Peyton and I became fast friends and spent the rest of our teen and college years trying hard to stay out of trouble while always pushing the limits.  One weekend, Donna, Charlotte and I decided we wanted to try drinking, so Peyton somehow obtained a four pack of wine coolers for us.  In preparation, we ate slices of bread to soak up the alcohol in our stomachs, bought Visine to fend off having red eyes the next morning, wielded ourselves with minty gum, and drove out to Vance Lake so no one could find us.  To our surprise, we didn't feel much of anything after each having drunk one and a third wine coolers, but the next morning, my Daddy sure said, "I know you drank wine coolers with your friends last night, and y'all are not old enough to be doing that.  I don't want to hear about you doing that ever again."  Stunned, I asked Daddy how he knew, and he told me I couldn't get away with doing anything in Marks, MS, without the whole town knowing about it.  I think I vowed right then and there to get the hell out of Marks as soon as I could.  Ha!

Peyton and I attended youth camp, went on miserable choir bus tours, performed with the Delta Singers and toured our future college, Ole Miss, together.  Sometimes we even had little crushes on each other.  Peyton was my first kiss.  No offense towards Peyton, but the only thing I remember about it was hearing Brian Coker yell afterwards, "I kiss my Grandma harder than that!"  Why Brian was there to witness our first kiss, I do not even know, but I am sure at least one of us was wearing braces at the time so there was risk involved!  Other times we were setting each other up with our friends.  ​

Peyton and I could fight like siblings, too.  One fall after graduation, I flew in from D.C. for an Ole Miss football game weekend in Oxford.  I was staying with some sorority sisters at their apartment, and Peyton came over to see me.  I took one look at him and said, "I thought you quit dipping."  He said he had.  I then asked, "Well, why are you carrying around a can of Skoal in your sock then?"  He got so mad at me he stormed out of the house and didn't speak to me for the rest of the weekend but shoving a can of Skoal down your sock is a terrible hiding spot, right?  

​Our freshman year of college, Peyton and I were each other's go-to dates to parties and football games as our respective significant others weren't at school with us.  I went with Peyton to the Sigma Nu Halloween party.  He was Robert Palmer, and I was a Robert Palmer girl.  Tri Delt grab-a-date?  Peyton always.  We noodle danced to Widespread cover bands around the pool at the Sigma Nu house and shotgunned beers on Highway 6 while doing the Pete's challenge.  In the wee hours of the morning, we became lifetime members of the Elvis fan club at Graceland Too in Holly Springs.  Peyton worked at Star Package on Jackson Ave, and I worked directly across the street at Sir Speedy.  On Saturdays we would stare out the windows at each other while talking on the phone, always hanging up without saying goodbye when a customer pulled up at either place.  We would take turns ordering lunch for each other, because alone, neither of us could hit the minimum required to have food delivered.

We spent hours riding around Quitman County or out to Sardis Lake talking about life or singing at the top of our lungs.  Peyton was a beautiful tenor, and I, a decent alto.  I was a terrible soprano, but I would quickly take the high notes if the song we were harmonizing to dictated it.  I was Kate Pierson, Amy Ray and Emily Sailers; he was Michael Stipe and Iggy Pop.  Our favorite duet was "And When She Danced," from the Stealing Home soundtrack.  Oh, and Stealing Home!  We knew every line to that movie and would quote it back and forth to each other.  "You had sex with my prom date.  You. Had. Sex. With. My. Prom date!"  "She was never your prom date, App."  "Ya, not after you had sex with her."  And to us, Val Kilmer was not Goose on Top Gun; he was only Jim Morrison in The Doors.   

We were obsessed with The Best of Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live.  We would rent the VHS tape from that janky video store by the Quitman County Courthouse.  A couple of years ago, I texted Peyton a picture of Paul McCartney from Austin City Limits Music Festival along with, "Hey, Paul, let's get rid of Clarence and steal all of his great ideas."  He texted back he almost wrecked his car laughing from the Eddie reference.  The following year I texted him, "Seeing Guns N' Roses at ACL RFN.  Axl is so f*cking fat.  Slash and Duff are carrying them."  He said he missed me more than I knew and made me promise to take him with me the following year.  

So, on Saturday afternoon, when I received a text from Charlotte asking if I had heard the news out of Mississippi and remembered I had a missed call from Missy earlier in the day, I immediately called home.  It was a kick in the teeth to learn Peyton was dead, having taken his own life the night before.  I was shocked, and I was angry.  How could he have done such a thing to all of us?  Was he not thinking about what his selfish action would do to his family, his friends?   

Coincidentally, Clete and I were about to receive two of Peyton's fraternity brothers and their wives for pre-dinner cocktails at our house.  I immediately relayed the news, and we quickly tried to process it and pull ourselves together as to not ruin the fun evening we had planned together, but none of us could escape the news.  Much later that night as I did a deep dive of our text exchanges and tried analyzing his most recent posts on Facebook and Instagram, my anger quickly turned to guilt.  What had I missed?  He was quoting "Me and My Bobby McGee."  What signs had I missed?  He had remembered my birthday every single year, and I had never once remembered his.  Who's the asshole now?      

By the next morning, I was distraught and devastated by the thought Peyton had clearly been in so much pain, suffering from such mental anguish, this path felt like the best way out of his suffering.  I realized I didn't know all that I didn't even know about him.  He didn't deserve my anger and judgment; Peyton deserved my compassion, love and forgiveness. I fervently prayed for him to now be at peace. 

I spent that day digging through boxes of old photos and trying hard to sit with the discomfort of it all.  I found myself compelled to write about my friendship with Peyton to honor him and to help me better process his death, but I couldn't just sugarcoat the ending or skip over the fact he had taken his own life, but is that not exactly what society has taught us to do?  Especially in our Southern culture?  Suicide is an incredibly icky topic, and who am I to try to broach that subject?  Plus, it's so private and not my story to tell.  Yet I kept feeling drawn to do so and oddly enough, like I was receiving messages from Peyton that he wanted me to use my voice in this way.  As I re-read his text messages, he shared with me his stepmother had found such great comfort reading my blog about my family after his father had died.  He wrote, "Thank you for always managing to get the words right."  Clete and I encountered this odd-looking, little cardinal with this Brian Bozworth-y tuft of hair standing up on its head, and I continued to ignore the signs, but after Anthony Bourdain and Iggy Pop showed up in my Facebook newsfeed together, I picked up the phone and called his family.  They not only encouraged me to write this, they graciously granted me the freedom to write about Peyton's life and death as I had experienced it, to demystify it, to say it out loud, because Peyton had, after all, taken his own life, and that fact had further complicated their grief.  

​Admittedly, I am still struggling to make sense of his death, but I do know this much is true:  the HOW or WHY Peyton did it, doesn't matter, just like knowing HOW or WHY my late husband got stage IV lung cancer at age 31, doesn't matter.  Knowing the how and the why does not bring solace with it.  The true peace that surpasses all understanding can only be provided through our faith in the Lord, through our ability to be present and feel the grace that is surrounding us now, to be grateful we had Peyton in our lives, through letting our anger go and most importantly and maybe the most difficult, forgiving him for making the choice to go Home by another way. 

Mental illness, whether chronic or acute, is real and must be recognized and tended to just like physical illnesses such as heart disease or diabetes should.  It is no different, and we must not only learn to recognize it in ourselves and in others, but to also speak up about it and to seek professional help when needed.  So many of life's moments are precious and beautiful, but life can also be really hard sometimes and require professional help or medication to help us better navigate our thoughts and feelings.  We call it "the head and the heart doctor" in our house, and I'm going to see mine next week.    

I will miss my beloved friend Peyton so very much, but I give thanks for his great life, all the laughter and joy he brought to mine, his twinkly eyes and sly grin, and the chance to quote Katie Chandler from Stealing Home to him one last time.

"See, that's all I want to do Billy Boy.  I want to leap off this pier and fly high in the air, hang with the wind and drift with the clouds, and at night, with the Moon full and the sea wild, I meet my lover high on a cliff and we'd swoop down into the ocean and swim all the way, touch the bottom, up through the dark water and break the surface.  Then we'd fly to Jamaica for pina coladas.  God, I wish I could do that."  

