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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Main image: Visual Panic

Other images: Luanne Bradley

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

We go because we love movies. We go for the delightful or frightful experience of being swept into another reality for a couple of hours. We go crazy when bombarded with highly stylized Mercedes and Coke ads before previews and a show.

The big screen in a darkened room has always had a dramatic impact on the captive viewer, more than a television screen and much more than a computer monitor or iPhone. And they know it. They bet on it. They exploit it. They profit from it.

They are corporate advertisers for soft drinks, jeans, cars and all of the other products being shoved down our throats everywhere we turn.

There once was a place where we could escape it; the movies. That was high art, people. That was art not marred by slick images of low performance drivers in high performance sports vehicles racing irresponsibly down canyons, egging on male viewers to do the same to be cool. U dig?

Oh, they’re crafty, all right. They even design ads that resemble film trailers to confuse us. You pay to see the movie, but you are stuck in your seat, prey of the corporate beast on an unfair playing ground.

What can we consumers do to combat this hideous phenomenon? I mean isn’t avoiding this the exact reason we opt for Weeds and Hung and Nurse Jackie and all of the non-commercial television shows? Isn’t this precisely why we curtail Saturday cartoons for our vulnerable young ones who absorb the subliminal message that you must buy products to be happy?

Now you can shout out “action” and join the Captive Motion Picture Audience of America’s (CMPAA) campaign to Say NO to TV commercials before feature films at movie theaters.

In an open letter to the Regal Entertainment Group and other theater owners, this organization puts forth the case:

This is the last straw. You’ve done a great job conditioning the movie-going public to accept pre-movie billboard ads, your commercial theater radio networks, and nearly every other form of commercialism under the sun. Now, after the lights go down and we’re entrenched in our seats, you’ve decided to expand into pushing TV commercials. It now seems the only difference between a movie screen and a TV screen is size. We, the captive audience, have had enough. TV commercials belong on television, not before movies we pay for.

Captive Audience says its primary goal is to urge theater owners to discontinue showing “invasive”, TV-like commercials before the beginnings of movies. Since many theater chains have a monopoly on first-run films in many areas of the country, it considers the practices to be unfair and intolerable. I couldn’t agree more, and it’s good to know someone is taking a stand.

Perhaps they will show that TV-like ads will prove unprofitable as they spark a consumer backlash. Beyond enraged viewers like me booing loudly at the screen and throwing popcorn in protest, consumers are urged to sign an online  petition. Yes, it’s a more civil way to go.

Among other excellent statements, it reads:

We, the undersigned, believe that the further proliferation of advertisements into venues where the viewer cannot disregard them, such as a darkened movie theater, greatly detracts from the escapism of a motion picture. We believe the forced viewing of commercials before films will prove to be unprofitable for theaters that engage in the practice, and further alienate audiences into seeking alternative means of entertainment. We hope to urge Regal, operating the largest theater circuit in the United States, to set an example within its industry and discontinue the showing invasive, TV-like commercials from the beginnings of movies.

So far there are more than 3,300 signatures, an indication lots of us are mad as hell and can’t take it anymore.  Bombarding us with ads at cinema venues goes against a green sensibility –  and does not have a happy ending as far as conservation is concerned.

Perhaps this is why in Chicago, even more extreme steps have been taken by a school teacher who filed a class action lawsuit against Loews Cineplex Entertainment Group and Loews Piper’s Theatres, INC. for showing commercials. Miriam Fisch’s suit stated that “failure to start the movie at the scheduled time and only after foisting commercial ads on the movie-going audience constitutes a breach of contract.” Although the judge through out the lawsuit, the teacher got her message across.

Images: Corbis

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