely because our current carbon footprint for heating is so low. If we hadn't already turned down the thermostat, insulated the attic, and bought a reasonably efficient gas boiler, we'd be doing the climate a lot more good by going electric. As it is, the benefit is pretty slim.

It's the same thing with the solar panels. Unlike a heat pump, a solar array probably would save us money in the long term—but because our electric usage is so small, we can't install one. And while there's nothing to stop us from buying an electric car, the maximum we could possibly shave from our carbon footprint by doing so is 0.21 tons, the carbon cost of the 219 gallons of gas we burned last year. (This year, with Brian fully retired, it will probably be even less.) The problem isn't simply that we've harvested all the low-hanging fruit, and what remains is harder to reach; it's that the higher-up fruit isn't worth as much to us because we've already filled up on the easy stuff.

So where does this leave us? Do we simply rest on our laurels with the fruit we've collected, or do we keep struggling ever higher up the tree in search of ever fewer and smaller apples? 

What I'm hoping is that I can manage to find a middle ground—a few fruits hidden amongst the foliage in the middle branches of the tree. For example, consider the induction burner we bought in 2024. It has taken over about half our cooking, shaving about 2 therms of natural gas use from our monthly bill and about an eighth of a ton from our carbon footprint. Assuming it lasts us ten years, that works out to 1.3 metric tons of greenhouse gas for just $89, or $68 per ton. (The burner also adds about $2.40 a month to our electric bill, but that's almost exactly equal to what we're saving on gas.) A full-size induction stove with an electric oven would cut our gas use by about twice as much—2.6 tons over 10 years—but at a cost of around $1,300 (and possibly several thou more to upgrade our electric panel to accommodate it). That works out to $500 a ton, which is a lot more bucks for the carbon-reduction bang.

So my goal at this point is to take the same kind of half measures with our other fossil-fuel-using devices—starting with our gas boiler. Last summer, after learning that we'd need to spend at least $20,000 (after rebates) on a heat pump that would completely replace the boiler, I speculated that maybe we could partially replace it by installing a through-the-wall heat pump in place of our old, inefficient wall AC unit. I've since dug into this a bit more and found a $1,200 unit that appears to be the same size as our current AC unit, which would allow us to swap it in with no need to cut a new hole in the wall. We'll have to pull the old AC unit out and measure the space to make sure, but if I'm right, we could probably install it ourselves, making that $1,200 (or say $1,300 with tax) the only cost. 

According to the description of the unit, it's sized for a space between 400 and 550 square feet, which is about one-third of the conditioned space in our home. So, at a rough guess, it might be able to cut our gas use for heating by around one-third. If it lasts 13 years, that would be $100 per year for about a half-ton reduction in our carbon footprint, or about $200 per ton. That's less than one-fifth the cost per ton for a full-sized heat pump. It's still a lot more expensive than a few LED light bulbs or a low-flow showerhead (especially since we got most of those for free), but it offers much bigger energy savings, too. It's a medium-sized cost to gain a medium-sized benefit—the perfect middle-hanging fruit.

Recipe of the Month: (Not Really) Sticky Eggplant and Tofu

Quite often, when I choose a new Recipe of the Month, Brian has to modify it a bit. He might replace an ingredient we don't have available, adjust the level of spice, or swap out animal products for plant-based alternatives. But this month, I found a dish that didn't look like it would require any alterations at all. The recipe, called Sticky Eggplant and Tofu, came from a site called Plant Based on a Budget, so it was fully vegan, and all the ingredients it called for were already in our fridge. And based on a quick scan of the ingredient list, it looked like it would taste great with no modifications.

But as soon as Brian started the actual cooking, it became clear there were some problems with the recipe. First, it called for him to cut the eggplant and tofu into 1-inch cubes, which he knew from prior experience would take far too long to cook. So he went with half-inch cubes (one-eighth of the size by volume). But once he'd prepared the cubes, it wasn't clear how long they were actually supposed to cook. The recipe, rather confusingly, said to spread the cubed eggplant on a baking sheet, then toss the cubed tofu in oil and coat it with cornstarch, and then "bake for 10 minutes." Bake what? The tofu or the eggplant? Based on the next instruction, "remove the eggplant to a plate...[and] continue baking the tofu," Brian concluded that it must mean both together, so he threw everything onto the sheet and popped it in the oven. And when the requisite 10 minutes were up, the eggplant was nowhere near done. Parts of it had started to soften a bit, but most of it was basically raw.

To correct this problem, he added another step to the recipe. After assembling the sauce ingredients in the pan, rather than just "stir until it begins to thicken" (which he knew wouldn't actually happen, since it didn't contain any sort of thickener), he added the eggplant to the pan and let it simmer, covered, in the sauce for 10 minutes. Then he added the tofu and proceeded with the recipe as written. Unfortunately, this meant that we ended up with no sauce at all, since the eggplant simply soaked up all the juice like a sponge. 

The completed dish was nothing at all like the promised "crispy tofu and melt-in-the-mouth eggplant in a super flavorful, sweet, tangy, savory soy garlic sauce." The tofu, after 20 minutes of baking, was not at all crispy; the eggplant, despite its extra 10 minutes of simmering time, did not come close to melting in the mouth; and there was no sauce whatsoever. Instead, it had squishy tofu and spongy eggplant chunks so saturated with vinegar, lime juice, and soy sauce that they were mouth-puckeringly tart. It was edible, but it was so completely different from the picture on the website that I find it hard to believe the chef actually followed her own recipe.

