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JAD Design Services LLC, Phoenix, AZ (2026)

06/23/2026

Standing beneath the Tiffany ceiling inside the former Marshall Field’s building, I couldn’t help but think about how differently we used to build.

This wasn’t a museum or a luxury hotel.

It was a department store.

More than a hundred years ago, someone decided that a place where everyday people came to shop deserved extraordinary architecture. Not because it would generate more clicks, move more product, or maximize efficiency. Because beauty mattered.

The craftsmanship, detailing, and sheer extravagance of spaces like this reflected a belief that architecture should elevate everyday life. A trip downtown wasn’t just about buying something. It was an experience. The building itself was part of the attraction.

Today, we often celebrate efficiency, value engineering, speed of construction, and standardization. There are good reasons for all of those things. But standing here, it’s hard not to wonder what we’ve given up in the process.

How many buildings today make people stop what they’re doing and simply look up?

How many everyday spaces are designed to create wonder rather than just accommodate a transaction?

As both a traveler and an architect, these are the places that stick with me. Long after I forget what I bought, I’ll remember how this space made me feel.

Visiting today is a little awkward, though. If you’re trying to photograph the ceiling, you’ll quickly discover that the Tiffany ceiling is still located above the women’s intimates department. Nothing says “serious architectural photography” quite like standing in the lingerie section with your camera pointed straight up while trying to explain to nearby shoppers that you’re really there for the ceiling.

And maybe that’s the real lesson. Great architecture isn’t just about shelter or function. It’s about creating places people remember.

06/15/2026

Coming home early from AIA26 gave me more time to think than I expected.

My husband was experiencing breakthrough seizure activity, and after years of caregiving, the decision to leave early and come home wasn’t much of a decision at all. Thankfully, he’s doing well, but sitting in airports and dealing with delays gave me time to reflect on where life has taken me.

At 44, I’ve lived several different versions of my life. I started with a dream of becoming an architect, took an unexpected detour into healthcare administration and patient advocacy, eventually found my way back to architecture, and along the way spent much of my life caring for the people I love. First my mother, who passed away in 2018. Then Ed, whose brain tumor diagnosis came just a year later.

Looking back, the common thread wasn’t the profession or the title. It was always adapting, solving problems, carrying responsibility, and finding a way forward when life became complicated.

For a long time, I called that resilience. I still do. But I’ve also started to wonder if resilience has a shadow side. When you’re always focused on surviving, adapting, and carrying more, it’s easy to stop asking where you’re actually going.

I’ve spent decades making room for careers, clients, deadlines, caregiving, and responsibilities. Everything had a place. What I’m not sure I ever made room for was myself.

So at 44, the question I’m wrestling with isn’t whether I can endure. I’ve already proven that. The question is whether achievement and fulfillment are actually the same thing, and what happens when you finally stop asking what life requires from you and start asking what you require from life.

I don’t have the answer yet. Maybe that’s the point.

Has anyone else reached a point where they realized they had spent so much time surviving life that they never stopped to ask what they truly wanted from it?

Family Caregiver Alliance Caregiver Action Network Caregiver Nation

06/15/2026

Monsoon season is here.

One of my favorite things about living in Arizona is that summer evenings can turn into something extraordinary without warning. The sky was clear, the neighborhood was quiet, and then this massive storm cell began building on the horizon, lighting itself from within like a giant lantern over the desert.

Photos never quite capture the scale of it, but moments like this remind me why I never get tired of watching the Arizona sky.

Welcome back, monsoon season.

06/13/2026

Yesterday morning, I left AIA26 and flew home.

Ed was experiencing breakthrough seizure auras. Thankfully, he is doing well, but breakthrough activity while on medication is always concerning. After everything we’ve been through over the past several years, I didn’t spend much time debating the decision.

I checked out of the hotel early, purchased a last-minute plane ticket, paid for unplanned transportation, and headed to the airport. Then my 50-minute flight was delayed by more than two hours.

As I sat there waiting, I found myself thinking about the hidden costs of caregiving.

Most conversations about healthcare focus on medical bills, prescriptions, and insurance premiums. What we rarely discuss are the costs that never appear on a statement: the conference you leave before it’s over, the opportunities you miss, the plans you cancel, the last-minute travel, and the constant need to rearrange your life because someone you love needs you.

The reality of caregiving is that you rarely have perfect information. You make decisions based on risk, experience, and instinct. Given the choice, I’ll take the inconvenience, expense, and disruption every single time if it means avoiding the possibility that I should have been there and wasn’t.

