I got this quote off the giant flip-pad at my Weight Watchers meeting this afternoon, which attributed the words to “Anonymous.” The quip could’ve originated anywhere, I suppose. No matter. I decided it’s fair game for my Occasional Quotes series.
What isn’t tried won’t work.
Self-evident? Yes. Still, it encapsulates my philosophy these days.
I’m about to embark on a purge of destructive forces from our home. Environmental toxins. Molds. Electromagnetic fields (EMF’s). We live in a 150-year-old building tucked into a massive modern metropolis. Goodness only knows what my efforts will uncover.
I suspect that this is going to be a lot of work, and that in the end it might require even more lifestyle changes. We’ve already tossed the cordless telephones and microwave. The television, receiver, stereo, DVD player, and speakers are hooked to a single power unit so that the electricity to them can be easily cut. The wireless printer, which serves all four household laptops, is shut off anytime it’s not actively receiving data or spitting out paper. I’ve removed almost all plastic from the kitchen. (I’m on the hunt now for a food processor with a glass bowl. I’ll post the link if I find one.)
Perhaps next we’ll learn that the air-conditioner in Martin’s room is spewing EMF’s. Maybe the whole room is bad and we need to move him down the hall to the guest quarters. We have wireless internet, very helpful to me working at home. Will I have to run cables through my home office, and to Adrian’s desk, and to our bed where I usually end up writing this blog?
Staring down possibilities like these, it’s legitimate to ask whether any of this will aid Martin’s recovery. It’s equally legitimate for me to respond that I have no idea. Maybe it will help.
If I don’t try at all, definitely it will not help.
There are lines to be drawn, of course. I can’t keep Martin in the proverbial bubble. (I tried. He got out.) If I discover that Martin’s favorite train (Rosie) or his nighttime clutch blanket (John Paul) is tainted, I’m going to need to hear some pretty solid evidence before I rip the toy from his hands. I have to weigh what’s reasonable.
Before you ask—yes, my definition of “reasonable” has expanded, exponentially, since we started ASD recovery.
Truth be told, I’m hoping to discover that the only toxic items in our household are these horrible old Russian posters Adrian has hanging in the upstairs hallway. Lifestyle change or no, I’m willing to kick those puppies to the curb.