Perusing past entries hurt my pride and I remember now why I stopped journalling. All that bleeding on the page. Yikes. I edited most of it out, cleaned up as it is. Less shrapnel, more sense. I owe this blog a recap, God bless Effexor and here goes, resigned at last to the movement of this endless sea.
Luke and I, on this pilgrimage, filling each other's gap as surely as two halves make one. We've dropped clues along the way, key-words-threads through the maze, that we may NOT forget we've been here already.
Birthday & Providence Hospital.
Stunted says the Counsellor.
then Plenty of Fish in the Sea. 2013.
Rebellion. Betrayal.
The Cabin. Saving Private Pomeroy saving Anne, 2015.
Labor&Industries.
Septic. Incorporate. Annabelle. $2000.00/month for L&I. $1000 for Maris forever. From $35/hr to $8/hr. Office, in the garage.
Septic repair. Pleasant View, inhospitable until funds are gathered. 32k for Stonebridge, 5k for the electrician.
My jaws locked up a few days before Christmas that year. I hear my Mom sob in the background, asking my Dad to do SOME-THING. That Christmas, he drives'on by on I-5 for one of his granddaughters: a ballet recital in Redmond. Alexis is in Bellingham, and it's probably her fault and my fault if he doesn't know that. Anyhoot, it's clear that he continues to have no money no time for this bastard branch of the family tree.
Fatigue now commands the day. I find myself lying on the floor near the desk in between phone calls. I blame Luke's madness, but it's mine all mine and I entomb the business, which by now grosses more than ever and requires more work than ever. As it grows, the labor:wage ratio for me has dwindled to minimum wage, there must be a name for this kind of inverse curve, and I tell myself to hang on 'til I find a worthy successor, someone who will split everything with me, without having to invest the years I have invested to build clientele, team, and reputation.
The Unholy Pregnancy takes fetal form in my breast and pushes everything else aside. One of my clients, Dr Hawkins who is a regular on Monday's cleaning schedule, says he doesn't need to see the biopsy's results, and I don't need to wait, for him to tell me that the dark mass he sees is what he knows it is.
He holds my hand. He is surprised that this is the way we finally meet face to face.
Triple Negative "XXX" Breast Cancer, and curiosity and sympathy draws a few near. Jenny is a steady, kind presence. Helped me clean my house a number of times.
Celina treats me to Colonics, for the Love of God.
By then, Alexis is done with college and she has picked her lifelong mate, whom I freudian-slip and call Dale. The birthing pains are all over, the cord chewed, and it is a phantom who now occupies my belly, kicking its might into the brittle shell. I do not resist. Let it break, I pray. End this. & Will a deaf god now hear me?
Isabelle. Catherine. Genevieve.
"Educated", by Terra Westover. I send the book to my other sister, it lingers then disappears without feedback.
It's okay. I am beginning to understand where the cuts were made, the intentionality behind them, and the pardon I must work on to release myself from the incessant shame and guilt. My sisters will go about their own learning, however they must.
By now we've moved to the big city to minimize the cost of self care. It took years to qualify Luke for his VA home Loan. He is his own landlord now and it will take one hell of a hater to dislodge this otherwise homeless Veteran.
I gorge on Eckart Tolle, and things are almost "normal" now: Home, my hospital, his hospital, all within a five mile radius. A pandemic then happens, stay-at-home orders are implemented, and it feels funny, to not feel funny at all about all that.
In 2018, when my second quarter in school was interrupted by my diagnostic, the year the Titanic wedged up on the iceberg of my mind, I wrote a small essay in English class, for a professor who had to look up "limbic" and who subsequently recommended I apply for Creative Writing at Western U in Bellingham 'right a'way, for a continuing lesson on The Art of Metaphor.
O that I could, and let's see if I can.
Minefield / Mind field.
It rains nearly everyday here. And what the pregnant clouds do not release during day time, they unleash in the dark with a vengeance. This is where I first met him, prostrated in the mud, weeping. “Let me weep with you” I said, and so we did, together, that first night.