​Rest easy, my friend.

From Clete:

In the early morning hours of March 23, 2015, Clete, not being one to half-ass anything, took a head-over-heels tumble down my back staircase, broke and dislocated his neck, and almost died right there in my stairwell.  True story.  And I, being no stranger to life-changing events, was right there beside him through it all.  But what on earth was Clete even doing at my house at four in the morning on that fateful Monday?  Well, back in those days, whatever Clete’s godson, Joe Kennett, asked of him, Joe received.

Just months before, my husband Chip, who was also one of Clete’s closest friends, had passed away after living with non-small cell lung cancer for two years and three months.   Clete, who had recently separated gracefully from a marriage that had supported us dearly during our struggle with cancer, began to devote pretty much all of his free time to the kids and me.  Clete and I originally met in 2007 when we worked together in the same U.S. Senate office.  In the months before Chip's death, Chip and I had selected Clete to be the legal guardian of our kids, my power of attorney, and acting agent on my own advanced medical directive after Chip died.  Clete, being the secondary agent on Chip’s directive, was our go-to driver for Chip’s middle of the night emergency room runs, so I could stay at home with the kids.  Clete was Team Kennett’s biggest champion, teammate and confidant throughout and most specifically, in Chip’s final months.  When Chip went into the hospital the week before he died, Clete was the one he asked to come stay overnight with him, so I could go home to get some much needed sleep and be with our kids.

Joe, who had just turned five, had crippling separation anxiety from me after Chip died, and there were few places and people that felt safe to him, but Joe always asked for Clete, so on the weekends and some weeknights, Clete would come over.  Our weekends were filled with the kids’ sports, activities and church.  After we would get the kids to bed, the evenings usually ended with carry-out and emotional deep dives as we discussed everything from death to divorce to God.  In a very painful and scary time, it all felt perfectly safe, and it was, because it was Clete.  Clete had always been there and simply continued to be.  We had already experienced so many life events together and over time, we began to fill in some of the missing blanks in our respective stories for each other.  

On this particular weekend, Clete had come over that Saturday, and we took Joe to baseball, played with the kids in the park, and then the boys took a “Dawg time” trip to the Natural History Museum while I stayed at home with Crosby while she napped.

​On Sunday afternoon, when Clete was getting ready to leave following church and lunch, Joe asked if he was going to come back later to put him to bed.  I immediately said no and that we needed to give Clete a break, but Clete told him if that’s what he wanted, then he would be back.  Later that night, as we were getting the kids ready for bed, Joe then asked for the first time, “Are you going to spend the night tonight?”  Clete looked at me, and I gestured it was up to him.  Clete told Joe, "Sure, buddy.  I'll stay."  

Clete slept on the couch in the living room on the first floor that night.  Sometime around four in the morning, Crosby cried out from her crib.  I immediately jumped out of bed and hurried into her bedroom which was right next door to mine on the second floor.  Joe was asleep in the big bed in her room as he did not like being separated from either of us in those early months.  When Crosby cried out, it woke Clete up, and as men do when they wake up in the middle of the night, he needed to go to the bathroom.  Having no bathroom on the ground floor, Clete went up the back staircase to our other bathroom, because he did not want to come up the front staircase and disrupt my efforts to get Crosby back to sleep.  

After soothing Crosby, as I was walking back to my bedroom, I heard this loud thud.  I paused and wondered if Clete had actually fallen off the couch in his sleep.  I then heard a second, loud thud.  I raced down the front stairs to find the blankets tossed from the couch onto the floor.  I noticed a light on in the back of the house, so as I walking back towards the kitchen, I caught sight of Clete.  He was crumpled in the bottom of the back stairwell, one leg turned awkwardly up the wall, the other tangled in the baby gate, and his head was lying back on a wooden step, and he was completely unconscious.  

I opened the gate and touched his arm.  He immediately opened his eyes and asked me how he had gotten there.  I told him I guess he had fallen, and I thought I needed to get him to the hospital.  He told me "no, this happened before in football," and he just needed "a minute" before he could try to get up.  Thankfully, we can now laugh about this part.  

I stood there barefoot in my pajamas trying desperately to wrap my head around the impact of this new line that had been drawn in the sand.  There it was again.  The before and the after.  However frail mine and the kids’ “new normal” may have been, I knew it had suddenly vanished in that instant.  

When Clete indicated he was ready for me to help him get up, I crossed my right arm over to meet his, and when I clasped his hand, it was completely limp.  Everyone tries to give me credit for being smart enough in that moment not to move him, but truth be told, I was not that smart.  The entire right side of his six foot body was listless, and I was simply incapable of getting him to budge.  

Since I do not have a landline, I told Clete I had to run upstairs to grab my phone, but I assured him I would be right back.  I called 911 for the second time in ten weeks.  I somehow had the wherewithal to ask 911 to please tell the paramedics not to turn their sirens on, because I had sleeping babies, and that I would have the front door unlocked and the front light on for them.  As soon as I hung up, I once again called my dear friend, Maria, who was not on standby this particular night, but thankfully answered her phone and beat the ambulance to my house.  

As I was climbing into the front of the ambulance, I heard Clete asking the EMTs where I was.  His head was taped to the stretcher so he could only see the ceiling of the ambulance.  I told him I was right there, and he said, “Sheila Kennett, is this your life?” as I had shared with him in the hospital on the first night he came to see Chip that that was one of the things going through my mind as we pulled away from our house that night.  I told Clete I guessed it was, and we laughed for the very first time that morning.  I knew his good natured sense of humor was still intact, even with a broken neck, and as I peered at him in the back of the ambulance, tears of relief rolled down my face when I saw him wiggle his foot and fingers on his left side.  

I once joked I could probably write Yelp! reviews of hospitals up and down the East coast Chip and I had been in and out of so many, but in all of my trips to the ER, I had never experienced anything quite as scary as when we arrived at the Trauma Center at George Washington University Hospital.  It was largely a blur of bright lights, loud noises, and doctors and nurses swarming around Clete, cutting his clothes off and carefully transferring him to a table without moving his neck.  Someone escorted me to a chair right outside of his room, and the hospital chaplain joined me there.  I have only had a hospital chaplain join me one other time, so that is when I lost it.  I was not receptive to her company, and I remember yelling, “Do you know something I don’t know?  Why are you here?”  In the meantime, if it was possible for Clete to grab a doctor by the throat with his eyes, he did.  I heard him asking where I was, and with all the force his voice could muster, he told them not to leave me in the dark, that anything they knew, I needed to know, that I could handle it, and I could make medical decisions on his behalf if necessary. 

While Clete was getting his MRI, I called his sweet mom, Suzanne, at their farm in Georgia to let her know what had happened.  Within the hour, I was communicating via group text, every detail of what was happening with his immediate family.  The MRI revealed Clete had broken and jumped the facets at his C4 and C5 vertebrae, and the physicians placed Clete in traction by adding 40 pounds of weight to a pulley, that was attached to his skull with screws, to elongate his spine to pop his vertebrae back into alignment relieving the pressure off his spinal cord.  

It was a critical 24 hour period in which any further movement could potentially cause further damage to his spinal cord.  I spent that day sitting in the room with Clete which was the very room where President Reagan had been taken after he was shot.  Clete was heavily sedated, but when he was awake, I would rib him about all of the hot nurses he was missing out on seeing, because they had his head immobile, screwed to that “Game of Thrones” torture device hanging off the back of his bed.  While he slept, I badgered every doctor and nurse who walked through the door to teach me everything they were willing about his broken neck.  When Clete fell, his chin had hit the opposing wall, throwing his head back, causing the dislocation.  He then slid down the wall, chin first, and flipped over onto the second landing.  The way he had broken his neck was basically the same break Christopher Reeve had suffered.  

Exactly.
​
Suzanne flew in from Atlanta and arrived to the ICU later that night.  Before I left, I leaned over so I could get right in Clete’s face in order for him to be able to see me.  I promised him I would be back the following morning before he went into surgery.  He said to me, “You saved my life,” and I responded with, “You saved mine.”  We cried painful, joyful tears.  Suzanne, witnessing the whole exchange, said, “You two love each other.” 

