Maison Tranquille Book and Movie Club: A Year of Quiet Companionship

 January 6, 2026

Maison Tranquille Book and Movie Club: A Year of Quiet Companionship

I am drawn to stories that trust silence. Stories that do not explain themselves too quickly, that allow doubt, endurance, and moral growth to unfold without instruction. This watchlist is not about productivity or entertainment. It is about companionship -  films that sit with me, season by season, and ask better questions than they answer.

I’m calling this a book and movie club, though it may very well remain a club of one. Still, if you’re drawn to quiet stories, unhurried watching, and books that sit with you rather than instruct you, you’re welcome here. Come for one month or twelve. Or simply borrow the list and disappear back into your own life.

JANUARY

🎬 Ikiru (1952)
📖 Man’s Search for Meaning — Viktor E. Frankl

Why this pairing:
Both ask what makes a life meaningful when circumstances cannot be changed. Neither sentimentalizes suffering. Both insist that dignity is an interior act.

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FEBRUARY

🎬 The Remains of the Day (1993)
📖 The Sense of an Ending — Julian Barnes

Why:
Memory, self-deception, loyalty, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive our own restraint. Quiet, devastating, precise.

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MARCH

🎬 The Way (2010)
📖 Pilgrim at Tinker Creek — Annie Dillard

Why:
Walking as transformation. Attention as spiritual practice. Both suggest that movement and noticing can heal what explanation cannot.

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APRIL

🎬 Paterson (2016)
📖 The Book of Delights — Ross Gay

Why:
Ordinary days as sufficient. Small joys as discipline. Neither argues for happiness — they practice attention.

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MAY

🎬 A Hidden Life (2019)
📖 Silence — Shūsaku Endō

Why:
Conscience under pressure. Faith without reassurance. Moral courage that is lonely, misunderstood, and costly.

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JUNE

🎬 The Lunchbox (2013)
📖 84, Charing Cross Road — Helene Hanff

Why:
Lives changed through correspondence. Kindness across distance. Human connection without performance.

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JULY

🎬 Babette’s Feast (1987)
📖 Gilead — Marilynne Robinson

Why:
Grace offered freely. Generosity without demand. Beauty that arrives quietly and lingers.

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AUGUST

🎬 The Rider (2017)
📖 The Art of Losing — Elizabeth Bishop (or selected poems)

Why:
Identity reshaped by loss. Acceptance without collapse. Strength found in truth rather than recovery.

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SEPTEMBER

🎬 Tokyo Story (1953)
📖 Being Mortal — Atul Gawande

Why:
Aging, family, and dignity. Love expressed imperfectly and often too late. Humane, unsentimental, deeply compassionate.

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OCTOBER

🎬 The Straight Story (1999)
📖 Crossing to Safety — Wallace Stegner

Why:
Reconciliation, loyalty, and moral steadiness over a lifetime. Slow, patient, and deeply American in its quiet wisdom.

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NOVEMBER

🎬 Nomadland (2020)
📖 Braiding Sweetgrass — Robin Wall Kimmerer

Why:
Belonging without ownership. Work, land, impermanence. Gratitude as an ethical stance.

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DECEMBER

🎬 Chariots of Fire (1981)
📖 Liturgy of the Ordinary — Tish Harrison Warren

Why:
Discipline as devotion. Daily life as sacred practice. Conviction lived quietly, not announced.

Still Curious. Still Growing, Still Grateful.

by Janis @ Simple Raw and Natural

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

 December 2, 2025

My 2026 Maison Tranquille Reading Year

A Year of Nourishment, Curiosity, and Quiet Transformation

There is a special kind of magic in choosing a year of books before it begins.
It feels like laying out teacups for a year of conversations — one for each season, each question, and each inner landscape.

I’ve curated my reading year from December 2025 through December 2026 with two intentions:

✨ Pleasure and Beauty — stories that stir the imagination, evoke Europe’s quiet charm, and remind me that interior lives matter.
✨ Learning and Becoming — books that deepen presence, civic compassion, writing voice, and the art of living.

This isn’t a race or challenge — it’s a gentle rhythm.
One or two books a month, savored slowly, across Audible, Kindle, and paper.

If you want to read along, here is what’s on my Maison Tranquille shelf for 2026:

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🌿 December 2025 — Grounding & Presence

An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor
The Art of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh

🌿 January — Reflection & Renewal

Suite Française by Irène Némirovsky
Being Mortal by Atul Gawande

🌿 February — Love, Memory & Home

Four Seasons in Rome by Anthony Doerr
The Dutch House by Ann Patchett

🌿 March — Quiet Thoughtfulness & Delight

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

🌿 April — Happiness & Humanity

The Good Life by Robert Waldinger & Marc Schulz

🌿 May — Creativity & Voice

A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
How to Write a Sentence by Stanley Fish

🌿 June — Summer & Story

Paris to the Past by Ina Caro
The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George

🌿 July — Family & Legacy

The Light Years (Cazalet Chronicles Book 1) by Elizabeth Jane Howard
Someone by Alice McDermott

🌿 August — Migration & Resilience

The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson

🌿 September — Meaning & Growth

The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick
Falling Upward by Richard Rohr

🌿 October — Earth Wisdom & Gratitude

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

🌿 November — Civic Renewal & Faith-in-Action

The Soul of Civility by Alexandra Hudson
A Way Out of No Way by Raphael Warnock

🌿 December — Beauty, Art & Reflection

The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal

• space to revisit favorite passages from the year

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How I’ll Read These

I’ll be rotating between:

🎧 Audible — for walks, errands, drives
📖 Kindle — for bedtime and travel
📚 Paper books — for journaling in the margins

The goal is not completion.
The goal is companionship — to let these books walk with me through the year.

I hope this inspires you to begin your own curated reading year — whatever your themes may be: peace, beauty, courage, healing, art, or curiosity.

If you’d like to read along, I’ll share reflections here as I go — and I’d love to hear what you are reading.

✨ Here’s to a year of pages, presence, and becoming.

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