Hundreds of acres he has, by virtue of having been born a man in a privileged society and for having served in its holy wars. Exactly how many acres, and in what condition: we’ll never know. Few seeds will themselves into growth here, besides the pugnacious weeds this soil offers well in spite of itself. Somewhere in a far away city tower, a conceited official has balanced the books.
All the same: We've mapped the clay beds and the thin red bands of sand which fillet through them like broken Navajo relics. We’ve dug a pond where the rivulets gather and drink from it, and we’ve leaned the house into a hirsute pile of rocks up in the center of things, where it receives the wind through its windows like breath through Kokopelli’s flute.
Every morning, I snap his boots on for him, and lowers his hat down to his brow. Once in awhile, he wishes to display his medals on his lapel, and I dutifully pin them on. A quick burst of pride flares in his eye, and I tell him he is beautiful, and we head out into the wet, my Soldier and I, readied for the weather and the land.
The fusion between his nano prosthetics and what flesh the war spared (his trunk, and most of his head) is nearly complete. The two of us can manage up to half a row per day now, his two “hands”, now “coils”, firmly wrapped around the plow’s grips, and my own, ready to catch him should he begin to oscillate from the top of his graphene legs and threaten to fall.
He hardly falls anymore.“You are a Miracle”, I say.
“…so I could get to you” he says, looking like the benevolent angel at Reims’ Cathedral’s door, as happy to see you’ve made it, as he is surprised.
Now his ghosts leave us and the sun appears. The Prolixin is still coursing through, regulating what his mind’s eye sees and modulating his limbic response, but briefly through the veil, I see his brilliant heart, and he sees mine.
Over & Out for now.
2
... What chemistry!
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which
is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its
tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited
themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever ...
-Walt Whitman
Here below is a note of appreciation one happy client sent in to The South Whidbey Record, which is South Whidbey Island's main newspaper. It was widely received with cheers and further appreciation by other appreciative clients. Read on:
Last fall, while spending the weekend at our house on Whidbey Island, I lost a diamond earring. An anniversary gift from my husband, it was precious to me, and my family and I spent hours on our hands and knees, searching with flashlights every spot it possibly could have fallen. An earring which sparkles brightly when worn is impossibly small on the ground, and at the end of the weekend I went sadly home without it. Though my husband replaced the earring at Christmas, when on Whidbey I continued to keep an eye out for a tiny twinkle emanating from our rugs, or a sparkle from a corner.
Then, at the end of June, I arrived at the house to find a note in our kitchen, left by Anne LeDuc and her “About the House” cleaning team. Taped to the paper was my lost earring, and the note claimed that it had been found under the washing machine! After my initial jubilation had somewhat subsided, I considered the text of the note. Under the washing machine? Who cleans UNDER a washing machine??
“About the House” regularly cleans our large, extended family home in the summer, as well as more sporadically during the winter. From June through August, they cheerfully enter a house chaotic with kids, dogs and vacationing adults,and somehow make everything shine despite cleaning in the midst of only slightly reduced family activity. Knowing the caliber of their work, I’m grateful, but not surprised, that they are so thorough as to go underneath large appliances. However, their demonstration of honesty, integrity, and sincere pleasure at being able to return to me something of such monetary and sentimental value is something I will never forget.
My mother (who owns a house down the beach from ours) and I regularly sing praises of “About the House” for their spectacular job in both of our homes. I have always felt comfortable having them in our home to clean, whether or not we were present. Now, however, I know that the professional pride in their work extends to careful stewardship of everything within the house. I feel so fortunate to be able to have Anne and her team “about our house” when I need them. I hope I will have that pleasure and peace of mind for many years to come!
With deep thanks and affection to Anne et all, Kathy Reitinger Greenbank, WA
The above was published in the South Whidbey Record, Letter to the Editor, on Wednesday the 09/29/2010.
