As the only girl in a family with three brothers, dolls played a disproportionate share of the playtime activities in my early childhood. To me they were a quiet refuge from the boisterous games my brothers delighted in. My mother was a fashion designer, and my dad , was in what New Yorkers call "the rag trade" so sewing for my dolls came very naturally. Since Mom worked, I spent school holidays with young cousins, who shared my passion. I used to choose one doll to accomany me, and make an entire wardrobe for the visit. We "played dolls" non stop, and had to be dragged away for meals. Fast forward to Fashion Institute  Of Technology., marriage, children and a career as a designer, which was probably in my genes, as my little old grandmother had, what people called "golden hands".

     My first Antique doll was a turning point.  I am a self confessed "black belt antiquer ".  It all starts very innocently, two objects in one category I can take in stride, three, and I'm still reasonably safe, but four, and I'm "off to the races ". I had for years loved and collected antiques for our home, and it soon became clear that I had reached the magic number 4 ,and that doll collecting was going to become a consuming passion.  I had contracted "the disease" ,the symptoms of which are very easy to diagnose. You know you have it,  when your heart skips a beat at the sight of an exquisite doll ,when you're ready to give up almost  everything ,and stop just short of selling your offspring, when you're ready to buy your own clothes at Wal-Mart, but willingly spring for $350 for a pair of Jumeau shoes!!!.  That's the bad news, the good news is, sanity eventually takes over, and the joys of collecting are so rewarding you'll never even look for a cure.