Lemons and the Trap of Freshness Purity January 27, 2026 It is so freeing to no longer feel like everything has to be fresh from the vine. I think people today can actually be healthier on modern food than most people were when everything had to be freshly harvested. I have thrown away so many lemons and limes that dried up or became moldy before I had a chance to use them. Sometimes they even surprised me by arriving moldy from the store. I would buy them with good intentions, use two or three, and end up tossing the rest. The issue isn’t the lemons. It’s the friction of reality. Fresh citrus requires planning, cutting, storage space, remembering it exists, and a race against decay. Whereas what I actually need most days is just a splash of acid to make food taste alive. That’s a functional need, not a romantic one. When I cook, I finish dishes with lemon. I use it on arugula, beans, soups, salads, and pizza. I need it in small, frequent amounts—not in big, lemon-forward recipes...

  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....

  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 ...

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 ...

  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 smooth...

  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...