Clients and friends then commented; Notably this note from Ms Frances Smith, of Langley:
Dear Anne, Thanks for the wonderful service this summer. I read about the return of the diamond earring in the Letter to the Editor and should have written one myself. I thought i lost a hoop earring one morning when my grandkids were here. It was missing while we were out walking and I was quite upset. When I returned to the house, there it was on the counter. The girls were already gone. So please tell the girls thank you for me. Please send me a bill. I think I owe for two weeks. Have a good winter. We are leaving this Saturday. Take care and again, thank all who have worked here. They do a great job. Sincerely, Fran Smith
F&B S. Langley, WA ...
Wow, Anne, what a terrific letter and what a tribute to you and your staff. I don’t know how I missed it since I read the papers diligently. Thanks for passing this along. ...Don’t blush. Pat yourself on the back for running such a top-notch business. Although Deb is the only person on your team I’ve worked with, she has always been professional and has always left me with the feeling that she’s completely trustworthy. Kudos to you!
J.W. Freeland, WA
...
'Loved the article in the paper. So proud of you and your crew is amazing. This week i was in awe as to how sweetly and neatly everthing was done. I was sick in the den, but when I went out in the other rooms it all looked so nice. I have to leave the wee tip in a better place as they never take it. Thanks for being you love,
V.G. Greenbank, WA
...
Very nice article about your company, and well deserved.
G.O. Freeland, WA
...
Hi, Anne -
Thank you so much for your kindness and attention to our friend. He is a dear, sweet man who lots of us care for. I'll be in touch about the gift card. Bill and I were so happy to see the Letter to the Editor in the Whidbey Record that lauded "About the House." Truly deserved!!
All the best!
C.R. Clinton WA
...
Anne Just read about you all finding a diamond under a washer Way to go!! Really nice that your friend shared about it with the Record. Lovely letter!!
K.M. Freeland WA
...
Anne, Harvey and I LOVED reading this nice piece in the paper. We think you & Debra & crew are terrific.
W.L. Clinton WA ...
Hi Anne, That was quite an editorial letter. You can't buy that kind of advertisment! Congratulations! Thanks for the Good Work, Love,
L.A. Greenbank, WA ...
Madame! Congratulations on the letter in The Record!!
C.G. Freeland, WA ...
Anne, Congratulations on such a lovely testimonial in The Record!
S.G. Langley, WA ...
Great Support for What You Do!
S.G. Langley, WA
... Very Good! You guys really deserve it!
M.S. Clinton WA
...
'Loved that piece. And you Do have a Great Team!
C.N. Langley WA ...
Very happy to read the article. I always enjoy knowing you, such a lovely and sweet person, and hard working (good too). Now I know I am not the only person who thinks so!! Congratulations to you to be recognized! Thank you again to give me a relaxed and enjoyable summer. I'll call you again.
M.H. Clinton WA
...
Hi Anne! Congrats on letter to editor. Well deserved!
A.S. Clinton WA
...
Hello Ann
Thank you - and Congratulations!! You (all) completely deserve it. xox,
M.S. Clinton WA ...
Anne,
Those are my sentiments exactly: You are much appreciated!
B.M. Freeland WA ...
Congratulations on the article Way to Go Anne!
M.M. Langley WA ...
Thank you for forwarding the article! Wow! We couldn't agree more!
D.F. Clinton WA
...
Anne,
That letter in the paper was fabulous! I am so happy that everyone can read how amazing you and your team are!
P.F. Langley WA
...
...And Congrats on the letter in the paper: Well deserved!
L.S. Clinton WA
...
Dear Ann,
Thank You. I am very happy with Debra. She is thorough and always pleasant.
B.H. Freeland WA
...
and this, from a First Time Customer:
"What a Great experience! Your staff person was great! I appreciate your great service!"
She loves to talk on the telephone While washing the dinner dishes, Catching up long distance or Dealing with issues closer to home, The reconnoitering with the long lost Or a recent so-and-so. She finds it therapeutic, washing down the aftermath. And that feeling she gets in her stomach with a loved one’s prolonged silence. And under the sink in the dark among the L-pipes, the confederate socket wrenches, lost twine, wire lei, sink funk, steel-wool lemnisci, leitmotifs of oily sacraments, a broken compass forever pointing southeast by east, mold codices, ring-tailed dust motes from days well served, a fish-shaped flyswatter with blue horns, fermented lemurs, fiery spectres, embattled spirit vapors swirling in the crude next to the Soft Scrub, the vinegared and leistered sealed in tins, delicious with saltines, gleaned spikelets, used-up votives…. In the back in the corner forgotten An old coffee can of bacon fat From a month of sinful Sundays, A luna moth embossed, rising-a morning star.