So, clearly, this recipe was not a success. And yet, looking again at that ingredient list, it still seems like it should be possible to make a good-tasting dish from those components. If Brian had started with those ingredients and no instructions, he'd have roasted the eggplant until it was truly tender, pan-fried the tofu until it was truly crispy, added a thickener to the sauce, and ended up with something much closer to that appetizing description and photo. But the fact is, this combination of flavors is so basic that he probably wouldn't have needed the recipe in the first place to come up with it. If he ever gets a hankering for something similar, he can probably create it from scratch, with no need to refer to this recipe at all.

In short, this was a total flop, and we have no reason ever to make it again. And in future, if I'm ever tempted to try another recipe from this website, I'll make sure both Brian and I take a good hard look at the instructions first.

Signing up is hard to do

Thirteen years ago, when we paid off our mortgage, I was surprised to find at how hard it was to make that final payment—not financially or emotionally, but technically. We had the money, and we were ready and eager to hand it over, but getting the bank to accept that final payment was way more complicated than I expected. It took a whole series of transactions online, by phone, and in person at our local branch to get the job done.

Right now, we're having similar problems with another big life transition: Brian's retirement. Specifically, the process of switching over to a new health care plan.

The problems started in January, when Brian chose February 11 as his official retirement date. I got straight to work trying to sign us up for new coverage on Get Covered NJ, only to run into a snag: because it was January, the state was still in the middle of "open enrollment." If I signed up for a new plan during that period, it would automatically start on February 1, while Brian was still employed—and double-dipping on coverage is a big legal no-no. So I had to wait until February 1 to sign up for a new plan that would start on March 1.

Once I'd done that, I still had to take care of all the other details associated with changing coverage, like choosing a new primary care doctor and transferring our prescriptions. To do that, I needed to set up an online account with the insurer. And here I ran into my second snag: Because our new insurance plan was with the same provider as our old plan, I already had an account on their website. I could find no obvious way to add my new plan to that account, so I struggled through the maze of customer support and eventually learned that I'd have to wait until the new plan took effect on March 1 (today) to create an account for it.

So, this morning, right after breakfast, I settled down for what I figured would be a busy day of paperwork (or, since it was all going to be online, pixelwork). I punched in all my details—name, date of birth, member ID—and tried to create an account. And ran straight into snag three: I couldn't create an account using my email address because I already had one linked to my old account. I could still log into that old account, but it only had information about the old plan that had just expired. And because it was Sunday, I couldn't call or chat with customer service to fix the problem. Until the customer service lines open tomorrow morning, I'm stuck in limbo.

Annoying as that situation is, it seems positively straightforward compared to the problem I'm having with the website for our new dental savings plan. I registered on that insurer's site as soon as I bought the policy—or at least, I thought I had. But when I tried logging in today, using my email address and the password I'd selected, it told me either my username or my password was wrong. Okay, no big deal: I just clicked on "find my username" and entered my member ID, name, and date of birth to get my official username. Then I entered that username and the password I'd selected...and once again, the site told me that one of the two was wrong. So I took a different tack and asked to sign in without a password, using my username and date of birth to receive a login code. And I got the same error again. It told me that either the username it had just given me or the date of birth I gave it to get that username was wrong. I must have gone through the same cycle four or five times—check the username, enter the username and password, enter the username without the password—before I gave up. So that's yet another customer service call I need to make tomorrow.

Naturally, all this left me feeling a bit disgruntled. But as I was about to make some snarky remark to Brian about how much technology has "simplified our lives," I thought, well, wait a minute: would this actually have been any simpler before the Internet? And as it happened, I already knew the answer, because the last time I'd signed up for private health insurance was in 1995, before any of this stuff could be done online. To get my policy back then, I had to make an appointment to meet in person with an insurance agent, drive to his office, look at a list of plan options he presented to me, flip through a bunch of paper books to compare them, fill ou the enrollment forms for my chosen plan by hand, and pay my first monthly premium by check. The whole process was a much bigger hassle than this year's online enrollment, even with all the glitches. It just didn't feel like a big hassle back then because there was no simpler alternative. 

This little glimpse back down memory lane has helped me put my #firstworldproblems in perspective. Yes, it's annoying that these websites are so hard to use. But it's also kind of amazing that they exist at all. Looking at the situation through 1995-era Amy's eyes, having to wait until Monday to call customer service—from my own home, most likely in my pajamas—doesn't seem like such a big deal.

[EDIT, 3/2/26: After a frustrating half hour on the phone with the insurer, I'm no longer convinced doing things the old-fashioned way was harder. After working my way through the maze of the automated phone line and spending about 15 minutes on hold, I was informed that it was not possible to set up a new online account with my current email and my only option was to create a new email for this purpose. I gently (okay, maybe not so gently) pointed out that it can't be too uncommon for people to change plans, and it seems unlikely that the system simply doesn't allow for this possibility. The agent then put me on hold again while she presented this argument to the "e-services department," which eventually conceded that it would be possible to unlink my email from the existing online account so I could use it to create a new account. (Doing this would cut off my access to the old plan info, but that wasn't a problem because Brian still had an account linked to his email, so we could use that to deal with any lingering problems.) However, it apparently takes three to five business days to perform this apparently simple operation, so I'm now stuck in a holding pattern until Friday. The call then redirected me to a customer satisfaction survey, which I used to register my customer dissatisfaction. I even pressed the button to add an extra comment, gently (again, not that gently) suggesting that it would have been helpful to warn me about this "feature" when I first signed up for the new plan, so I could have dealt with it ahead of time.

