Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

"New Jersey has the best tomatoes in the country," the gentleman reflected thoughtfully. He'd stopped by our store to ask me to evaluate a rug for consignment. Not this week, I said. I had plans for a road trip - to New Jersey. Don't forget to stop at a farm stand, he advised. You don't want to miss those tomatoes.

     Here at Furniture Consignment Gallery, we've always said that we will go far to fill our truck with good stuff, and we mean it. This week, we made the trek to a fine estate in Livingston, N.J.

     Getting there was a battle. We dodged kamikaze drivers from Boston to New York. At one point, we put the truck in park and sat on sweltering concrete for several hours. So hot was it in fact, that off to the side of us, a car literally caught fire and went up in flames. By the time we got to the Garden State, I wanted to hurl some of those famous tomatoes at the welcome sign.

     Our escapade took nearly twenty-four hours, but we returned unscathed and with tons of, juicy, ripe furniture: Henredon, Ralph Lauren, Mitchell Gold and Althrop. Also among the bounty was an extraordinary leather sectional and ottoman from Bloomingdales, creamy and soft as butter.

     We also scored some beauties closer to home this week. You won't want to miss the mahogany Stickley dining set that came in from North Reading with some upholstered pieces from Ethan Allen. Or the Hickory Chair sofa from Rowe's Wharf. Or the Council Craftsman inlaid table, chairs and server from Wellesley. That home also sent twenty other great items to our showroom that are not yet on the web stie.

      "Have truck, will travel."

That's our motto. So be sure to stop by today. The good stuff goes fast.  

     He parked his bicycle outside the store on Route 9 in Chestnut Hill, opened the door and staggered into the showroom, out of breath and sweating profusely. "It's hot out there," he announced, wiping his brow.

      "My wife sent me to check out some chairs," he told us. He was an older gentleman, but it was apparent from his build and his firm hand-shake that he may have been quite an athlete years ago. We pulled up a chair for him and offered him a gulp of water.

     Like him, the Chippendale chairs had a rich patina, were full of character and solid as a rock. He looked them over and bought them decisively. The decisiveness is a trait that had likely served him well during, what we guessed to have been, a successful business career.

     He decided to forego the bike ride home, and called his wife for a ride. Twenty minutes later, a woman strode into the store, clearly exasperated. She was a bit younger, pretty and a polished suburban wife. "What were you thinking?" she scolded the man. "The bike? In this heat? Route 9? Are you crazy?"

     Despite the lecture - and a tumultuous medical history - he didn't look a bit sheepish. In fact, he ignored the rant and turned to us with a reasonable request. "Put those chairs aside for me. I'll be back to get them a bit later. Oh, and don't sell my bike."

      After he left we thought: who wouldn't want to almost kill themselves by bicycling down Route 9 in blazing heat to buy their wife some chairs from FCG? It all made perfect sense to us.

"Beautiful!" the octogenarian bellowed at his wife a few feet away. The pair was admiring a massive cherry hutch with beveled glass they found in the showroom and intended to buy. "We can move this ourselves," his wife hollered back with delight. "We don't need to pay the delivery fee."

Looking a bit doubtful, he gingerly made his way over to the hutch and attempted to lift the top half of the hutch an inch or two to gauge its weight. "I think we can get it," he announced with confidence to the entire population of Hanover, MA. She made her way to the opposite side and concurred. "Oh, yes, dear, we can."

To this pair, life is a bucking bronco - and you'd best grab it by the horns.

Married when Elvis was crooning Love Me Tender on the Hit Parade, the two were still feathering their nest and having adventures. After a buying spree in our showroom, they were going to look at motor homes for a cross-country jaunt. 

He was 82. She was 81. The fun, they assured me, was just starting. 

The two actually preferred the view at 10,000 feet. Both have been aviators since they were first married. They have flown the friendly skies in his-and-her single-engine planes for more than a half-century.

Hers is a sporty 1968 Beechcraft, a plane that just begs for a flight outfit of go-go boots and a miniskirt.  She went out to the car to get photos. "I'll never sell it," she exclaimed. "It's my baby." Her husband just put a new engine in it for her.  

As for the hutch, I proposed they leave the heavy lifting to the pros. Why risk a slipped disc when there's so much more left on the bucket list? I convinced them to let our young bucks bring the hutch home for them - and they almost had me signed up for flight lessons.  

Those two old birds are doing it right: life at full throttle, even in your 80s.

Love the Adventure book featured? Buy it here.

 Cruising around the Secret Service boats in front of the Romney estate on Lake Winnipesaukee, I dropped a boatload of uncles, grandparents and kids off at the Wolfeboro, NH docks for the annual Fourth of July Parade. It was Independence Day, and all I needed to celebrate were a few kid-free hours bobbing on the water as the music of the marching band drifted across the lake.

As I floated in paradise, I was mesmerized by the flotilla that was out in force. There were fancy fiberglass boats, high-speed runabouts, a couple of crusty bass boats and a capsized sailboat with hysterical teenagers trying to right the mast. Suddenly, a real beauty caught my eye: a classic, mahogany wooden boat. It was plowing through the waves with serene confidence. Sharp red and white pin stripes gave it a jaunty look. This was true Americana at its best. A parade in America's oldest resort community featuring a Presidential candidate and a classic old wooden boat; this was freedom.

My mind flashed to our showroom. It is stocked with a treasure trove of furniture, some, like the wooden boat, from the 1940s. Like the pieces in our showroom, the boat had been carefully maintained - or restored to perfection.

That boat was elegant proof of how timeless a well-crafted piece is. Out on the water, I mused about the similarities between our mahogany furniture and that mahogany watercraft. They both have character, something that's in short supply in mass-market furniture.