WHEN Matthew Waletzke appeared at the door of my EastVillage apartment to evaluate my home for what he calls “toxic exposure” — the alternative world’s catch-all phrase for potential health hazards like mold, indoor air pollution, household chemicals and electromagnetic radiation (beware your Wi-Fi!) — I half-expected to see a guy in an “Andromeda Strain”-era hazmat suit.
Mr. Waletzke, however, was dressed casually enough, in a polo shirt and khakis. But the aluminum suitcase he carried was all business, filled with an impressive array of meters, probes and other devices that he proceeded to unpack onto my dining room table.
Mr. Waletzke is a “building biology” consultant, which means he has trained for a year with the Institute for Bau-Biologie & Ecology, a Florida-based, mostly online school that teaches its students to test water, air and building materials for a checklist of toxins and then prescribe a cure. (They will also vet the cleaning products under your sink and the lotions and cosmetics in your medicine chest.)
The training and its tenets are a European import, developed in post-World War II Germany to deal with the problems that emerged as new housing went up and some inhabitants began to suffer what would be later identified as “sick building syndrome,” or a sensitivity to chemicals like formaldehyde used in construction.
I had called Mr. Waletzke not because I’d gone all radioactive, like Julianne Moore’s character in “Safe,” the 1995 movie directed by Todd Haynes about a woman who becomes allergic to her life, but because his specialty seems like an idea whose time has come.
Pollution, we’re learning, is personal. Each year brings reports of a new domestic horror, from the medical waste in the municipal water to the carcinogenic bacteria sprouting in your shower head. Your child’s sippy cup is leaching the endocrine disrupter BPA into his milk (let’s not even think about what’s in his nonflammable pajamas), and there are phthalates in your shampoo (also your sex toys). And if your (bleached, pesticide-soaked cotton) bedding doesn’t kill you, your clock radio just might, say those who classify electromagnetic frequencies as carcinogens.
Books like “Clean,” a “detox” lifestyle guide out last year, blurbed by Gwyneth Paltrow and Donna Karan and written by Alejandro Junger, a telegenic Uruguayan cardiologist, prescribe a course of juice fasting and something more: a whole home detox, with filtered air, filtered water, organic cotton sheets and bleach-free cleaning products.
Dr. Junger, whose own tale of chemically induced irritable bowel syndrome and depression will curl your hair, is certainly not the only home detox evangelist. In “Slow Death by Rubber Duck: The Secret Danger of Everyday Things,” out in January, the authors Rick Smith and Bruce Lourie, Canadian environmentalists, embarked on a road test of self-contamination, eating food microwaved in plastic containers, scarfing tuna and drinking out of Mr. Smith’s son’s baby bottles, then testing their blood for levels of phthalates, mercury and other toxins, all of which spiked.
“We have all become guinea pigs in a vast and uncontrolled experiment,” they write, referring to daily life in the average home. “At this moment in history, the image conjured up by the word ‘pollution’ is as properly an innocent rubber duck as it is a giant smokestack.”
I’d been reading these and other books by our new century’s many Rachel Carsons, and I was curious just how “toxic” a New York City apartment might be, with its 80-year-old plumbing, trucks rumbling by and cellphone antennas sprouting from tenement roofs across the street. I’d always been proud of my gritty environment, having long believed that New Yorkers, marinating in stress, soot and other people, must have a Darwinian edge over those living in softer climates.
And if my apartment was as toxic as I was betting it was (“Love Canal” on Second Avenue!), what in the world could be done about it? Wouldn’t it be nearly impossible to detox a prewar Manhattan apartment, particularly on a middle-class budget? Dr. Junger, for instance, is living in filtered nirvana, in an “eco-built” cottage in Venice Beach, Calif. (His “water man,” William Wendling, who told me he has installed whole-house air and water filtration systems for Oliver Stone and Donna Karan, said prices start at $1,000.)
