Don’t believe Kermit D. Frog for a second. It’s actually pretty easy being green. So easy that some of us didn’t even realize that’s what we were. 

For instance, I was trying to decide what to do with an old recliner that was too stained to donate, but too comfortable to throw out, when my daughter said, “Let’s put it out back. It’s better out there than in a landfill somewhere.”

Since our porch is covered and private, and since we had no real outdoor furniture to speak of, I saw no harm in temporarily “repurposing” the chair.

“Repurposing” is one of those green words the ecologist types are constantly tossing around, like “carbon footprints,” “eco-friendly,” and “harmonically grown.” Those who repurpose are “converting an item for use in another format,” which is something most of us frugal types have been doing for decades. I doubt I’ve thrown out a Cool Whip container, shoebox, or rubber band in my life.

Someone needs to start a movement to drop these goofy enviro-words and call it what it really is-frugal. Although I’d just as happily settle for “economical,” “thrifty” or “cheap.”

It’s like some marketing genius repackaged the concept of being thrifty and thoughtful into something that even the recklessly wealthy would feel obliged to do, lest they risk being viewed as a bad “global neighbor.” 

According to a Greenbiz report, there were 2,400 trademark filings in the United States last year that included the word “green” in some fashion, more than twice as many as in 2006. There were more than 900 applications for trademarks that began with “eco-.”

Seems a day doesn’t pass without a news story about green architecture, green clothing, or even green speed-dating, which is a trendy new way for eco-extremists to meet. A recent NPR story on “verdant” speed-dating told of one potential green suitor who made the mistake of driving his Land Rover to the event.  I’m betting he left alone. 

Many of us long-time cheapskates and packrats didn’t even know we were playing, and yet here we are, way ahead of the game. Those ratty clothes we held onto long after they were no longer stylish-they’re now called “vintage.” Our mismatched chairs, plates, and silverware have “eclectic charm,” and our chipped and paint-faded furniture is now “shabby chic.”

I love that hanging your clothes outside to dry on a line is no longer a sign to your neighbors that you can’t afford a dryer. I’m tickled that driving a small car is now admired, not pitied. Still, I’m not quite ready to buy into Celeste’s argument that a couple of goats would be more green than a lawnmower, or my husband’s counter suggestion that we not mow at all.

There are different shades of green-ness. I expect we fall somewhere around a light sage. 

After Celeste and I moved the recliner out to the porch, then covered it with an old cloth shower curtain, we stepped back to assess how it looked. 

“It looks lonely,” she said.

She helped me drag a not-quite-as-stained chair, an orphaned ottoman, and a seen-better-decades coffee table out there to join it.

It was a far cry from the vision I once had for our porch. I’d wanted to tile the floor and paint the pillars and hang ceiling fans. Maybe a built-in fire pit. Still, this looked comfortable and inviting.  And it required just a smidgen of labor and didn’t cost us a cent. 

Perhaps we’re not really green. We’re just lazy and cheap.  

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