I spent the next two weeks of my bereavement leave in the hospital and at the National Rehabilitation Hospital with Clete and his Mom.  For the longest time, I willingly ceded ownership of the physical trauma to Clete, because he was the one who had endured the injury and marched through the long months of rehabilitation after all, and I was doing all I could to physically take care of the kids and myself.  But the emotional trauma from that injury?  We intimately shared it and healed together from it all.  

It turns out Suzanne was right, and two years later, Clete and I are now married and rearing these two extraordinary kids together. The four of us have truly saved each other.  Life is for the living, and we are both so grateful to be able to share ours together.   

Some of us bear physical scars, which serve as outward displays and reminders of past injuries, while others bear emotional scars which cannot be seen, but both are to be honored as they serve as gentle reminders of the fragility of life, and they represent the resilience we all possess to not only survive, but to thrive.  That does not mean our hearts (or neck!) don’t still ache sometimes, because they do, but Clete and I know the power of healing is greater than our injuries, and we thank God for that.  

Originally appeared on Alexandria Stylebook

Jennifer Kearney Desiderio

If you have been anxiously awaiting the return of the wildly popular 116 King Seasonal Pop-Up, great news!  The doors to 116 King will re-open with a grand opening event this Wednesday, March 22nd from 4-8pm.  116 King Seasonal Pop-up, which opened before the Christmas holidays last year, was met with huge success, so as proprietor and glutton for punishment, I decided to reopen 116 King, bringing back the best-of-the-best vendors and adding a variety of specially selected retailers boasting incredible product lines.

I am thrilled to throw open the doors to my new and improved mixed retail store with a grand opening event on Wednesday night.  South Block Juice Co., who will also be popping up at 116 King, will be at the grand opening with samples of their fresh-pressed juices.  Everyone is invited to attend, so be sure to come out for this fun event!
While I excel in shopping, sourcing new product lines, and creating beautiful retail spaces, writing is not my jam, so I enlisted the help of my former roommate and dear friend, local Alexandria resident, and writer Sheila Kennett Johnson to assist with this project.

Fortunately for me, when I decided to drop out of graduate school and head back to D.C. for a “real job” with the company I had interned with the year before, I lucked into a great living situation in Old Town.  Thanks to a friend of a friend, I was connected with Jennifer Desiderio, who was Jennifer Kearney at the time, who was looking to fill a room in a group row house on the 400 block of S. Lee Street.  Jennifer hailed from Birmingham, Alabama and went to Auburn, I was a graduate of Ole Miss who had grown up in the Mississippi Delta, and within minutes of talking on the phone about everything from mutual friends to SEC football to internships on Capitol Hill, I accepted Jennifer’s invitation to fill the vacancy in the room on her second floor, which possessed its own private loft.

​I had either ignored, or most likely just forgotten to ask, about the size of the room.  I can recall eagerly pulling into Old Town that day, and after officially meeting Jennifer, she escorted me to my new room and—record scratch—to my horror, not only was the closet barely big enough to hold all of my clothes from Harold’s, the bedroom floor was not even big enough for the full-size bed I had driven up strapped to the back of my Daddy’s truck.  The private loft, accessible via this tiny ladder, was nothing more than a heat trap that eventually served as storage for makeshift drawers I made out of Rubbermaid boxes to hold my underwear and sweaters.  I cried.  And like any good roommate would do, Jennifer still makes fun of me to this day about it.

Nineteen years later, Jennifer and I are still close friends, and she and I recently met up for margaritas and chips and salsa, which totally counted as dinner back in the day, to discuss the reopening of her seasonal pop-up shop, 116 King.  Jennifer possesses a particularly remarkable gut instinct when it comes to identifying trends in retail that shoppers are looking for; therefore, each vendor has been thoughtfully selected to fill these needs.  None of the distinctive brands carried by 116 King can be found at any other store in Old Town, which gives both customers a singular opportunity to shop plus affords new and smaller retailers the ability to test the market and receive direct feedback from their consumers.

​Loyal devotees to 116 King Seasonal Pop-up will be thrilled to learn fan favorites such as the men’s clothing line Bald Head Blues, canvas totes (and one of Oprah’s favorites!) from local vendor Crab & Cleek, one-of-a-kind kilim loafers and bags from Artemis Design Company, and Little Birdies, with their great selection of kids’ shoes, clothing, toys, books, bathing suits, and even whimsical life rafts, will all be returning.

​New to 116 King this spring are fun brands like Palm Beach Sandals, which Jackie O made famous, Fair Harbor Clothing, which offers a variety of board shorts and athletic wear all made from recycled water bottles, and Sea Star Beachwear, boasting a classic espadrille made with a quick-drying neoprene upper that can go from ocean swimming to strolling the beach or boardwalk in minutes.

​
In addition to the wide-ranging variety of retailers, 116 King Seasonal Pop-Up will host several outstanding trunk shows each month, such as a men’s trunk show with Criquet Shirts around Father’s Day.
​
The most notable trunk show is by the New York City based handbag line Neely & Chloe, created by sisters Neely and Chloe Burch, who also happen to be Tory Burch’s nieces.  Jennifer and I are especially excited to shop this affordable line of luxury handbags.  We laughed about the drastic measures we used to go to in order to support our obsession with the then “it bag” Kate Spade nylon original.  Our favorite go-to, money-saving strategy was to stock up on Lean Cuisines from the Safeway on Royal when they placed them on sale five for $10.

116 King will also continue hosting specially curated events such as a Mother/Daughter Sip and Paint around Mother’s Day, plus a Sip and Paint for a Ladies Night Out.  A few other trunk shows 116 King will be hosting include Mi Golondrina, Corroon Bags, and K. Kane Jewelry.

While Jennifer and I often long for the days of being roommates in a group house of girls, where we had the luxury of dipping into each other’s closets and accessories, we both agree life is pretty sweet for us these days.  We are (sort of) all grown up, married with healthy kids, and blessed with lasting friendships all in our beloved community of Alexandria where Jennifer now runs her own successful Pop-Up shop.  Besides, we can always have bottomless baskets of chips and salsa to share over margaritas but this time with no salt.  Swelling just comes too easily in our 40s.  Sigh.
​
To learn more about the unique brands and happenings at 116 King, please follow @116King on Instagram.  Special events and trunk shows are constantly popping up at 116 King, and you won’t want to miss out!  116 King Seasonal Pop-up will be open seven days a week from March 22nd through September 15th.

Mom once said to me, "Have you ever noticed how Chip closes his eyes when he hugs you or the kids? It's like he's just drinking y'all in."

Chip died two years ago today. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and on other days, the memories can resurface, and I can feel it just like it was yesterday.

They say time heals all wounds. While not fully accurate, I do believe it to be mostly true. Time has allowed the acute pain and suffering to pass. Time has allowed me the space to grieve the loss of Chip and process those years we spent "living with cancer." In time, I have mostly healed both physically and emotionally from the toll the two+ years spent walking the tightrope between being in "fight or flight" or "present and grateful" mode took on me. Time has afforded me the opportunity to move forward.--not on but forward. Time has shown me such joy, JOY like I have never known, can exist on the very heels of experiencing such deep, true sorrow.

But does time truly heal all wounds? I think this quote by Cheryl Strayed best captures how I feel about it, "When you recognize that you will thrive not in spite of your losses and sorrows, but because of them, that you would not have chosen the things that happened in your life, but you are grateful for them, that you will hold the empty bowls eternally in your hands, but you also have the capacity to fill them? The word for that is healing." And I thank God for that!!

​As I was looking back through some pictures and videos last night, these three jumped out at me--Chip holding Crosby after returning home from a week long stay at Johns Hopkins June of 2014, our last round of chemo in the infusion suite at JH December 19, 2014 and Chip, on the night of his 34th birthday on December 23, 2014, snuggled up with Joe. I remembered what Mom had said. I think she was right and he was soaking us in, but now I know he was simultaneously pouring himself into us, because Chip lives in us and remains with us now and forever.

Originally appeared on Alexandria Stylebook

While mopping myself off in the dressing room following a hot Pilates class one morning, I told Mind The Mat co-owner and Pilates instructor Megan Brown, I had no idea why I kept torturing myself in her mat class held in a 90+ degree room other than the sheer fact I am able to.  I practice hot Pilates, because I can.