Which brings us back to Mr. Waletzke, a 35-year-old triathlete-in-training with a degree in psychology, who turned to building biology as a way to “detox” Simply Vibrant, his Rockville Centre, N.Y., wellness center. He was treating a lot of autistic children, he said, and after learning that some studies indicate their immune systems have a difficult time processing toxins, he wanted to create as benign an environment as possible there.
And for the last year, as a building biology consultant (healthydwellings.com), he has been seeing couples with autistic children, couples with infants who are eager to make a “safe” environment for their young families and clients like Gary Tuerack, 38, who lives in a Hoboken apartment building that recently installed cellphone antennas on the roof and was worried about his health.
Mr. Waletzke charges $375 for an-in home evaluation, which takes about three hours and includes a written report and detox prescription.
“My goal is to identify the physical stressors in your home,” he told me. “The idea is that the new technologies, all the crazy foods, the chemicals in the products we use — BPA plastics and other things — are stressors on the body. You can’t control what’s outside your home. But inside, you can control what’s called the total body burden of these stressors, identify the ones you come in contact with on a daily basis, and then reduce, eliminate or avoid them.”
He offered up a metaphor: “People have different capacities for toxins, toxins being the water in the rain barrel,” he said. “When their barrel cracks, it can’t hold as much. Or, going back to real life, they can’t handle toxins the way they used to. I know a woman so chemically sensitive she’s living in Woodstock with the electricity turned off because the EMF’s make her sick. She can’t go shopping like a normal person, because the chemicals in the products on the aisles, or the fluorescent lights, set her off.”
“The percent of the population that’s chemically sensitive is increasing,” he added ominously, unpacking his bag of tricks, as he called his aluminum suitcase.
Its contents perked me up: a multidirectional radio frequency meter with a fetching orange bulb; a combustible-gas meter, in fire-engine red, had an anthropomorphic, “Lost in Space” look and a cute silver probe; a simple compass that will vet your mattress for magnetism.
“Here’s something people don’t think about,” Mr. Waletzke said, flattening himself in front of my fridge and unscrewing the grill. “Typically there’s a drip or drain pan in there, filled with water and all sorts of gunk, which the refrigerator fan blows right out into the room.”
Sadly, he couldn’t reach my drip pan. “I can see it, though,” he said.
He checked under my sink for leaks, and behind the washing machine. “Your dryer hose is broken,” he noted.
In the shower, his moisture meter squeaked where the tiles need re-grouting. An inspection of my air-conditioners revealed grimy filters. (I’d forgotten to clean them for, hmm, maybe four years?) He didn’t approve of my candles, which aren’t soy-based (a cleaner burn than wax), though he allowed as how the smell “was really nice.”
But he added sternly: “My general rule is, on a regular basis, candles aren’t good for air quality. Most fragrances have a chemical component.”
Finally, he took up his bright red gas meter, which ticks like a Geiger counter. “It’s not just combustible gases that set it off,” he said, it’s products with high volatile organic chemicals.
He turned on my gas stove and the meter began ticking like crazy. Reaching under my sink, he extracted a bottle of floor cleaner and stuck its silver probe inside. It keened again, and I nearly applauded, until I realized the thing was indicting my cleaning solution.
Municipal water supplies like New York’s are typically treated with chlorine and fluoride, which are possible carcinogens and show trace amounts of arsenic and other metals. Mr. Waletzke couldn’t instantly test my water for these ingredients — that has to be done in a lab and takes two to four weeks, he said, but he offered to do a dissolved-solids test. “Basically, that’s particulates in the water, like rust or dirt.” Mine wasn’t terribly high, he said, at 52 parts per million.
“One of the concerns in old buildings like yours is lead-based solder in the pipes.”
Could he test for that?
No, that needs an expert, he said, as does a test for radon or asbestos.
