Suite Francaise and the Question No One Can Answer in Time

 December 31, 2025

Suite Francaise and the Question No One Can Answer in Time

I’ve just finished listening to Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, a novel written during the early years of World War II and left unfinished when the author was arrested and later killed at Auschwitz.  The history of the book gives it added weight because it was written during the actual period, yet the most striking thing to me wasn’t the tragedy, but the ordinariness.

This book is not really about heroes or villains in the usual sense.  It is a book about people cooking meals, worrying about money, caring for the children, negotiating with neighbors, and trying to remain themselves while history presses in from every side.

As I listened, one question kept returning:

Is there a moment when it becomes wiser to leave than to stay?

Is it a clear decision, an act of agency, to choose to become a refugee?  Suite Francaise shows us that people rarely know when the turning point has arrived.  They act on rumors, half-truths, fear, hope, and attachment.  They choose with children watching, with elderly parents who cannot walk very far, and with the belief that this situation cannot possibly last.

Some flee.  Some Stay.

None of them escape lass.

The novel makes it clear that there is no moral high ground here.  Leaving may preserve life but fracture identity.  Staying may preserve dignity but risk destruction.  Courage exists on both sides, and so does regret.

Reading this now, from a safe distance in time and space, I’m aware of how easy it is to judge these decisions with the advantage of hindsight.  But the people living inside the moment do not have that luxury.  They cannot see the ending.  They only know what is bearable and what is not.

Perhaps the most honest truth from the book:

Becoming a refugee is rarely a choice; it is the least unbearable option among unbearable ones.  

Perhaps refuge itself is not the destination.  Maybe it is the act of choosing what you can live with becoming.

If you are curious about this book

Suite Francaise is reflective, humane, and unsentimental.  It doesn’t tell you what to think; but it asks you to notice.  If you enjoy literature that explores moral ambiguity, resilience, and the interior lives of ordinary people during extraordinary times, it is well worth reading or listening to. 

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

 

December 3, 2025

Maison Tranquille

The Quiet I Crave

This afternoon, I noticed, an irritation,  at the sound of the television in our living room. Not the show itself but its presence… the way it intruded into the atmosphere I was holding inside.

I don’t think the problem is the television.

It’s that I am learning how I crave quiet space, a room that feels like a sanctuary, that protects the small rituals I’m trying to cultivate.

Maison Tranquille (the name I’ve given my house) has to live inside before it can touch the outside.

Peace is not always found far away.  Sometimes it is just a closed door, a lit candle, or clarity about what space belongs to what purpose.

Maybe this, too, is part of aging;  learning what supports our nervous system, and what frays it. 

Maybe this is part of marriage;  the negotiation between one person’s comfort and the other’s.

Or maybe this is simply another invitation:

Notice where your peace gets interrupted.
Because that interruption reveals what matters.

Today, mine was the television.

Tomorrow it may be something else.

But at least I’m learning to call it by its name.

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

Main Character Energy… in a House Full of Main Characters

11/27/2025

Main Character Energy… in a House Full of Main Characters

There’s something beautiful about spending a week at the beach with a house full of family. It’s never quiet, never predictable, and never just one storyline. It’s more like an overlapping collage of happenings.

And yet, in the middle of all of this, there is another version of main character energy, one that doesn’t compete with anyone else’s story.

This isn’t the loud, front-and-center kind of main character energy. It’s not about being the center of attention or the person with the most star power.

It’s the kind that acknowledges:

I get to have my own experience here.

I get to tend my own spirit.

I get to enjoy this week in a way that nourishes my body, my mind, and my soul.

All without stepping on anyone else’s toes.

Because everyone here is the main character in their own movie.

And honestly, that’s what makes it beautiful.

There are all the characters, the storytellers, the planners, the cooks, the ones who nap, the ones who are busy, the ones who stay up too late, the ones who wake up early, the ones playing games, the ones finding solitude in their rooms, and the ones sharing special moments together.

And then there’s me, living in my own storyline at the same time.

My version of main character energy is simple:

A morning coffee on the beach.

Making my nourishing smoothie and a few dishes to add to the meals at the beach house.

Sitting in my chair on the beach and watching the waves.

Noticing what’s beautiful, especially the ordinary beauty.

Savoring the conversations I want, and letting the rest flow around me.

Not rushing or forcing. Staying present.

This kind of presence doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s experience.

It lets everyone hold their own storyline while I hold mine.

It lets this week be spacious instead of overwhelming.

It lets the little moments feel like scenes I’ll want to remember.

Maybe that’s what growing older teaches us; not how to steal the spotlight, but how to hold our own space, quietly, steadily, and with grace that doesn’t need to be the center of attention in order to be felt.

This week, I’m practicing soft main character energy.

Present in my own story.

Happy to let others be the star of theirs.

And grateful to witness all the different stories happening around me, together, under one beach house roof.

 

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

 

November 20, 2025

Healing the Ordinary

Beauty is woven into the things we often overlook - nourishment, rest, small habits, and all of your simple daily rituals. They aren’t sparkly or applause-worthy, yet they hold our lives together. In a world that rewards urgency and spectacle, these ordinary acts feel almost subversive. Healing rarely arrives in dramatic breakthroughs. It grows slowly, in the choices we make again and again.