On the plus side, one quick call to the dental plan provider was enough to unlock my account, so that shows competent customer service still exists somewhere in the modern world.]

[EDIT, 3/5/26: Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news: It didn't actually take 3 to 5 business days to uncouple my email from my old account. I got a call back within one day to say it was done, and I took the precaution of keeping the customer service agent on the line until I'd confirmed I was able to sign up for a new account. The bad news: Even with that account set up, I wasn't able to select a new Primary Care Provider online. I went through all the steps to do it and got a message saying, "Your PCP request could not be processed." So I got in touch with customer service again and they made the PCP selection for me—or at least, they said they had. It's now been two days and no PCP is showing up on my account. 

What's odd is that Brian made his PCP selection shortly after I did, using the phone system rather than chat, and his selection has already been processed. I just called Member Services again to sort this out, and as best I could make out from the agent's somewhat incoherent explanation, Brian's request somehow superseded mine. So this agent made the PCP selection for me again, and once again told me it would take 3 to 5 business days to go through.

So I'm now back in limbo, unable to transfer my medical records, see my new doctor, or get new prescriptions for any of my meds until this is resolved. In my ongoing battle with bureaucratic B.S., it's easy to see who's winning.]

Our first seed snails

This week's post was supposed to be all about Highland Park's first Repair Cafe event, which was scheduled to take place on Sunday. But that didn't happen, because this happened instead:

The storm that I imagine future generations will call the Blizzard of '26 blew into town last night, leaving 14 inches of snow in its wake. Brian and I have spent most of our afternoon so far digging out from under it. (This has left me once again cursing our yard's awkward layout and trying to decide if it would be worth dropping a couple of grand on heated mats to keep the driveway clear.)

But before we went out to face the snow, we spent a little time indoors starting seeds for this year's crop of leeks. And this year, we've decided to shake things up a bit. Rather than deploy the extra-narrow seed-starting tubes we generally use for leek seedlings, we're testing out a new method: seed snails.

I learned about this method from a YouTube video that popped up while I was doing my daily "walk and watch" (my ecofrugal exercise of choice in unpleasant weather). The gist of it is, you layer soil on top of a sheet of plastic or paper, roll it into a spiral shape, turn it on its end, and plant your seeds in the top. This takes up less room than pots or seed trays and uses less soil, yet provides plenty of depth for the seedlings to develop long, healthy roots. And when it's time to transplant, you can simply unroll the spiral and lift the little seedlings out. This is the perk that really sold us on trying this method for the leeks in particular. Although we have a dowel that's meant to push the entire soil plugs out of each narrow tube, in practice the soil always falls away. So if all we're going to have to plant is the little seedlings themselves, we might as well extract them the easy way.

To create our first seed snails, Brian went hunting through our stash of reused bubble wrap. The gardener in the video recommended this as the best material for seed snails because it's flexible, it holds moisture well, and the air bubbles insulate the seedlings' roots while adding structural strength to the roll. Since our current seed-starting tubes are 4 inches deep, Brian took a piece of bubble wrap one foot wide and cut it into three 4-inch strips to make the seed rolls. Then, taking another tip from the video, he wrapped each strip of bubble wrap in a layer of baking parchment paper to protect the seedlings from microplastic contamination. Our parchment paper was in individual sheets 16.5 inches wide rather than on a roll, so he cut each sheet in half, folded it over, and tucked the bubble wrap inside. Each bubble-wrap strip took one whole sheet, plus about half of a second one, to cover it.

We then repaired to the basement, where Brian dumped out the garden soil he'd dug up for seed starting into a tub, misted it with water, and mixed it with his hands until it was about as moist as a wrung-out sponge. The YouTube video claimed this would help the soil stick to the sheets of bubble wrap and also "prime" it with moisture so it would be easier to water later. Once he had it moist enough to form a good, solid clump without turning into mud, he patted it into place over top of the parchment paper, creating a soil layer about half an inch thick. However, he didn't extend the dirt quite to the top of the parchment. Instead, he left a gap of about a quarter inch to layer some seed-starting mix on top of the spiral, so the seeds could start their lives in a medium designed to support them.

He then carefully rolled up the soil-covered sheet into a spiral shape and secured it with rubber bands. (The video recommended using painter's tape to hold the loose end in place, but he couldn't get it to stick to the moist parchment.) He nestled the completed spiral into a little plastic tub that had formerly held mushrooms, which he'd gone and fished out of the recycling bin as soon as he decided to try the seed-spiral method. After that, he repeated the whole process with a second strip of bubble wrap and parchment, giving him two neat spirals ready for seeding. He got out the packet of leek seeds and carefully dropped them into the dirt along the top of the spiral, aiming for a spacing of about half an inch. 

Once both spirals were planted, he spread seed-starting mix over their tops and gave them both a good misting to get them thoroughly moist. Finally, following a final tip from the video, he covered each one with a clear plastic bag to help hold in that moisture so they wouldn't need as much watering. The two completed seed snails then joined the parsley seeds that are already (we hope) germinating in their tubes on the seedling table.

To be honest, these two seed snails don't actually take up noticeably less space than the milk carton full of narrow tubes in which we used to start our leeks. On the other hand, they most likely contain more individual seeds than the tubes did. And most important, we hope, they'll give us more healthy seedlings to plant out when spring arrives. That may still be a month or two away, but all this snow has to melt sometime, and when it does, we'll be ready.

How we became financially independent

This week, Brian finally did something he's been wanting to do for years: He quit his job. He is now officially retired, financially independent, a gentleman of leisure. Thirteen years after we officially set our sights on early retirement as a goal, we have now crossed that goal line.

How did we do it? Basically, by following the same plan that I outlined in that 2013 post and later expanded on in a 2016 article for Money Crashers: 

1. Cut your expenses as much as possible to maximize the amount you can sock away each month. (This step is what you've been reading about here for the past 13 years.)
2. Invest those savings in a mixed portfolio of low-fee funds. We've had some help with this step from a reliable finance guy who's sniffed out investments that earn us solid returns while minimizing what finance guys like to call "downside risk." (What exactly would be an upside risk?)
3. Stick with the plan until you've earned enough to retire. Technically, we reached this point a few years ago, but Brian needed a little time to get comfortable with the idea. Last year, he decided he was ready to take the plunge, and his official last day was Wednesday.

Before we could cross that finish line, though, there were a few t's to cross and i's to dot. The most obvious one: health insurance. Luckily for us, we live in New Jersey, which has a well-organized state health marketplace (Get Covered NJ) that makes it quite easy to shop for plans and compare costs. Even more luckily, New Jersey is one of the ten states that have stepped in to pick up the cost of the Obamacare subsidies Congress canceled last year. With our new, lower income (which is based on our taxable investment earnings, not the amount we withdraw each year to pay our bills), we qualified for a discount of over 80%, cutting our monthly premiums to just $318 per month for the two of us. Mind you, this is for a plan with a pretty hefty deductible ($2,100 per person per year), so we'll have to get used to paying out of pocket for a lot of costs that used to have only a nominal copay, such as prescription meds. But with all the practice we've had stretching our dollars over the past 22 years, I'm sure we can manage to keep those costs under control.

The health plan I bought doesn't cover dental or eye care (except for children, which we don't have). With a little searching, I was able to find a separate vision plan that wasn't too expensive (around $21 a month for both of us) and included our current eye doctor in its network. Based on our typical eye-care needs, which are a bit on the high side, it looks like this plan will save us around $300 a year. But dental coverage, at first blush, looked like a completely different story. There were dental plans available on Get Covered NJ, but most of them, once again, offered coverage for children only. The few plans I found that included adult care were not only expensive but had very low out-of-pocket maximums. (The worst of the lot capped payouts at a mere $1,000 per year, which was barely more than the annual cost of the premiums. It was practically guaranteed to cost us more out of pocket than it would ever pay back.) With such limited coverage, these plans would do little to nothing to protect us from ruinous costs, which is what insurance is supposed to be for.

But after looking a little further, I found an alternative that looked much more cost-effective: a dental discount plan. This isn't technically the same as insurance, which pays your bills (or a portion of them) for you. Instead, for a nominal yearly fee (around $125), you get charged a reduced rate for all care from dentists in the plan's network. If the plan's estimated costs for services like cleanings, exams, and fillings were accurate, it looked like it would save us about 65 percent on our average yearly dental costs. The only catch was that it would require us to choose a new dentist, since the trusted dentist we've been seeing for years isn't part of this or any other dental network. But after a little research, I was able to find a dental office with very good reviews from customers that's not only in the network, but also within walking distance of our house. Given how much we stood to save, it seemed like we should at least give the new dentist a try. If we didn't like her, we could always go back to our old dentist, and it would cost us nothing (since the savings just on that one visit would be enough to offset the signup cost).

In addition to the health insurance, there was one other workplace benefit we had to replace: Brian's computer. The laptop he's been using for the past several years belongs to Rutgers, and we knew he'd have to surrender it when he left. The last time we bought a computer, we chose a mini PC, which combined a low price with ease of upgrading. But Brian prefers the portability of a laptop, which he can easily haul into the kitchen for a video chat with his folks, set on the coffee table to stream a show on the TV, or take with him on a trip. So I did a search on Craigslist and found a lightly used Lenovo ThinkPad, which gets high ratings for repairability, for just $200. It's pretty basic, but more than adequate for his modest needs (email, Web surfing, streaming video and audio).

Although Brian is now officially retired, there still are a few more retirement-related tasks we need to clear up. For one, I've scheduled a couple of doctor appointments to take advantage of our current health insurance before it switches over at the end of the month. (One of these is with a dermatologist to see if I can find a cheaper alternative to the cream I'm currently using for my rosacea, which I've just learned would cost me about $100 a month to buy out of pocket.) Then, once the new plan kicks in, we'll need to officially select our new doctor and dentist and arrange to have our health records transferred to these new providers. And there's a bit of paperwork I need to complete to roll over Brian's 403(b) to a new IRA under the care of our trusty finance guy. 

But within a few weeks, we'll be officially set up to live a life of leisure. I'm already more or less retired myself, as all my long-term clients have dropped me one by one over the past few years and I've had no luck finding new ones. I've spent quite a bit of time over the past year or two scouring freelancer job listings and applying for suitable-looking jobs with essentially no results, and since we don't really need the money, I've decided to stop bothering with it. I'm happy to accept a new assignment if it simply falls into my lap, but I'm not wasting any more of my time looking for work. I'll leave it to the younger freelancers who need it more than I do.

Having reached this major financial goal, we don't feel any need to set a new one. All we have to do at this point is make sure our nest egg can carry us through the next 40 years or so. (We'll still have smaller, shorter-term goals, like gradually electrifying our home and, eventually, our car. But we've got ample cash in the kitty to dip in for those expenses as needed without cutting into our income.) So basically, we just need to stick with the same plan we used to get here: keep our expenses low, keep our investments sound, and keep on trucking. Which means that the posts you'll be reading on this blog in the future will probably be along much the same lines as the ones you've read here in the past. We'll still be doing all the same things to save money and care for the environment as we've always done; we'll just have a lot more time now to do them.

Recipe of the Month: Shish Andaz

This month, for a change, Brian and I did not wait until the last minute to squeeze in a Recipe of the Month. In fact, I discovered this recipe at the end of January, and Brian deliberately held off on making it until last Sunday so that it could serve as the Recipe of the Month for February. 

It comes from a website called (for some reason) Hermann, which was featured in my One5C newsletter. Run by chef Julius Fiedler, it showcases "traditional vegan recipes from around the world." This one, called Shish Andaz, is an Iranian stew made primarily from eggplant and walnuts. It caught my eye because we're always looking for new eggplant recipes, particularly ones that pack a good dollop of protein. And we just happened to have everything on hand required to make it, with one notable exception: the pomegranate molasses. Not only did we not have it, I'd never even heard of it before. 

A quick trip to Wikipedia informed me that "molasses" is a misnomer: this "Middle Eastern, Caucasian and Balkan condiment" is actually made from concentrated pomegranate juice. It wasn't something we could whip up at home, and I wasn't even sure where we could buy it—or if we'd want to, since we didn't know of any other ways to use it besides this one untested recipe. Fortunately, someone had already asked in the comment section if there was a reasonable substitute for it, and Fiedler proposed "a tablespoon of sweet molasses of your choice and then 30-40ml of lemon juice." With this substitution, we had everything we needed to make the dish.

The recipe offered two alternatives for preparing the eggplant strips: pan-frying and roasting. Brian opted for roasting, which he'd found from previous experience to be the best way to bring out the flavor of almost any veggie. And since a single big baking sheet can hold all the eggplant at once, it didn't take appreciably longer than frying it, a job that would have needed to be done in two batches. It's not a quick recipe either way, about 80 minutes from start to finish, but about half of that is just simmering time.

The finished dish could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered pretty. It's an amorphous, brownish mass, broken up only by vague blobs of eggplant and gritty particles of walnuts. But it tasted much, much better than it looked. The author said it "might be the richest plant-based stew I’ve ever made," and I'd say that's a fair description, but there was a lot more going on than just the rich, nutty texture. It had hints of all five major flavors: the faint bitterness of the eggplant and walnuts, the acidity of the lemon and tomatoes, savory onion, salt, and a touch of sweetness from the molasses. Layered over that, there were the fragrant, spicy tones supplies by the cinnamon, pepper, and turmeric, all combined into one complex, flavorsome whole. I didn't enjoy looking at it, but I certainly enjoyed eating it, as did Brian.

This dish has just about everything we could ask for in a recipe. It's tasty, healthful, and reasonably easy to make with ingredients we nearly always have on hand. With all those walnuts, it's not particularly cheap, but since Brian only made a half recipe, the 150 grams he used (about a third of a pound) is only $1.44 worth, which certainly isn't going to break the bank. The only downside is the lengthy preparation time, which might make it impractical for a weeknight. But, as I'll discuss more in next week's entry, Brian is about to retire from his job, which means he'll soon have the leisure to cook a slow-paced dish any day of the week. So I think we can count on this Persian stew to become one of our go-to recipes, particularly for cold weather like we're having right now.

Gardeners' Holidays 2026: Seedfest

Well, there's no chance this year of a groundhog predicting an early spring. New Jersey is currently sitting under a foot of snow, none of which is melting in the sub-freezing temperatures we've been decidedly not enjoying all week. And apparently, this weather system is just getting warmed up (or more accurately, chilled down). It looks like New Jersey will escape any further snow, but we're being warned to expect wind-chill temperatures down to 12 below as January rolls into February. (Ironically, global warming is almost certainly to blame for this, as increased warming toward the poles is throwing the jet stream out of whack and pushing all this cold air away from the Arctic and into our yards.)

This poses a bit of a problem for our gardening schedule. No matter how cold and snowy it is out there right now, spring will come eventually, and if we want to have any parsley seedlings to plant when it does, this is the week we need to start them. But to do that, we need some garden soil to form the bottom layer in our seed-starting tubes. And right now, our soil isn't particularly easy to get at.

In theory, we could just hold off on this for a couple of weeks, since the parsley seeds we bought in 2023 can be sowed directly in the garden. We did this last year, and they came up just fine. But it made Brian nervous, and he says he'd be more comfortable starting at least a couple of plants indoors. Which is why he just plowed his way out out into the garden and dug through a foot of snow and into the frozen soil to retrieve a sample. It won't be enough for all our seedlings, but it'll do to get the parsley started.