Mr. Waletzke urged a water filter on the shower, “at the very least,” he said. “Your liver is going to detox what’s in the drinking water, but there is a school of thought that says since your skin is the largest organ in your body, you need to protect it. It doesn’t have its own filter.”
Electromagnetic radiation is a toxic star to building biologists like Mr. Waletzke, “but it’s the one thing that people can’t see, feel or touch, and so it’s often overlooked,” he said. He ticked off some sources. Did I have a cordless phone? Wireless Internet? Dimmer switches? Cellphones and cellphone antennas nearby?
Yes, yes and yes. But research on electromagnetic radiation can take you down a rabbit hole. While doctors like CNN’s Sanjay Gupta have said they will not use cellphones without a headset because of the danger of brain and other cancers, studies linking these devices to cancers have been interpreted every which way.
Later, I called Louis Slesin, a Manhattan industry watchdog who has been reporting on electromagnetic radiation for three decades in his publication, Microwave News.
“You have four billion people using cellphones and we’re living next to towers,” Mr. Slesin said, “and as more than one person has said, this is the world’s largest biological experiment. You are an electrical being. You wouldn’t have a thought in your head or move your fingers without an electrical impulse. The idea that any of these external fields have no influence on you seems to me preposterous.”
Back in my bedroom, Mr. Waletzke was testing my body current with a multi-meter, in a neat display of Mr. Slesin’s thesis. The meter whizzed up when the lights were plugged in and slackened when they weren’t. Good for me, I was conducting, I thought to myself. We tried to test the cat, but he stalked away.
We had already measured the electromagnetic radiation from the fridge — which was high, but petered out a foot away from the door — as well as the microwave, which, when turned on, sent the meter into the red zone even when Mr. Waletzke was eight feet away.
“You see, those doors don’t do anything,” he said, reminiscing about a childhood spent with his face pressed up against his family’s microwave, exploding marshmallow peeps and CD’s. Microwaving CD’s? “It makes the metal crackle,” he said mistily. “It looks like shattered glass.”
We discussed the perils of laptops — just don’t put them on your lap, Mr. Waletzke said. And then, good news: My bed isn’t magnetized, as some can be when the metal coils wear out.
Why are magnets bad?
“They can put your cells in a stress response,” Mr. Waletzke said.
HIS final act, what would be the reveal if we were doing a home show together (and with his biceps and gentle manner, Mr. Waletzke could give Nate Berkus some competition), was to measure the radio frequencies coming from the cellphone antennas across the street.
Mr. Waletzke brandished his R.F. Analyzer and shook his head.
“It’s bad,” he said finally. “It just went up to 2,000 microwatts per meter squared. We like to see readings under 100.”
Can you get readings under 100 in New York City?
“Usually I see about 300,” he said. “I tested an apartment in Brooklyn with two floors of glass windows right in front of antennas on a roof across the street. The meter went wild there, too.”
What did he tell them to do?
“Move,” he said. “But it’s not always feasible to move in New York, and who knows what you’ll move next to? It could be a similar situation.”
For Mr. Tuerack in Hoboken, Mr. Waletzke painted the apartment in carbon-based paint, which is black and very expensive — about $400 for five liters — but “can shield up to 97 percent of radio frequencies,” he said. Mr. Tuerack told me he spent about $5,000 to do this, after which his landlord picked up the cost of covering the black paint in two coats of primer and one coat of white paint. As for the guy in Brooklyn, he is sleeping at the back of his apartment, away from the antennas.
“The idea,” Mr. Waletzke said, “is to give your body a break from all this stuff, at least while you’re sleeping, so it can deal with it better during the day.”
He directed me to lessemf.com, a Web site selling products that shield people from electromagnetic frequencies, like slinky boxers made from silver-plated nylon mesh ($90) and tank tops ($64) — you could wear both with a silver-plated balaclava ($59.95). But you’d scare the kids. There was also a very attractive bed canopy that looked like a mosquito net ($999).
I called Mr. Slesin again.