Wait, whaaa?  I thought that deep stuff was for the yogis.

On October 26, 2012, my 31-year-old husband was diagnosed with Stage IV non-small cell lung cancer.  He was asymptomatic and had completed his second Tough Mudder of the year just a few weeks before.  It was a persistent “floater” in his right eye that eventually led him to the eye doctor, which quickly escalated to him being sent to a retina specialist and then on to our general practitioner who ordered a full body PET scan and MRI to figure out what was going on.  The scans revealed he had tumors in both of his lungs, liver, lymph nodes, and bones, plus his right eye.  He was not a smoker, had no known family medical history of lung cancer, nor had he been exposed to hazardous chemicals.

At the time, our son was a few weeks shy of his third birthday, and I was 35 weeks pregnant with our daughter.  A few days later, on Election Day, we met with several oncologists and learned there was no cure, and he had one to two years to live.

​After undergoing various treatments and participating in clinical trials up and down the East Coast, two years and three months later, he died of cardiac arrest as a result of his lungs and chest cavity having filled with fluid.​

In the early morning hours, I texted a friend and asked her to come pick me up from the hospital and bring me home.  As the sun rose, I sat in the den with my parents waiting for the kids to awaken.  Once I heard them begin to stir, I walked upstairs, picked our two-year-old baby girl up out of her crib, crawled in the bed with her five-year-old big brother, and I told them their Daddy had died.  I had been coached by our family therapist and clergy to speak candidly with the kids using words they could understand.  I explained to them their Daddy’s eyes could no longer see, his ears could no longer hear, his mouth could no longer eat, and as I gasped for air, I told them their Daddy’s nose could no longer breathe​.  Their Daddy would not be coming home.

​
​Inhale, exhale.  Inhale, exhale.  That seemingly simple process of inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide our body subconsciously does for us, my husband’s could no longer do.  The chasm between being able to breathe and then suddenly to not was no longer very wide.

In the year following his death, I think I experienced every emotion possible.  There was much sadness and grief, relief and peace, fear and anger, and joy and grace, but the most prevalent thing I felt was fatigue.  I felt a deep, deep fatigue way down in my bones from the years spent caregiving, advocating, working full time, gate-keeping, cheerleading, grieving, processing, solo-parenting, and estate settling.  For years, I had placed the proverbial oxygen mask on all those around me first and had neglected to take care of myself.  Even in hindsight, I would not have done it any other way.

Knowing I must remain physically and emotionally healthy for the kids and me, I decided to make a major lifestyle change.  I traded in work memos and e-mails for books and magazines, meetings for coffees and lunches reconnecting with friends, sitting in a windowless workspace for long walks outdoors, business attire for stretchy pants, and I lowered myself to the mat.

In time, I became reacquainted with my neutral spine and could once again do the hundreds, teaser up, and hold a plank without wanting to pass out.  One day as I was moving through the leg series on the reformer, I joyfully and tearfully exclaimed, “I’m baaack!!”  Several months later, an instructor and friend invited me to join her at Megan’s hot Pilates class. Feeling pretty good about myself, I confidently said yes.

As advised, I arrived several minutes early to find a spot on the floor and get settled on my mat.  Within minutes of sitting in that hot room, I feared I had made a huge mistake.  Before the class had even begun, I started to panic.  I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I seriously contemplated scooping up my mat and running out of the room, but about that time, Megan walked through the door, and it was too late.  I was stuck.

As we moved through the ab series, it was hard, but her cues were so good.  The room was hot, but her playlist was so good.  I was conflicted from the start.

Thirty minutes in, I started to feel nauseated, so I listened to my body and rested when I needed to.  Forty minutes in, I had completely sweated through my clothes and was starting to feel light-headed, having not properly hydrated the night before.  My form became sloppy; my movements had slowed.  I started staring at my watch knowing that was not helpful, but I couldn’t help but count down the minutes as my new goal had simply become to stay in the room until the class ended.

Megan then instructed us to move on to all fours for the glute series.  With my left forearm and knee and right hand firmly planted on the mat, I attempted to swing my right leg into the air.  “Inhale as you bring your knee to your chest; exhale as you extend your leg high into the air.  Point your toes.  Get it up there!  Higher!”

As I watched my own sweat pool onto the mat just inches beneath my face, I wanted to give up, but then Mumford & Son’s “I Will Wait” came on.  Tears started streaming down my face as that song had been one of mine and my husband’s.  I don’t know why, but it was.  I guess for the same reason one becomes your spring-break-of-freshman-year song or your summer-abroad song.​

Suddenly, I became aware of my breath.  I was reminded that I had the ability to breathe.  To take deep inhales, filling my lungs with air, without it causing me to cough.  I moved out of my body and into my mind and lungs and used my exhale to find the movement.  I could almost hear him telling me, “You’ve got this.  Use your breath.  Atta girl.  Breathe into it.”

​November is Lung Cancer Awareness month, and these are the (not so fun) facts:

• One in 15 people in the U.S. will be diagnosed with lung cancer in their lifetime.

• Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death, regardless of gender or ethnicity, taking almost 160,000 American lives each year.

• More lives are lost to lung cancer than to colorectal, pancreatic, breast, and prostate cancers combined.

• Lung cancer has been the leading cancer killer of women since 1987, killing almost twice as many women as breast cancer.

• 10 to 15 percent of lung cancer cases are in never smokers.

To learn how you can get involved and improve the outcome for people living with lung cancer or to register for this year’s Breathe Deep DC 5K Walk on The National Mall held this Sunday, November 6th, please visit www.LUNGevity.org.​

In the meantime, be sure to love a little harder, hug a little tighter and always remember to honor your breath.  Breathe deep, because you are able.

​
​See you on the mat!

​I loved the design but had some concern about it possibly being “too much” ring for me, so Tim suggested we have the setting cast in wax before proceeding.  After wearing the wax setting for a bit, I decided the ring did not pass my “wear it to Safeway” test so back to the drawing board we went.

Around that time, Clete and I started looking at engagement rings.  We visited several traditional jewelry stores, and I tried on a little bit of everything.  We both determined we liked oval diamonds but never found the perfect setting.  We would like components of one ring and something else on another, but once we started talking to the jeweler about it, they would always offer us a catalog of settings to choose from or tell us they thought their goldsmith could probably combine these two designs into a ring but never quite leaving us confident the finished product would be just as we wanted.

​I knew exactly who could deliver a custom setting, so we went to meet with Tim.  He ordered round after round of loose diamonds for us to view on the weekends, each time within the privacy of his office.  It also did not hurt Clete was able to enjoy a little bourbon at each of these appointments.  After looking at a variety of stones, we narrowed it down to two.  

​Tim created 3D renderings of the ring we were envisioning incorporating our desire for the center stone to be set as low as possible in a basket setting for ease of wear, for the diamond band to be thin and in proportion to the stone, and for the transition from the band to the center stone to be fluid.  He even generated side-by-side images of the same ring with the two different stones in order for us to be able to make a more informed decision.  

​After selecting the stone and design, Tim started making my ring, and a couple of weeks later on Mother’s Day, Clete proposed!  

​As it turns out, I haven’t had my sapphire and diamonds reset.  I actually wore my sapphire on my right hand as my “something blue” when Clete and I recently got married.  I remember looking down at mine and Clete’s hands later that night, both of us wearing our beautiful new wedding bands also custom made at LM&CO, and then looking over at my sapphire on my right hand thinking they were both simply perfect.  With a grateful heart for my full, full life, it was all just right.  

​Jewelry is such a personal thing.  Shouldn’t the collaboration and design process be, too?  The next time you are considering have a special piece of jewelry made or reset, please stop by LM&CO, and as always, be sure to tell them SCOUT sent you!  

Now that you know the story behind some of my favorite pieces of jewelry, what’s the story behind yours?  

​Happy scouting!

Originally appeared on The Scout Guide Alexandria

SOCIETY FAIR is dedicated to food, and I am dedicated to SOCIETY FAIR.  

When my husband(!) and I were planning our wedding and wedding-related activities for the weekend, our main priorities were for each event to be held in our beloved neighborhood of Old Town and at a location that was meaningful to us, to be laid back, conducive to our guests mingling and visiting with each other, and we wanted to serve great food and drinks.  After deliberating for about…oh, one second, we both knew we had to host our Friday evening Welcome Dinner at SOCIETY FAIR.  

