Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

"Do I look like a Wellesley housewife to you?" he said with mild irritation.

Well, I thought, no. He looked like an overworked handy-man. He was wearing jeans, a ratty sweater, an unlaced pair of L.L. Bean boots and a cap advertising Miller High Life, a lowbrow swill.

But here we were standing in front of a stately mansion in that swanky town. I was firing questions at him about the high-quality furniture he was consigning, including a Baker Colonial Williamsburg dining room set, a Councill Craftsman server, a secretary by EJ Victor. And he was getting exasperated. "I don't know anything about furniture," he said.

Some customers are a "riddle wrapped in a mystery," to quote from Winston Churchill. There had to be a story here. There was.

After a wildly successful decade on Wall Street in the 1980s, he retired at the age of 36. The suburban life with wife and kids had no appeal for him. His stock options gave him the opportunity to exercise what he called "the coconut option."

He made a life for himself alone in the Florida Keys, sailing, fishing and toasting the sunset with a beer from his front porch. For company, he had a dog.

"I get them from the pound when they only have a year or two left of life in them," he said. "Then, I spoil the hell out of them." He tossed a tennis ball across the lawn. The old mutt leaped up joyfully and took off like an Olympic sprinter.

I had to ask. "How does a single guy who couldn't care less about furniture end up with a big house filled with the best of it?"

Turns out, his dad worked for the phone company. His mom was a housewife. With six kids, they had enough for the essentials - but no luxuries. When he made his fortune, he bought them a big house, then took his mom furniture shopping. "That was fun," he said. 

Now, twenty-five years later, his parents are moving into an assisted-living facility. The house has to go. Ditto the furniture. He wasn't taking so much as a lamp back to the Keys. He likes the simple life. "You gotta know what makes you happy, man," he said.

"We just got a bigger place!"

They were young, excited and expecting a new addition to their family any day. The couple burst into the showroom earlier this week and, after announcing their big news, they hurried off in opposite directions to shop.

Anticipating long nights with a fussy newborn, the father-to-be quickly found his favorite piece: a $1,710 leather loveseat sleeper by Hancock & Moore. As a father of three, I had to stifle the urge to educate the poor guy. Just because you buy a sleeper doesn't mean you're going to get any sleep after the baby arrives.  

Meanwhile, on another floor, his wife had fallen in love with the Princess Bed, a fantastically frou-frou structure decked out in acres of pink and yellow.

"I think it's a girl," she confided shyly, "but we don't really know..."

I quickly steered her towards more gender-neutral baby furniture. Turning the Princess Bed into a rocket ship or racecar if a little lad showed up would be a major challenge for a sleep-deprived dad.

After weeks of hibernation, shoppers are starting to emerge from their winter dens. And with them come the challenges of helping them navigate the turning points in life. I've missed that.

In Chestnut Hill, I was happy to see a longtime customer looking at a dining table of inlaid mahogany and eight leather chairs. Downsizing from a grand suburban colonial, she was scouting out items for a new condo overlooking Boston Harbor.

"Dining room seating for eight? In a condo?" I asked gently.

"Oh," she laughed. "I keep forgetting we're downsizing! And that means smaller!"

Finally, a normal week, I thought. Customers young and old are starting to trickle back into our stores. I'm happy to see familiar faces - and new ones. We've got showrooms well stocked with furniture for all kinds of fresh starts. The sun is shining. The snow is melting. Spring will be here soon.