“Now you’re joining the foil heads,” he teased. “And how will you know if these things really work? The reason this is so difficult is there are no clear answers to the most obvious basic questions. The safety standards are based on short-term exposure, but what everyone is worried about is long-term exposure. Look, living where you do you’re getting more than everyone else, but it’s still low compared to what you’re getting from your cellphone.”
Mr. Slesin calculated that the readings Mr. Waletzke received in my bedroom were well below F.C.C. standards for safety (and a spokesperson for the F.C.C. concurred). Mr. Slesin added that he would be more concerned by my cellphone use.
“Cellphones are thousands of times stronger, and you’re sticking them right on your head,” he said. “Worrying about towers is like worrying about passive smoking when you haven’t yet addressed smoking itself.”
“In my understanding,” Mr. Waletzke responded, “the F.C.C. standards look at radiation from a thermal perspective, when tissue starts to exhibit a rise in temperature. Whereas building biology looks at it from when the cell of an organism starts to exhibit variations from a natural baseline, and there are studies that show this happening at lower radiation levels than those set by the F.C.C.”
We impose a hierarchy on our anxieties — otherwise our heads would explode. Prioritizing keeps us sane. Mr. Waletzke’s prescriptions, contained in the eight-page report he e-mailed me a few days after his visit, ranged from the simple and relatively inexpensive — replacing bleach with vinegar, for example — to pricier and more complex solutions, like water filters and electromagnetic radiation shielding devices. (A few of his recommendations are listed above.)
By focusing on the cellphone antennas and Mr. Slesin’s guarded and very conditional blessing of my proximity to them, I decided, I could dispense with worrying about the other issues.
“That happens,” Mr. Waletzke said. “People get overwhelmed.”
If the personal home detox is too daunting, though, what are we left with? The other path is agitating on a civic or federal level for more stringent legislation on a whole host of products and technologies, from plastics to cellphone antennas. The thought of which makes me want to light a few scented candles and retreat to my radioactive bedroom, where I would crawl between my nonorganic, bleached sheets.
Heck, if you offered me a cigarette, I might smoke it.
Cleaning Up Pollution in the Home
Matthew Waletzke, a “building biology” consultant with a practice called Healthy Dwellings, performed a “healthy home evaluation” on my East Village apartment, meaning he scoped out the air, water and building materials, as well as my cleaning products and cosmetics, for toxins. He also tested for electromagnetic radiation and moisture intrusion, and then offered the following prescriptions.
MOISTURE Fix the dryer vent and re-grout the tiles in the shower.
AIR Despite my location on Second Avenue, Mr. Waletzke wrote that “outdoor air is surprisingly half as toxic as indoor air.” He recommended cleaning the air-conditioner’s filters, keeping the windows open and buying a HEPA air filter to use in the bedroom when the windows are closed. He likes Aquasana products, like the Deluxe Air Purifier, which is about $600 at aquasanaforlife.com. However, it won’t win any beauty contests.
WATER Noting the New York City water, like most municipal water, has been treated with chlorine and fluoride, possible carcinogens, Mr. Waletzke recommended getting a kitchen-sink water filter (an under-counter model is about $144 at aquasanaforlife.com) and a shower filter (about $68 at aquasanaforlife.com). But suggested that if I had to prioritize, I should pick the shower. He also advised cleaning the shower head with vinegar and water, since mold can grow there.
ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION The most effective shield, Mr. Waletzke said, is carbon-based paint. It is black, and extremely expensive — $409 for five liters at lessemf.com. Shielding fabric is somewhat cheaper; a silver-plated nylon mesh canopy is about $1,000 at lessemf.com and has an appealing Karen Blixen vibe.
COSMETICS AND CLEANING SUPPLIES Jettison the bleach and the conventional cleaning solutions, he said, and replace them with Green Seal products, or use vinegar. He recommended vetting my cosmetics at cosmeticsdatabase.com, which lists which carcinogens are in which products. I lost heart at my toothpaste.
Written for the New York Times by Penelope Green, originally published on May 26 2010
"The houses that are important to us are the ones that allow us to dream in peace";...from Bachelard's: "The Poetics of Space". And so The house is but the four walls that protect the dreamer inside. I am it, and it is me.