SOCIETY FAIR is basically our Cheers after all.  For years, SOCIETY FAIR has been where we take the kids for lunch after church on Sunday, one of us will pick up prepared entrees and side items from the Market to feed us throughout the week, it’s where we meet friends for coffee, lunch, or dinner, I’ll often work from there, and when I need to grab a quick hostess or teacher appreciation gift, I duck in, because I know the Market will always have the perfect bottle of wine or sweet treat for me.  Luckily, the Bistro and attached Atrium were available and thus ours for the evening.

The staff at SOCIETY FAIR, already knowing us quite well, immediately placed us in touch with Annee Gillett, Eat Good Food Group’s Director of Events and Fairy Godmother for SOCIETY FAIR, RESTAURANT EVE, PX and EAMMON’S, to start planning the perfect evening for us.  When I told her we refused to put together a seating chart for any one of our events, Annee immediately grasped the vibe we were going for and worked with the chef to customize a dinner menu for us.

​Our guests were greeted at the door with their choice of our favorite cocktail, a perfect Manhattan, or a Boozy Hibiscus Lemonade.  Justin Owens, The Fair’s Resident Butcher and Curd Nerd, curated one of his Signature Crostini Bars which included assorted cured meats and local cheeses, Pate de Campagne, house made jam, French ancient grain mustard, cornichons, olive tapenade, sweet and spicy pecans, crab dip and at my request, lots and lots of pimento cheese served on crostini, sliced baguette and lavosh.  

​For our passed Hors d’oeuvres, we traded in traditional beef tenderloin with aioli for Filipino Pork Belly Skewers and Crab Cakes with Remoulade.

​To accommodate the size of our party, the Atrium was sectioned with screens and palm trees and decorated with couches and brightly colored cushions for more lounging and mingling by our guests–or pillow fights for those who were supposed to be dining at the kids’ table enjoying our kids’ favorites–tomato soup, Tilamook cheddar grilled cheese sandwiches, french fries and fresh fruit.  Knowing most kids, including ours, would need to get home and go to bed following dinner, they were treated to their own tier of individual cakes iced in SOCIETY FAIR’S signature pink and turquoise.  

​After my husband’s siblings properly feted us, the grown-ups then feasted on Chef Larry’s double fried buttermilk chicken and mashed potatoes, shrimp and grits, Gumbo Louisiane, summer corn salad and tomato and basil salad.  Figuring it was too late to gain or lose anymore weight for the wedding at that point, we both happily dug in!  

​Our guests then enjoyed our favorite desserts of Cajun brownies, lemon bars and marbled Circus cake while continuing to settle in at the Wine Bar in the Bistro for the night.  

​I think our guests had fun.  I know we sure did, and we were able to rest easily that night knowing all had been perfectly sated by our favorite, good eats from our second kitchen in the neighborhood.    
​
I hope to see YOU at THE FAIR soon!

Originally appeared on The Scout Guide Alexandria

This summer has been a busy one for me.  I have been spending lots of time with the kids, have had a busy travel schedule and planning a wedding has often felt like a full-time job!  When traveling, it is so easy to get off schedule with your diet, sleep and exercise much less get anything on your to-do list done.  The weeks I have been in town, in order to reduce my stress, I have had to really make them count!  

Here are my Top 10 Ways to Stay Bride-to-be Ready in Alexandria this summer:  

1.  Work with Tim Shaheen at LAWRENCE MILLER & CO. to order custom wedding bands and rest easy knowing the craftsmanship will be top notch and the bands will be ready in time for your big day.  

2.  In order to keep your skin fresh and vibrant, schedule regular facials at SARAH AKRAM SKINCARE.  Gosia Habib, head master esthetician, analyzes my skin each visit and customizes my facials according to my needs.  As she always says, “Skincare is not a destination; it is a journey,” so I appreciate her tweaking my peels, masks and treatments each visit.  My new favorite thing to provide an immediate burst of radiance to my complexion?  LightStim Therapy following Crystal Blast Microdermabrasion.

​3.  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!  I keep my SWELL water bottle, aka “Mom Flask,” from THE SHOE HIVE with me at all times to ensure I am constantly drinking water.  To keep me motivated to drink more, I will often add a drop or two of one of my favorite DOTERRA essential oils, like grapefruit, lemon or peppermint, to my water.

4.  While dining at SOCIETY FAIR, enjoy their delicious nicoise salad with dressing on the side in lieu of their pimento cheese or chicken salad.  This is REALLY hard for me, because I want all of their pimento cheese.  

5.  To stay physically healthy and strong, EXERCISE.  I receive private Pilates instruction with one of my favorite classically trained instructors at GEORGIE’S PILATES LOFT to help me maintain and improve my practice; I stay toned by taking barre classes at BarreTech. and when I am really feeling like sweating it out, I go to Hot Pilates at MIND THE MAT.  

6.  Post work-out, stop by SOUTH BLOCK in Del Ray to rehydrate with one of their cold-pressed green juices or Craft Kombucha on tap and enjoy one of their acai bowls or protein smoothies for a healthy breakfast or lunch.  I also take a Ginger Bomb tonic with turmeric and lemon to-go to enjoy later in the afternoon.  

​7.  When in need of fresh air or to clear your mind, take a nice, long walk along the waterfront trails in Old Town.  Sometimes I walk South towards Mt. Vernon to Jones Point Park and some days I head North towards D.C. to the Washington Sailing Marina.  

8.  Schedule his and her massages in the convenience of your home.  Seem extravagant??  It costs less than going to a spa, and Donnell Atherley of HANDS IN MOTION MOBILE, arrives with a professional massage table, fresh linens, hot stones, essential oils and lotions plus offers you the music of your choice to listen to.  

9.  Catch up with friends while staying on budget by taking advantage of the best and most refined lunch deal in town, the Lickety Split, at the bar at RESTAURANT EVE.  

10.  Stop by GALLERY LAFAYETTE to pick up Todd Healy’s charming gift bags bearing his artwork to make your out-of-town guests feel welcome with a goody bag pre-placed in their room at HOTEL MONACO on King Street.  Goody bag contents?  Sweet treats from SOCIETY FAIR, a list of our favorite restaurants, shops and historic sites on one of Todd’s water-colored, historic maps of Old Town, and a copy of THE SCOUT GUIDE ALEXANDRIA, Volume 2, of course!  

​Still in need of one more coping mechanism?  Try hanging upside down!  Your spine will thank you for the amazing stretch and re-alignment, and you are guaranteed to forget about your to-do list for a while.  

Happy Scouting! 

Originally appeared on The Scout Guide Alexandria

I think it was the cobblestone streets that first made me fall in love with Old Town.  I was also fascinated by the beautiful row houses that seemingly extended in each direction for blocks and blocks.  Shared, narrow alleyways between neighbors, little courtyards tucked away behind houses, church steeples and bell towers dotting the sky line, the store fronts and restaurants all along King Street and tucked away on side streets…I loved it all.  Coming from the Mississippi Delta, the small town vibe of Old Town felt so familiar to me yet the architecture and lifestyle were so totally different.  I daydreamed about the life being lived beyond the walls of those houses.  

​After moving here with my small town sensibility stubbornly intact, it didn’t take me long to get to know many of the people inside of those houses and shops.  I quickly learned those people were even more uniquely special than the exterior facades.  One of those such people is artist TODD HEALY OF GALLERY LAFAYETTE.  His art studio and framing gallery, filled with his meticulously created watercolors and pen and ink drawings of Old Town’s architecture, is located a flew blocks from my house.  

Searching for the perfect and meaningful birthday present for me, my fiancé stopped in to TODD HEALY’S studio one day to see if perhaps he had ever produced a painting of my house.  Todd had not; however, he had painted something far more special–the house directly across the street, but not only that, he had done two different paintings–one in the spring and one in the winter.  