More than 63 million Americans provide unpaid care for a loved one, contributing care valued at over $1 trillion annually. Yet much of that contribution remains invisible because it is absorbed quietly through altered schedules, interrupted careers, financial sacrifices, missed opportunities, and countless daily adjustments.

Ed is home, safe, and doing well, which is exactly how this story should end. But the experience was a reminder that while we spend a lot of time talking about the cost of healthcare, we spend far less time talking about the cost of caring.

For those who have been caregivers, what are the hidden costs that people rarely see?

06/13/2026

Yesterday morning, I left AIA26 and flew home.

Ed was experiencing breakthrough seizure auras. Thankfully, he is doing well, but breakthrough activity while on medication is always concerning. After everything we’ve been through over the past several years, I didn’t spend much time debating the decision.

I checked out of the hotel early, purchased a last-minute plane ticket, paid for unplanned transportation, and headed to the airport. Then my 50-minute flight was delayed by more than two hours.

As I sat there waiting, I found myself thinking about the hidden costs of caregiving.

Most conversations about healthcare focus on medical bills, prescriptions, and insurance premiums. What we rarely discuss are the costs that never appear on a statement: the conference you leave before it’s over, the opportunities you miss, the plans you cancel, the last-minute travel, and the constant need to rearrange your life because someone you love needs you.

The reality of caregiving is that you rarely have perfect information. You make decisions based on risk, experience, and instinct. Given the choice, I’ll take the inconvenience, expense, and disruption every single time if it means avoiding the possibility that I should have been there and wasn’t.

More than 63 million Americans provide unpaid care for a loved one, contributing care valued at over $1 trillion annually. Yet much of that contribution remains invisible because it is absorbed quietly through altered schedules, interrupted careers, financial sacrifices, missed opportunities, and countless daily adjustments.

Ed is home, safe, and doing well, which is exactly how this story should end. But the experience was a reminder that while we spend a lot of time talking about the cost of healthcare, we spend far less time talking about the cost of caring.

For those who have been caregivers, what are the hidden costs that people rarely see?

AARP National Caregivers Network

06/12/2026

One of the things we love most about traveling is discovering the stories that connect architecture, culture, and everyday experiences.

During our time in Chicago, we stopped by the historic Palmer House Hilton, a space that architects and history lovers alike can appreciate. The lobby is a masterpiece of ornament, craftsmanship, and grandeur, reminding visitors of an era when arrival itself was part of the experience.

But our destination wasn’t just the architecture.

It was a brownie.

Legend has it that the original brownie was created at the Palmer House for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition. More than a century later, visitors can still enjoy the recipe in the very place where it was born.

As designers, we’re often reminded that great places aren’t defined by buildings alone. They’re shaped by the stories, traditions, and experiences that become woven into them over time.

A world-famous dessert in one of America’s great historic hotel lobbies? That’s the kind of placemaking lesson we’re always happy to study.

06/11/2026

And just like that, AIA26 is underway.

After several inspiring days in Chicago for NeoCon, we’ve traded the Chicago River for the San Diego waterfront and are ready for a new week of learning, exploring, and connecting with fellow architects and designers.

One of my favorite things about conferences like AIA is the opportunity to step away from the daily grind and immerse yourself in new ideas. Whether it’s a conversation in the expo hall, an unexpected product discovery, or a session that challenges how you think about design, there’s always something that sparks inspiration.

We’re looking forward to seeing what the week has in store and bringing new ideas back to our projects.

If you’re at AIA26, let us know. We’d love to connect!

06/10/2026

We’ve officially traded Chicago for San Diego and shifted from NeoCon to AIA26.

But before we dive into everything happening at AIA, we still have plenty of NeoCon highlights to share.

One of our favorite experiences was visiting the Impact Acoustic showroom and learning about their circular approach to product design. We got a behind-the-scenes look at how materials are created, recycled, broken down, and transformed into new acoustical products, proving that sustainability doesn’t have to come at the expense of design.

The highlight? Getting to play mad scientist in the lab and create our own acoustical tile.

Our recipe was simple: green pigment (Ed’s favorite color) and coffee grounds. Why coffee grounds? If you’ve spent more than five minutes with us, you already know the answer. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

The result was a one-of-a-kind tile that was equal parts sustainability experiment, design exercise, and personal expression.

Experiences like this are a great reminder that innovation often happens when creativity, material science, and a little bit of curiosity come together.

InteriorDesign Architecture CircularEconomy AIA26 JADDesign

JAD Design Services LLC

06/23/2026

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