While he was doing this, I was pulling up my garden planner spreadsheet to plot out this year's garden layout. This is a much simpler job than it used to be, as I now just rotate entire beds rather than trying to optimize the placement of each individual crop. However, there are always a few details that need tweaking. Pepper and zucchini plants have to be shifted from one end of the bed to the other to make sure they're not in exactly the same spot two years running. I need to mark the location of last year's winter lettuce so I know not to plant over it until it's all been harvested. (Luckily, this year it's in a spot that will eventually hold a zucchini plant, which won't go in until mid-May.) And a single square of dill, which doesn't need a whole block to itself, has to get squeezed in somewhere. (This year, it'll be bunking with the other zucchini plant.)

So, the beds have been plotted, the dirt has been dug, and the parsley seeds are now soaking, getting ready to go into their tubes tomorrow. And in the meantime, we can settle in for a cozy evening with a pot of hot soup, some fresh-baked biscuits, and the second half of this week's Critical Role. Tucked up on the couch with our blankets and our kitty cats, we'll be snug and safe against the cold of winter, while the soaking seeds on our kitchen counter breathe a promise of spring to come.

Recipe of the Month: Random Curry

January's Recipe of the Month is a dish Brian improvised last Tuesday to use up a nearly-full can of coconut milk we had in the fridge. (We had opened it and taken out just a few tablespoons to make the "tiramisu mocktail" recipe from this cookbook, which we got out of the library.) He already knew a good cauliflower curry recipe, but he didn't have a cauliflower on hand. So instead, he mashed up that recipe with the one he uses for malai kofta and threw in the hodgepodge of veggies we had available: green peas, chick peas, half a bell pepper, and a smallish butternut squash. He called the resulting dish...

Random Curry

• Saute 10 oz cubed butternut squash, ½ diced red bell pepper, and ¼ tsp salt in canola oil on medium high heat until softened and browned. Remove from the skillet and set aside.
• In the skillet, heat 1 tsp cumin seeds, ¼ tsp fennel seeds, and 8 fenugreek seeds in oil until they start to pop. Add ½ diced medium red onion, 2 large cloves finely diced garlic, 1 tsp finely diced fresh ginger, and ¼ to ½ finely diced jalapeno, and saute until soft.
• Add 1 ½ cups coconut milk, 1 cup crushed tomatoes, 1 tsp ground coriander, ½ tsp ground turmeric, ½ tsp ground cardamom, ¼ tsp garam masala, 1 Tbsp brown sugar, and 1 tsp salt. Whisk to combine and heat until bubbling.
• Add 1 ½ cups cooked chick peas (or 1 can, drained) and 1 cup green peas (frozen is okay). Heat, stirring, until the mixture has reached the desired thickness and is heated through.

This kludge of a dish worked surprisingly well. I liked it at least as much as either of its parent recipes, if not better. The mixture of veggies gave it a nice balance of soft and firm textures. It had plenty of flavors, but none of them was overpowering: tangy tomato and sweet butternut squash, zesty onion and spices offset by the coolness of the coconut milk. 

So would we make this again? We certainly could, but I'm not sure we have to follow the recipe exactly. Given how readily these two coconut-based Indian dishes combined to accommodate what we happened to have in the fridge, I suspect we could just take the base from this dish (the coconut-tomato-spice gravy) and throw in whatever veggies we needed to use up. Cauliflower, broccoli, squash, peas, beans, mushrooms, eggplant—if it works in a curry, it can probably work in this curry. Or at any rate, it's worth a try.

Thrift Week 2026, Day 7: How to Recycle Plastic Bags

I'm going to wrap up this Thrift Week series with a type of waste that's particularly ubiquitous: plastic bags. Actually, here in New Jersey, they're a lot less ubiquitous than they used to be, as the state banned single-use plastic shopping bags in 2022. Now, when we go to the grocery store, we no longer need to rush to bag up our own groceries before the checker starts tossing them into a disposable bag. But plastic bags still make themselves into our home in other ways. The grocery fliers delivered weekly to our door come in a little plastic sleeve, and we occasionally have to grab disposable produce bags (which are still legal) at the grocery store. (We always have at least one reusable shopping bag with us, but if we make an impromptu stop at the store, we might not have our mesh produce bags.) We also end up with small plastic bags that once held foodstuffs like dry beans and popcorn. And occasionally something we've ordered comes in a box with a plastic liner.

Fortunately, there are plenty of ways to put these leftover bags to good use:

• We keep several of them in our shopping bag in case we run out of mesh produce bags. They're also useful for packing up foodstuffs from bulk bins on the rare occasions we visit a store that has any. 
• We save the little plastic sleeves that come with the grocery fliers and pass them on to my parents, who say they make ideal poop bags for walking the dogs. They're actually better than store-bought bags sold for this purpose because they're longer, so one bag can hold multiple poops.
• I often use larger bags to hold items I'm leaving out for a Freecycle porch pickup. The bag protects the item from the weather and gives the recipient a convenient way to carry it. And using a bag marked "Freecycle" eliminates any chance that a passerby will assume an item is simply being thrown away and try to grab it.
• Back in the days before the bag ban, we used to save plastic shopping bags to line our wastebaskets. But since we almost never accepted plastic bags, we usually didn't have enough for all the wastebaskets in the house, and we discovered that most of the time, we didn't really need them. The kitchen trash can is the only place we ever throw away anything wet or messy, and we still use store-bought bags for that.

But these flimsy little bags can't be used indefinitely. Eventually they develop holes, and then they have to be discarded. Our local supermarket used to have a bin where we could drop them off to be recycled, but it hasn't been there for years. So most of the time, damaged bags—along with other types of plastic packaging, like the envelopes that packages come in—just end up in the trash.