Upon seeing them, my fiancé exclaimed, “Miss Polly’s house!”  Miss Polly is my 90 year old friend who lives across the street from me who is so precious I could just eat her up with a spoon.  Miss Polly has a spirited personality, a healthy sense of humor and the absolute biggest heart, so it’s no wonder I absolutely adore her.  In the spring and summer months when I see Miss Polly outside, I’ll go visit with her on the sidewalk, in her back courtyard, or sometimes we’ll just sit on one of the benches along our street visiting and talking about our respective lives.  She’ll regale me with stories of Old Town back in the day, of rearing her kids in that house, the loss of her husband, politics and all the places she’s traveled.  Likewise, I will reflect on the loss of my husband, new love, rearing my kids, the health of my parents or entertain her with stories from one of my latest trips or projects I am working on.  During the winter months, and specifically during the snowstorm this past winter, Miss Polly and I would wave to each other from our second floor bedroom windows every day letting the other know we were doing ok.

My kids also adore Miss Polly.  Whenever they spot her from the car or from the windows of our house, they’ll excitedly say, “Momma, there’s Miss Polly!  Can we go see her?”  My little girl will yell across the street to her, “Hey, Miss Polly!” and blow her so many kisses.  "Mwah, mwah, mwah" will go back and forth between the two of them until Miss Polly finally throws her head back in laughter and waves her off saying how I have the most beautiful children.  

My fiance’s mention of Miss Polly immediately piqued the interest of Todd, because as it turns out, he is an old and dear friend of hers.  Todd produces an annual calendar of his drawings and paintings of Old Town, and in 1984, he was drawn to Captain’s Row and most specifically Miss Polly’s house due to the unique entrance of her home being tucked away on the side of her house.  After seeing Todd standing across the street from her house for several days obviously working on something, she marched over, introduced herself and inquired as to what he was doing.  It turns out, she loved his work, and they, too, began visiting with each other while he sketched and painted.  Later on, Todd invited her to attend an open house for one of his shows, and the rest is history.  Todd and his wife and Miss Polly have been the best of friends since.

My fiancé knew I would love having a print of the view from my house, but he couldn’t decide between the spring or winter version.  He asked Todd to wrap up both, and on the day of my birthday, the kids and I walked down to Gallery Lafayette.  When we arrived, Todd was standing behind the counter in his signature bow tie, had a flower arrangement and a poster that read, “Happy Birthday, Mom!” waiting on the counter for me.  I opened up one framed picture and then the next.  I immediately loved them both, but my fiancé urged me to look a little more closely and suddenly it hit me.  I gasped, “Miss Polly’s house.”  

My fiancé and Todd were both quite pleased with my reaction.  But I couldn’t decide which one to keep.  I kept going back and forth between the two, because I had stared out of my bedroom windows during some of the darkest days of my life the previous winter, but I had also managed to hold on and look out of those same windows until I saw new life and hope emerge during the spring and summer months.  They were both so deeply meaningful to me.  Those beautifully framed prints represented the seasons within my own life all while capturing the cherished friendship and wisdom of my sweet neighbor and friend.  I obviously decided to keep them both!

The kids left the studio that day with fistfuls of Hershey’s kisses and after learning Todd’s favorite cupcake flavor at Lavender Moon is orangesicle, the kids insisted we immediately return with one of his favorites.  As we were walking back to our house, we noticed Miss Polly standing outside of her house.  We walked straight over, and I immediately unwrapped one of the prints I was clutching and said, “Look, Miss Polly!  It’s your house.  It’s the perfect view from my house.”  She seemed rather teased by my excitement but invited us to visit in her back courtyard.  I told her how much I adored her, and she said, “I’m always watching you and those kids, you know.”  I assured her I did, and she stopped me and said, “No, I am watching over you more than you even know.”  About that time, I looked up and saw this little cherub sitting on her fence and immediately got the chills.  It made me wonder if Miss Polly is actually our guardian angel here on earth.  

She once raised her fist and told me I was like a phoenix.  I told her I thought I had learned it all from watching her fine example of how to live a life filled with such dignity and grace.  During another one of our visits, she lamented we were not closer in age, because she just knew we would have been good running buddies.  I assured her we still were.  

If you’ve never stepped inside GALLERY LAFAYETTE, you are missing out.  I strongly urge you to as Todd’s shop is chock full of beautifully framed prints and maps of Old Town and other unique items such as stationery, Christmas ornaments, calendars, cocktail napkins and gift bags all bearing his artwork.  You can also visit TODD HEALY at WWW.CAPITOLARTIFACTS.COM to view his extraordinary collection of old, bird’s-eye view maps of various cities and states.  When you do go in, I invite you to look past the exterior of the homes and churches he has meticulously captured, because if you look closely enough, you might just discover Miss Polly’s bedroom window or one of the many extraordinary people that make up this beloved town.  

Happy Scouting!

We buried our sweet Grandmother Boyd yesterday. She lived to be 92 years old. After being coached to speak of death in literal terms to the kids for their understanding, I typically steer clear of figurative language, but after spending a short 36 hours in Mississippi--where open caskets are still a thing, where, out of respect, people still pull over on the side of the road for funeral processions, and where the little, old ladies of the church fed us a meal of spiral sliced ham, pimento cheese sandwiches, crushed pineapple and mayonnaise sandwiches(!) and fresh, sliced tomatoes, cantaloupe and watermelon in the fellowship hall following the burial--it seems only fitting to say that "the Lord called her home."

Melissa Boyd Warren, Angela Whaley and I reconnected with our cousins and reminisced about the one week out of every summer we would all spend with Grandmother and Grandaddy Boyd on their farm complete with a teeth-brushing chart on the refrigerator door, piano recitals in the living room, home cooked meals with fresh vegetables straight from their garden, gathering eggs from the chicken coop, playing dress up, games on the front porch and family history lessons. I guess she knew we weren't paying close attention, because she left a handwritten letter "to be read upon her death" including the story of how she met and married Grandaddy at the age of 17.

In so many ways, Grandmother Boyd was ahead of her time, or maybe, we as a society, are just trying to return to a lifestyle largely forgotten. She was an organic gardener, a lover of the earth able to identify all of the birds, trees, flowers and wild plants, an artist who used her hands to make quilts, to crochet afghans and doilies, to pick a guitar and to pickle and can and make jellies and jams. She was an avid storyteller and a strict grammarian. She recycled and repurposed because she couldn't stand the thought of anything going to waste.
​
Most importantly, we reveled in the many lessons Grandmother Boyd taught us. She taught us you can't love things, you love people. She taught us we might not have much, but there are always people who have far less than us, and it's our responsibility to help provide and care for them. She taught us the importance of family and encouraged us to always love, respect and be kind to one another.
My very favorite thing Grandmother Boyd taught us was you should never sleep in panties because you need to let it "air out down there." Ha! I think she was right. A little fresh air never hurt a thing.

As my Daddy said yesterday in his eulogy, I do not have a sad heart for I know she is in a better place.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul'."

I should probably be embarrassed to admit one of the most exciting things about learning I was pregnant with my son seven years ago was finally getting to call Nancy Twomey at FINNIAN’S MOON to help decorate the nursery, but I’m not.  Over the previous couple of years, every time I walked into a friend’s beautiful, new baby nursery, I was always met with the same, “Nancy at FINNIAN’S MOON helped me!”  Alas, it was finally my turn.

Since my late husband and I were both earning modest Capitol Hill salaries, I did not have the largest budget to work with, so Nancy ensured I invested in a couple timeless and neutral pieces of furniture that could either grow with my son or work in a future nursery.  We had already received a hand-me-down, white, four-poster crib from some friends, so we added a white set of chest of drawers that doubled as a change table and a white glider.  Nancy then added varying shades of blues and greens to the room with SERENA & LILY’S Blake crib bedding, soft cubes that doubled as a foot stool or additional seating, lamps, throw blankets and accent pillows.  

Three years later when I became pregnant with our baby girl, I called on Nancy again for her expertise.  We were moving into a temporary rental house, which served as the perfect opportunity to transition our son into a big boy bed and room while preparing a nursery for his baby sister.  Since all of the furniture was white, Nancy and I decided to keep it for the nursery, and she and I selected some big boy, navy blue furniture for my son’s bedroom working in brighter primary colors and bolder plaids through his bedding and window treatments.  

