So I left to stay home and devote myself to motherhood. For about six months. Then I started to get a little crazy. A few people had asked me to help with their houses and I thought it might be a good time to give it a go. Fun and flexible. Not a million meetings. No performance review to write. Perfect.
I really had very little idea what I was doing, so a decorator I had used kindly took me in and showed me the ropes. But who would hire me? I mean, really. I was a broadcasting major who had worked in not-for-profit for ten years. Then someone did.
A woman I had worked with at the Foundation called. She'd heard I was in the business and she was interviewing decorators, and was I interested? Well, sure. She's fabulous; likely the smartest person I know who just happens to have amazing taste.
She was moving, but we met at the old house and she showed me a rug and her two favorite sweaters. At that moment, I didn't know if she would like my work, but I knew we spoke the same language.
The project was a dream; it moved in phases over the course of several years. Most things went right; a few things went wrong. But we got to be friends and we had a great time and we certainly laughed a lot.
My dear friend moved to the west coast a few months ago. She invited me over before she left and we talked about what to take and what to leave. She generously gifted me some of her chairs.
We didn't talk every day, or even every month, but I do miss her.
She's doing just fine in her new digs and loving so much being closer to her family.
I ran across these pictures this weekend as I was cleaning up some files. Ten years later I look back and wonder what led her to allow me to mess with her nest. Lucky for me she has a high tolerance for risk.