However, according to Earth911, that isn't the only option. Based on a quick search, it looks like there are many big-box stores in our area that collect both #2 and #4 plastic bags for recycling, including Target, Walmart, Sam's Club, and Kohl's. So we could simply stash all those unwanted plastic bags in the car and drop them in one of those store's bins the next time we're in the area, were it not for one snag: most of them don't have any sort of label on them to indicate which type of plastic they are. Right now, we have eight plastic bags that are no longer fit for service, and only one of them is labeled as #2 plastic. The rest are anybody's guess. 

 

Now, according to the websites for Target and Walmart, these stores accept all kinds of "plastic bags and films," not just specific numbers. So, in theory, we could just dump all our unwanted bags into one of their bins and let them try to sort them out. Maybe a lot of them would end up in the landfill anyway, but at least we'd be giving them every chance at getting recycled first. I guess it's worth a shot.

Thrift Week 2026, Day 6: How to Recycle Eyeglasses

I don't like to replace my eyeglasses any more often than I have to. This is partly because of the cost, which is over $200 even if you get them at Costco and around double that from an independent optician. (Back when I had single-vision lenses, I used to order them online, which was much cheaper. But with progressive lenses, apparently, you need an in-person fitting to get them lined up right.) But also, I have a really hard time finding frames I like. For a while, the type I prefer—full frame, metal, roughly oblong in shape, and not too big—were in fashion and it was easy to find them everywhere. But nowadays, petite metal frames are out and chunky plastic ones are in, and it's almost impossible to find a pair that I think looks good on me. So when I find some I like, I try to hold on to them as long as possible.

But sooner or later, my prescription changes, and I have to get new ones. (Sadly, I can't function without glasses long enough to hand mine over and wait for them to be fitted with new lenses.) So, over time, I end up accumulating old eyeglasses with outdated prescriptions. And while it makes sense to hold on to the most recent, just slightly outdated pair as a backup in case my current ones break, it doesn't really make sense to hold on to three or four extra pairs. Yet I hate to throw something that expensive in the trash. Even if they're no use to me anymore, it seems they should still be useful for someone.

Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so, because there are various organizations that collect old eyeglasses for reuse. Our eye doctor's office even has a collection bin right in the waiting room where we can drop our old glasses to be passed on to folks who can use them. Before we switched to this eye doctor, we used to put them in a bin hosted by the Lions Club, which has various collection sites throughout New Jersey. You can drop them off at various Lions Club buildings or in bins at participating Walmart Vision Centers. (This page has more details about the program in New Jersey.)

 

If the Lions Club locations aren't convenient for you, this blog post from Vision Center names several other donation sites. Its list includes Warby Parker, Sam's Club Optical Centers, Costco Optical, Goodwill, and the Salvation Army. I've never personally donated eyeglasses at any of these places, so I can't say how easy they are to use, or even whether they're still valid. But if any of them are on your regular route, it couldn't hurt to pop inside and ask. 

Thrift Week 2026, Day 5: How to Recycle Books

If there's one thing I really can't stand to throw out, it's a book. That's one reason why my bookshelves are so overstuffed, with some volumes stacked horizontally across the tops of others: to make room for them to fit properly, I'd have to get rid of something else. But there's a limit to how many books I can cram in this way, so eventually I have to bite the bullet and get rid of some.

If the books are still in readable condition, the best option is obviously to get them into the hands of someone else who can use them. Ways to do this include:

• Passing books on to people you know. This is my personal favorite if I happen to have a specific book I know a friend or family member will enjoy. The downside is that sometimes they give the book back after reading it, and then I have to find another new home for it.
• Selling them to a secondhand bookstore. I've only been able to do this a few times over the years, as secondhand bookstores never seem to last long in the places where I've lived. I never got much money for them—usually pennies on the dollar against the cover price—but even a dollar's worth of store credit is a nice bonus. It makes me feel better about bringing home a new book (or two or three) to fill up the space I've cleared on my bookshelf.
• Dropping them in a Little Free Library. Our small town has more than a dozen of these, so I can always manage to find space in one of them for any book I need to cull from my collection. And it adds a spice of interest to my future walks to pass by the same Little Free Library and see if it's still there. Of course, there again, the risk is that I end up bringing home more books than I got rid of. But at least they'll be books that are new to me instead of ones I've already read and don't plan to read again.
• Donating them to the library. Our local library holds a book sale once a year as a fundraiser. It spends a week collecting books from the locals, scoops up the best ones for its collection, and sells the rest at bargain prices—from 50 cents for small paperbacks and kids' books to $2 for most hardcovers. We often save up books we're done with in anticipation of this sale, but if it's only been a couple of months since the last one, we try to get rid of them some other way rather than hang onto them all year. Other libraries in our area don't wait for an annual sale; they sell donated books out of a mini-bookstore near the front of the building. Both these little bookstores and the annual sale are good sources of cheap reading material that will eventually become part of the book-overcrowding problem. (It's the ciiiiiircle of books...)
• Giving them to a prison library. I've never personally tried this, but I hear tell that prison libraries are always eager to add to their collections and may even take books other libraries won't accept, like old textbooks. The American Library Association has some info about organizations that can help you get your books into the hands of folks inside.

This is only a sampling of the possible places to donate books. The Local Book Donations site has a tool to search for organizations in your area that will take them. And of course, there are always the old standbys, Freecycle, Buy Nothing, and Trash Nothing.

 

All this is fine for usable books, but what about the ones that are completely falling apart? Well, in many  towns, including ours, the pages can go directly in the paper recycling bin as long as you remove the cover first. If you're not sure about it, you can check with your local waste/recycling/public works department. If your town doesn't accept them, you can always search trusty old Earth911 for paper recycling sites in your area.

 

However, a more entertaining option is to take those old pages and use them for craft projects. There are all kinds of things you can make with paper, including origami, paper mâché, beads, flowers, and decoupage. Heck, with enough pages and enough polyurethane, you could probably cover an entire floor the way we did in our downstairs room. For books that can no longer serve their true purpose as reading material, a second life as a bouquet of paper roses seems like a less tragic fate than the recycling bin.And if you're not of a crafty bent yourself, you can offer up the book pages to friends, or strangers on Freecycle, who are.

Thrift Week 2026, Day 4: How to Recycle Razors and Razor Blades

About four years ago, I gave up on cartridge razors and switched to a safety razor. After some unsuccessful experiments with a cheap one from Target, I bit the bullet and invested in a Twig from Leaf Shave. It cost quite a lot up front, but I'm hoping it will be a lifelong investment, unlike the various cartridge razors I've owned and been forced to discard after a few years of use—either because they broke or because they went off the market and it was no longer possible to buy replacement heads for them. Since it takes single-edged razor blades (which you can make by breaking standard double-edged blades in half), and since my frugal shaving hacks give me at least a month of use out of each blade, it's costing me less than 2 cents per shave. And when those blades finally wear out, all I have to discard is a tiny strip of metal, rather than a whole chunk of plastic.

 

However, I'd rather not discard even that much if I don't have to. So, ever since I made the switch to a safety razor, I've been saving the used blades in an empty candy tin, planning to take them to a scrap metal recycler when the tin got full. The one I initially found in Edison appears to have gone out of business, but a new search for "scrap metal" on Earth911 steered me toward a place in New Brunswick that might be able to take them. However, since the site says only that it takes metal scraps and doesn't specifically mention razor blades, I'm a bit concerned that they wouldn't take them. It seems like they should be able to take the entire steel tin full of blades and treat it as a single lump of metal, but maybe it doesn't work that way.

 

So I'm now thinking it might be a safer bet to recycle my blades through the Gillette recycling program. It takes blades and razors from all brands, and you can drop them off at any public collection site. According to the map on the website, there's one in Princeton that we could easily swing by before dance practice, so we wouldn't even have to make a special trip. Better still, this site takes not just blades but complete razors as well, so I could also use it to get rid of the unused cartridges and the orphaned handle from my last two failed cartridge razors, as well. I'd been thinking it was dumb of me to keep holding onto them "just in case," but now it's actually paid off!

Thrift Week 2026, Day 3: How to Recycle Batteries

As regular readers will know, I'm not a particularly tech-oriented person. I'm a late adopter who only replaces her computer every ten years or so and didn't even own a smartphone until 2018. So I was quite surprised the first time I calculated just how many devices we had that ran on batteries. There were literally dozens—some with their own built-in rechargeable batteries, some with single-use alkaline batteries. Even when batteries aren't included, they're very much required.

In the years since, we've swapped out most of those alkaline batteries for either rechargeable ones or longer-lasting lithium batteries. (We still have a few partially discharged ones lurking in a drawer, waiting for us to eke the last little bit of charge out of them.) Both of these, particularly the rechargeables, are a big improvement on the alkaline ones. They produce a lot less waste and cost less over their lifespan. But sadly, no battery lasts forever. Eventually, like their disposable cousins, they'll need to be tossed.

Fortunately, when their time finally comes, there are plenty of places to recycle them. Our local Department of Public Works takes them, as do many Home Depot and Lowe's stores. But the old-fashioned alkaline batteries pose a bigger challenge. Our local DPW no longer accepts these, telling us we should simply toss them in the trash. But this doesn't sit well with me. Although modern alkaline batteries contain a lot less mercury than they used to, they still have some, along with other metals like manganese and zinc that go to waste when they're discarded. Environmentally conscious areas, like California and most of Europe, don't allow them into household trash, and I don't want to allow them in mine if I can help it. 

 

The Earth911 Recycling Search isn't all that helpful in this particular area. Most of the places it lists in my area for recycling alkaline batteries are municipal programs that are only open to residents. I've had better luck with a couple of sites specifically devoted to battery recycling: Battery Network and Call2Recycle. As far as I can tell, both these sites use the same search tool, which you can customize to find recycling locations near you for multiple types of batteries: rechargeable, single-use, cell phone batteries, and even specialty kinds like e-bike batteries. In our area, there are several Staples that accept single-use batteries, including one that's quite easy to swing by on our weekly trip down to Princeton. It takes only a few minutes to drop them off, and we can even earn reward points for them.

 

So, if you live near a Staples store, or if you pass by one on your regular route, you can dispose of all your depleted batteries there—both rechargeable and disposable—at one fell swoop. If that's not an option and your only choice is the trash, then take the precaution of putting tape over their terminals before tossing them. (Actually, it's a good idea to do this even while they're sitting in the drawer so you don't risk a short-circuit if the terminals come into contact.) 

 

Of course, the best long-term solution would be to switch to rechargeable batteries for everything, so you'd never need to dispose of single-use ones at all. But with most rechargeable batteries still available only in AA and AAA sizes, it may be a while before that's practical.