I then started scouring websites and catalogs for inspiration for girl nurseries but nothing ever piqued my interest.  They were either too pink, ruffly and girly-girl for my taste or else I felt they were affirmatively trying too hard to NOT be a pink nursery and came across looking like a little boys’ room.  I knew I wanted her nursery to be feminine without being the color of sparkly Pepto-Bismol, but I never could find exactly what I was looking for.  

​Around that time, I traveled to Amsterdam and visited the Van Gogh Museum where I absolutely fell in love with “ALMOND BLOSSOM.”  That was it!  That painting became the inspiration for my daughter’s nursery.  It was feminine, delicate and full of perspective.  Sharing this with Nancy, she started pulling fabrics for me to choose from for the custom crib bedding, hassock, and curtains. 

​My very favorite fabric was a bird print by DURALEE that we chose for the window treatments.  We went back and forth over whether to do Roman shades versus drapes but ultimately, chose drapes as they would grow with my daughter.  We would be able to mix the fabric with hot pink, chocolate brown or a leopard print (the day!) when she wanted a more mature room, and most importantly, they would work in any house where Roman shades would be custom fit for the size of the windows in that room which were two different sizes.  

​A little over a year later, as my late husband’s health continued to decline, we knew we needed to go ahead and move our family into a more permanent home.  The timing felt absolutely crazy, but it was also essential for the overall peace of mind and health of our family.  Well, leave it to me to find a historic house in Old Town that not only needed much love but also had 12 foot ceilings and thin walls made of plaster in the room we had identified as the nursery.  But not only that, our family therapist had advised us to make the move as quick and seamless as possible, most especially for the sake of the kids.  The transition into a new home needed to be practically non-existent so that we could continue focusing our energies on spending quality filled days together as a family and attempt to prepare ourselves for the next inevitable and greatest transition we would ever go through.  

Once again, I called upon Nancy to help me create bedrooms for the kids they could continue growing into–and dropped the bomb on her that we only had a few weeks in which to get it all done.  Nancy walked in, stared up at the ceiling, measured the height of the windows, calculated the length of the curtains including if we dropped the deep hem out of the panels, explored alternative ways to mount the curtains, and anyway she sliced it, those beautiful birdies were doomed to just hang in that room at an awkward length like a full set of badly botched bangs.  Unacceptable.  Thankfully, Nancy did not shy away from the challenge.  

Within days, Nancy had tracked down six additional yards of fabric from the exact same dye lot.  The original drapes were sent back to her seamstress, who brilliantly dropped the hem, added a triple tuxedo pleat to disguise the additional fabric being added to the bottom of the panels plus made valances for additional length and balance.  

​When it was time to move in, the kids left for daycare one morning with their current house mostly intact, and professional movers came in and packed up the house.  We all “vacationed” in a hotel for several nights and once everything had been moved into the new house, with the help of many dear, loyal friends who showed up one night bearing pizza, chocolate chip cookies and wine, tool belts, drills, tall ladders and irons, in one night, all pictures had been hung, window treatments installed, every single box unpacked, clothes arranged in closets, sheets placed on beds, bookshelves, cabinets and dressers loaded, and the play room was all set up.  Nancy miraculously installed the heavy, elongated panels and valances into the nearly 200 year old bedroom walls, and those little birdies were once again up and flying.  My late husband and kids were able to walk into our new house with everything in its proper place.  The entire feat, and those three days especially, felt like nothing short of being on a reality design show.  

It has been such a joy to work with Nancy over the years, and it has not only been just in the kids’ rooms.  Nancy is such a real person who has grown with our family’s needs, budget and sophistication over the years.  Working with Nancy has never been a one-stop shop.  I so very much appreciate her practical and clean aesthetic, ability to continually work with and enhance what we already have, to not shy away from an extreme deadline, and willingness to always go the extra yard(s)!  Oh, and on this go-round, we painted my daughter’s bedroom just a teeny bit pink.  

Happy Scouting! 

How many times have you sent a panicked e-mail to your friends asking for a referral for a fill-in-the-blank doctor because you just learned yours is retiring or no longer accepting your health insurance?  I have, and often, which is how I fortunately stumbled upon Dr. Dora Adamopoulos at EYE2EYE OPTOMETRY CORNER located on Mt. Vernon Avenue in Del Ray.  They offer Saturday hours and the oh, so rare, free two-hour street parking, so I had decided I liked the practice before I even stepped foot inside.  At my first annual eye exam, I immediately fell in love with Dr. Dora’s warm personality and professionalism.  

I had been a patient of Dr. Dora’s for several years when my late husband casually mentioned to me he kept seeing a “floater.”  We had recently had a somewhat rushed move into a house we had decided to rent when a contract on a house we were trying to buy, joyfully due to our expanding family, fell through, so we also acknowledged we were both simply exhausted and seeing crosseyed.  But a few days later, that floater was still there, so I suggested he schedule an appointment with Dr. Dora since it had been a couple of years since he had last had his eyes checked.  At that routine eye exam, Dr. Dora discovered what she suspected was a detached retina.  Not feeling comfortable with what she was seeing, she immediately sent him to a retina specialist in Alexandria that same day.  Within a couple of weeks we would learn that “detached retina” was actually a metastasized tumor in his eye from a Stage IV non-smokers lung cancer diagnosis.  

Now I understand it may seem strange I feel a strong connection to Dr. Dora, but I do.  I am grateful for her, because she was doing her job and doing it well.  So well that thanks to her dogged pursuit to reveal the true identity of this abnormality, we were able to get in with various specialists and oncologists and start fighting back right away allowing us two years and three months of great life together as a family beating the one to two year prognosis we were given.  

Over the years, I continued to see Dr. Dora for my annual exams, and she always maintained both a professional and genuine interest in how our treatment du jour was going.  Last summer, it absolutely broke my heart to break her heart with the news of my late husband’s death earlier that year.  

This year when I walked in, Dr. Dora gave me a hug and asked how the kids and I were doing.  After we got caught up on all things kids and discussed my odd new behaviors as an early 40-something such as holding my iPhone or menu at a restaurant at a near full arm-length’s distance (sigh…), I shared with her the exciting news of my engagement.  As tears welled up in her eyes, Dr. Dora jumped up and gave me the biggest, tightest hug extending the warmest of best wishes to me.

Luckily, she did not prescribe bifocals for me (yet!), so I decided while the getting was still good, I was ready to select a new pair of fun frames.  I probably had not bought a new pair of glasses in six or seven years, so feeling super outdated wearing them, I had worn contact lenses almost every single day for the past couple of years.  

​Eye2Eye Optometry Corner boasts a great selection of traditional and more on trend, designer frames and sunglasses. Together, Optician Granville Price and I selected the perfect new pair for me.  

​If it is time for your annual eye exam or you need to update your eyewear, please visit EYE2EYE OPTOMETRY, and remember to tell them Scout sent you!  

​Happy Scouting!

​I first met Alison Teer (Editor of TSG ALEXANDRIA) about three and a half years ago; however, we both feel like we have known each other for much longer than that, because she and I share many mutual friends who were constantly assuming we, too, were friends.  Every time somebody would knowingly speak of her, I would remark, “You know, I’ve actually never met Alison,” and it was always greeted with the same exuberant, “Y'all have to meet!  You would love each other!”  One day we finally met and discovered we each had two young kids similar in age, did indeed share many dear friends, had a similar sense of humor and a shared love of all things Alexandria.  We quickly became fast friends with one huge caveat, my late husband had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  

When we finally met, I remember Alison telling me she had seen me at the dry cleaners (Baldwin Fabricare–the best in Old Town, we think!!) one day, immediately recognized me from the Team Kennett blog I maintained at the time, and decided to leave me alone assuming I didn’t want to be known as the woman in town whose husband had tragically been diagnosed with Stage IV non-smokers lung cancer at the age of 31.  Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant with our second baby and had a newly turned three year old at the time?  That gift of a couple of moments of peace and normalcy at the dry cleaners that day was the first of many gifts I would come to receive from Alison over the next couple of years.  

But this is far from being a “whoa is me” post, so please stick with me.  