This morning, while reading An Altar in the World, I was reminded that the sacred isn’t hiding somewhere distant or unreachable. It’s right here in the sweeping of the kitchen floor, the soft light entering the room, a warm bowl of soup, the way we help one another without fanfare. The book invites us to look at our everyday lives and see them as altars.  I’m think that this is where real transformation actually happens. Healing doesn’t require that we change everything.  We just need to pay attention.

When I chop vegetables, make my smoothie, or stir beans on the stove, I’m doing more than preparing food. I’m offering myself care. Nourishment becomes a way of saying:   You matter. Your body is worth tending. Your life is worth savoring.

There’s nothing glamorous about raw cabbage or a bowl of lentils, but there’s something profoundly beautiful in choosing foods that support life, clarity, and energy. These simple meals anchor me. They bring stability into days that feel uncertain. They remind me that healing is a practice.

Rest may be the most underestimated healing act of all. To lie down or slow down when the world insists on motion is a courageous choice. Rest is not laziness; it’s wisdom. It’s the acknowledgment that we are human, finite, and in need of restoration. In rest, the nervous system calms down, the mind relaxes, and the body begins to repair. It thrives when we stop pushing and allow ourselves grace.

Small habits seem insignificant but end up shaping everything. Drinking water. Making the bed. Walking around the block. Writing a few lines in a journal. Putting sprouts on toast. Lighting a candle. Choosing gratitude before worry. On their own, they are tiny acts, yet they create a rhythm of stability, clarity, and hope. They don’t ask for perfection - only presence. Over time, they help us remember who we are.  

When we finally slow down enough to notice, the ordinary becomes an altar where we meet God; not in miracles, but in the little things that sustain us: a bowl of fruit, a deep breath, sunlight through the window, clean sheets, a quiet morning, a moment of honesty with someone we love. This is where healing settles into our days. This is where beauty hides in plain sight. This is where the sacred waits for us to recognize it.

Healing the ordinary isn’t about making life perfect. It’s about choosing to see our everyday moments as invitations to pay attention, to nourish ourselves, to rest, to begin again. And in that noticing, life becomes beautiful.

“Your purpose in life is to make your surroundings beautiful.” —Karl Hochradel

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

The Taste of Steadiness

 November 9, 2025

The Taste of Steadiness

There’s a kind of quiet alchemy that happens in the kitchen where the feminine works her magic, bringing healing and even a bit of justice with her spoon.  It’s how she stirs, not just the soup, but the energy of the house.

Healing food isn’t only about what’s raw or pure or green.  It’s also about what’s warm, soft, and cooked.  The raw heals through clarity with the burst of lemon, the crunch of cabbage, the pulse of life untamed by fire.  The cooked heals through comfort, the slow stew that is grounding after you’ve been in your head for too long.  Roasted root vegetables remind us to stay here and stay steady.

Both have their purpose.  The raw awakens, the cooked restores.

When I eat healing food, I feel both of those voices working together.  The wild and the patient.  They remind me that steadiness has many forms.  It might taste like lentils with garlic, or a baked pear that melts against the spoon.  It might taste like something you could eat everyday without growing weary of it.

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

Healing Food as Metaphor

 November 9, 2025

Healing Food as Metaphor

Healing food is more than nutrition.  It’s a language of restoration.  When we choose healing foods, we’re saying yes to life again, to renewal after depletion. Think of ingredients as symbols of some inner need:

Broth speaks of gentleness and the infusion of strength through patience and warmth.

Greens remind us of forgiveness by turning sunlight into nourishment.

Beans represent endurance and humility - small, plain, and sustaining.

Lemon and salt show us that sharpness and contrast are necessary for balance.

Bread is the ancient metaphor for connection.  When it is broken and shared, it represents trust.

To prepare and eat healing food acknowledges that we are both fragile and resilient.  The body is connected to the soul.  The kitchen becomes a sanctuary for the healing of wounds while the soup simmers on the stove and love and care transform it into flavor.

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

 November 5, 2025

The Myth of Doing It Alone

We often hear stories about the great minds of history: the inventors, artists, philosophers, and writers who seemed to move the world forward by the power of their genius. But the truth, when you look a little closer, is that no one ever did it alone.

Behind every “self-made” success, there were quiet conversations, secretaries who typed pages of notes, editors who coaxed rough thoughts into clarity, and wives or friends who believed when no one else did. Greatness has always been a form of collaboration, a shared space where one person’s vision meets another’s support.

That’s how I see artificial intelligence today. Some say it will make us lazy or dependent, but I don’t believe that. I think it is simply the modern version of a long tradition: a thinking partner, a listener, and a way to explore ideas more deeply. It does not replace creativity; it expands it.

The spark still comes from within us—the curiosity, the values, the discernment, the taste. The tool only gives us a way to see it more clearly and to shape it more beautifully.

In the end, even collaboration is an inner act, the gathering of many voices into one clear thought.

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural