Maison Tranquille

  The name changed in February. The address stayed the same. For those of you who have been here a while, you already know the story. For those who are newer, the short version is simply this: I changed, and eventually the name had to follow. So here we are. A little quieter. A little more settled. Still curious. March feels like the right month to begin again. Not January with its pressure and its promises, but March, when the light is actually changing and the year starts to feel real. One morning recently I sat down and asked a very specific question. Not of a guru, not of a protocol, not of the particular certainty that drove me to Australia years ago. I asked Claude, the AI, what the science actually says about the healthiest way to eat for people in their seventies and eighties who intend to keep going. The answer was plant heavy, not vegetarian. Increased protein. Anti-inflammatory. Practical. So we are trying it. Four weeks of meals built on evidence rather than enthusiasm,...

Lately I have been thinking about what makes a life feel steady. There are times in life when you begin paying more attention to what is shaping your days. Not because anything dramatic has happened, but because you start to notice how easily your attention can be distracted and pulled in different directions. I did not set out to name my home. It happened slowly. Ordinary mornings began to feel like something worth protecting. Coffee at the same table. Music moving through the rooms while I practice flute. Books and notebooks left scattered around the house because I know I will come back to them. Family and friends showing up with friendly conversation and leaving joy behind. Somewhere along the way I began calling it Maison Tranquille. A quiet house. At first it was just a private thought. A phrase that felt comforting. A reminder that peace rarely arrives all at once. Most of the time it is built through small decisions repeated often enough to become a way of life. Many people hav...

  I am standing in another place now. Not purity. Not indulgence. But stewardship. This is a much harder place to live, because there are no rules to hide behind, and the deconstruction phase can feel as intense as the conversion. I found that as my personal diet restrictions relaxed, they continued to relax more and more. This is not failure. It is neurobiological repair. Long-term restriction, combined with moralized food systems, trains the nervous system to live in scarcity vigilance. When safety returns, the system says, “We are allowed now.” And it keeps testing the fence to see if it’s real. It is the body renegotiating trust. “How do I live with both vitality and joy without becoming enslaved to either?” This is really a spiritual maturity question more than a nutrition one. Instead of rigid restrictions, there are Core Healing Practices (non-negotiable): daily greens, omega-3s, hydration, fiber, and a low inflammatory load. There can also be Seasonal Therapeuti...

  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 ...