After my husband passed away last January, I decided I was ready to get dressed one day.  You know, to really get dressed instead of putting on my soul-soothing uniform of stretchy, black leggings and knee boots with the cowl neck sweatshirt tunic du jour.  I opened my closet doors to discover I hated everything in it.  After having two babies three years a part, I had missed two seasons of buying anything non-maternity and caring for my husband and two nuggets had also left me with little time and resources to do something for myself as frivolous as shopping.  I was ready to feel good again.  To take care of myself again.  I was ready to make the investment in my wardrobe, but I didn’t even know where to start.  I had called Alison many times before with a cry for help, but this time I called for her professional help as a personal stylist and shopper at ALISON LUKES ET CIE.  

I thought editing my closet was going to feel overwhelming and depressing, but no, ma'am.  Alison made it fun, and the process was liberating.  Did that regular blouse I had actually worn as a maternity shirt make me feel great?  Nope.  Out.  Did that pair of skinny jeans that hadn’t zipped since before I had given birth to my son five years earlier spark joy?  Nope.  OUT!  We then identified my wardrobe deficiencies, outlined a budget, and off she went.  I must admit it felt quite indulgent and a long way away from my hometown of Marks, MS to have a personal shopper, but with everything else I was juggling with settling the estate, rewriting my will, and caring for my two littles, it also felt both luxurious and necessary.  

I know this might sound like a far stretch, but looking back on it now, I feel like that “out with old/in with the new” closet revamp was the beginning of my healing process.  On days I felt courageous enough to stick my big toe back in to the great, big world, I knew I had something hanging in my closet I loved and that fit properly.  After many months of doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, how I was feeling on the inside was much more reflective of the polished image I was projecting on the outside.  Fake it until you make it?  Well, sometimes it’s your only option.  

Now fast forward with me a bit to just a few weeks ago when Alison and I went shopping together for a wedding dress.  MY wedding dress!  I told you this was not a blog post full of doom and gloom.  I’m going to be a 41 year old bride at the end of the summer!  Over the course of spending the day together, we had somehow managed to discuss the fun, new, funky frames I had just gotten from EYE2EYE OPTOMETRY CORNER after my annual eye exam with Dr. Dora Adamopoulos, oohed and aahed over my new engagement ring designed by Tim Shaheen at LAWRENCE MILLER & CO., I told her of the very special TODD HEALY prints I had received for my birthday, we discussed menu options for the rehearsal/welcome dinner we are hosting at SOCIETY FAIR, and as the day went on, we both kind of laughed about how I was actually the living version of THE SCOUT GUIDE ALEXANDRIA.  

Over lunch, Alison posed the question, “You like to write, you are a patron of all these places, you are always scouting out new restaurants, shops, exercise studios, you are planning a wedding in Old Town…why don’t you write about all of these things and guest blog for The Scout Guide this summer?”  Hmmmm…

I first moved to Alexandria as an intern the winter of 1997 and returned the following winter to start my first “real job.” I lived in a row house on S. Lee Street with a couple of girls from Alabama, one of whom I remain great friends with today.  She likes to remind me I cried when I first saw the size of my Old Town bedroom and closet, because nothing would fit in it!  (That was actually my first non-liberating closet purge.)  We all had starter salaries and often frequented the FISH MARKET for cheap and large schooners of beer, felt lucky to have a Nine West outlet for all our high heel needs right there on “Main” Street, and we wouldn’t have dared step foot in the Lee Street Park with those noisy kids running around all over the place.  

While I sometimes long for those carefree days and roommates to ask which pair of earrings they like better, I am thrilled my bedroom, closet, and interests have expanded just a little bit.  I do still live in Old Town after all–right on Prince Street just blocks away from that first little row house on S. Lee.  I have stayed here, because I love this town, and I have gladly traded in my Nine West heels for Lee Street Park-friendly wedges but this time from THE SHOE HIVE.  I love the history and architecture of course, but mostly, I love the people in it.  Over the last 18 years, Alexandria has become my home.  I have built a community here I am so proud of.  

Please join me this summer as I share with you the details of planning our wedding, my favorite tried-and-true places, the people of Alexandria I have grown to love all while I continue to scout out the best of the new.

Happy scouting!

It's been another poignant and hard and beautiful day. Poignant because it's Father's Day, hard because Chip Kennett isn't here, and beautiful because Clete Johnson is.

What a blessing to have brought Joe and Crosby into the world with this great man. The love that Chip has for these two kids is infinite. He fought so hard to stay present for them, to preserve their innocence and maintain a normal childhood for them all while helping me pave a path forward for us without him being in it. His selflessness was extraordinary, and being married to him for seven and a half years was one of the greatest privileges of my life. I miss him every single day.

After Chip died, it was awe inspiring to have watched Clete immediately step in to help maintain that stability and normal childhood for his two God kids, ultimately leading to us falling in love and now officially becoming a family later this fall. For Clete to love Joe and Crosby as deeply as he does and keep Chip so present in our lives is also extraordinary. What a privilege it is to rear Joe and Crosby with him.

​I could post a million pictures and write a million things about each of these two, but I won't. I will just end by saying I think Joe and Crosby are two of the luckiest nugs on this planet, and my heart remains full. Happy Father's Day, Chip and Clete!

#presentandgrateful #wevegotthis #norestfly #proofthroughthenight

I attended the funeral service of the great J. Reilly Lewis at Washington National Cathedral with my good friend and former colleague, Melvin Dubee, yesterday. Reilly had not been ill; he had actually been busy preparing to lead a sing-along performance at the cathedral on Sunday, but when he got home last Thursday night, he suffered a massive heart attack and died.

I knew Reilly as the conductor of the Washington Bach Consort whom I met in 2007 when I started working for Senator Rockefeller. The Senator, a Bach enthusiast, served on the Consort's Board of Directors for many years and hosted an annual fundraising event at his home I always assisted with coordinating.

The party swag at one of those events was a CD of one of the Consort's recent performances, so I grabbed one, tossed it in the catch-all mail bowl when I got home and never gave it another thought.--until one day I got in Chip's car and busted him listening to it. I ribbed him a bit and asked him when he had started listening to Bach.

After Chip was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 31, me 35 weeks pregnant with Crosby, and Joe just a few weeks shy of his third birthday, he was, understandably so, often gripped with anger and fear. He was even angry at God which he greatly struggled with, because how do you possibly ask God for help at the same time you are so angry with him? Kristine Johnson, our dear friend, wife of Melvin and at the time, a seminarian at Virginia Theological Seminary, began to visit with Chip and me at home and in the hospital. After hearing him out one day, she encouraged Chip to abandon his struggle with God and the church and simply move towards the things where love and light existed for him--in the kids' smiles and laughter, through music, in nature, late night walks--because in those very places, he would find that God dwelled, and he could renew that relationship. Instead of fighting Him, to move towards Him.

So, on that day, Chip told me he had started listening to that CD on his drive to work and found when he listened to Bach, he felt light. He got lost in it and would briefly forget he had cancer. Peace would abound. I was stunned and immediately shared this with the Senator and Reilly. Reilly loved it and over the next two years, would periodically send an encouraging note to Chip and me and more often that not, would include a new Consort CD for Chip.

The day after Chip died, I started to plan his funeral service and immediately knew Bach had to be included in the music selections, so I turned to Senator Rockefeller and asked him to select a few of his favorite pieces to be played. He immediately consulted Reilly. Reilly took this task most seriously, inquired about the organ at the church, wanted to know who our organist was, etc., and Reilly being Reilly, ultimately decided HE needed to be the one to play the organ at Chip's funeral, so the Prelude and Communion music were beautifully delivered by Reilly Lewis that day. I like to think the notes Reilly played brought us all a little closer to feeling that eternal light and peace Chip was already experiencing.

Reilly's funeral was the first I've attended since Chip's. It was poignant and hard and beautiful. I have spent much of the last 24 hours trying to find comfort in the discomfort of it all. I hurt for his widow, Beth, his daughter, Lauren, and I hurt for all those who mourn him. As I said at Chip's funeral, "You end up being the average of the people you spend your life with," so I felt it was important to publicly give thanks for Reilly's great life and to share the story of how his became so interwoven in ours.

As Father's Day fast approaches, please remember, "All life is Thanksgiving." All life--present and eternal--is Thanksgiving!

J. Reilly Lewis, organist, choral director and Bach authority, dies at 71 [Washington Post]