If you told me when I was 26, in my first tiny house in Pennsylvania that I would have a professional sewing business, dressing windows, I would not have believed you. I had bigger aspirations to be an Industrial Designer.
If I knew then that I’d be sitting at industrial sewing machines, I would have appreciated working on the mental lathe and Bridgeport mill a lot more at DuPont, crafting models for bio-medical laboratories with other talented designers.
If I knew that someday I’d be working with beautiful, quality fabrics and decorative hardware when I was a commercial interior designer and exhibit designer with a fantastic company in Wilmington Delaware, I would have paid more attention to their huge resource library.
If I knew that some day I would sell my designs with gorgeous textiles and fine furnishings when I was pregnant, touring the states presenting exhibit concepts at hospital board meetings to CEOs, I would have had more confidence to say: “Girl, you got this! You do know what you’re talking about.”
If you told me I’d have my own design studio equipped with machines, supplies, and fantastic fabrics on my own Connecticut farmhouse property, I’d think it was a story right out of Yankee magazine.
If you told me I’d get to do what I do now, I would not have changed a thing!