So if you're looking for a classic, check out the beauties we've got in our stores in Hanover and Newton. You'll find quality, value and Americana - and that's always worth treasuring.

I needed dog food, four wood screws to fix a wobbly table, a few basics at the grocery store - and all I had was an hour for these errands. 

     Since I'm a merchant, you'd think I would take my time and see how other stores do business. Nope, not me. I cannot stand waiting in line. I hate searching the aisles. And when I'm done, I want out. A shopper I am not.

Still, there are a few things I just don't get about retailing these days.

     At the pet store, I lugged a forty-pound bag of dog food up to the counter because I don't want to track down one of the shopping carts left scattered around the parking lot. I waited in line with a bag of rawhide in one hand and the dog food slung over my shoulder. By the time I got to the counter, I was sweating.

     "Do you have a rewards card?" the clerk inquired.

I searched my wallet for the card that is a ticket to nothing. I've never gotten any rewards from that store. They've never thrown me - or my dog - so much as a bone.

"Would you like to donate your change to the Rescue Dogs of America?"

     Now, I'm sure Rescue Dogs does wonderful work, but I don't know anything about the organization. Does the money actually go to the dogs - or to support some swanky fundraising operation? I declined politely. The cashier shot me a dirty look that accused me of being a dog-hater.

     At the hardware store, I found the screws. I had the sixty cents ready.

     "Do you have our rewards card?" the clerk asked. That stumped me. She offered to look it up, pecking away at her keyboard patiently entering every phone number I've ever had without finding a single record of me. She offered to sign me up. I declined. As I left, she was scowling.

     Racing against time, I hurried into the grocery store for the bare necessities: bananas, ice cream, OJ. I hit the express line only to find an older couple who apparently were stocking up for nuclear winter - and they had to write a check.

     My bill turned out to be $3.80 more than I'd calculated. "If you don't have our saver's card, then you don't get the sale price," the clerk told me. I couldn't find the card, so I asked her to help me out. That annoyed her. She went searching for a supervisor, who grumbled but gave me a break.

     I finished my errands feeling unwelcome and unappreciated. I vowed to go back to our showroom and thank every customer who came in the door. Heck, I'll even carry your purchases out to your car - and give you a friendly wave as you leave. I'll never forget: we are lucky to have you at FCG. And you don't need a special card to get that special treatment from us.  

   Cruising in and out of beautiful inlets on a borrowed jet ski, I spent Memorial Day on New Hampshire's Lake Winnipesaukee, trying to forget about furniture for a day. Suddenly, I caught sight of a big man in a little kayak. His fishing pole was being yanked to the very core of the earth.

     I stopped to watch the struggle and he waved me closer. Already, this was more entertaining than schlepping a chest of drawers down the stairs of the showroom. He said he had been waging war with this fish for over an hour. It was a giant lake trout, he exclaimed, a native of the cold, deep waters of Winnipesaukee. He asked if I could help steady him. The powerful fish seemed intent on toting his little vessel around that massive lake like the shark in the film 'Jaws.'

     I moved in to help, but the fish wiggled free and vanished.  This formerly ecstatic fisherman was now just exasperated and exhausted from his long battle with Moby Dick. He asked me to tow him to shore so he wouldn't have to paddle. Wary of my clumsiness on the jet ski, I hesitated, but finally agreed.

     Within minutes, we were on our way. Turning to check on my new friend, I noticed he was wobbling in my wake. I fumbled with the controls and inadvertently hit the gas, rocketing forward. Instant capsize! He was being hauled home at high speed - completely underwater.

     When I reached the shore, I paused and my new friend swam to the dock, drenched and defeated. Head down, his flooded sneakers squished with every step. Clearly wishing he had never made my acquaintance, he was, nonetheless, a good sport and nodded good bye.  

     As for me, I have managed to overcome every minor annoyance this week by invoking the hilarious visual of that poor schmuck upside down in his kayak while I raced to shore. Mea culpa, man. 

     A warning to all: keep me away from the heavy machinery. That's why I leave the truck driving to our stellar crew Nick or Matt, and I ride shotgun position.

     We all have our place in life. Mine, apparently, is in the showroom.

      When we assumed the reigns at Furniture Consignment Gallery 7 years ago, all of our efforts and energy was focused on serving our local customers. But that's not true anymore. Now, it is global. Consider one of our new customers, Bob, who lives on an island called Hilo in Hawaii, 6,000 miles from Hanover. He found Furniture Consignment Gallery on the Internet, and in our inventory, he discovered the perfect dining room set. Shipping, he conceded cheerfully, would almost be prohibitive, but living on an island in the middle of the Pacific takes a certain can-do attitude and he was up to the challenge, so we sent the set off to a customer we'd only met over email and the phone. Here's what we heard a few weeks later:

Aloha, all!

     The dining set arrived in a total of seven pieces, not 500, as I had feared.  Six thousand miles over road and ocean - with no problems and no breakage - may not be a record, but it impresses me. I am attaching photos of the pieces in their new home with their westward view over the Pacific. The table and chairs look more at home in the land of taro and ahi than in the land of the bean and cod.

Thank you,

Bob

  Only a few weeks later, we got another call from the Pacific Coast. This was from a man who was outfitting a yacht in sunny LA. He was looking for a desk small enough to fit through the door of his stateroom, and thanks to our website, he'd found the perfect piece on the showroom floor in Hanover. Once again, the piece was packed up carefully and shipped across the continent. Here's the note we got from Nick: "What a gorgeous little desk. Looks like it came with the boat! Now, I need a larger dresser!" Thank You, Nick The Internet has rattled every corner of the business world, even ours. Bob and Nick taught us two important lessons. One: Customers will go a long way to find quality and value. Two: No matter how far out we can cast our net, our customer still wants that personal relationship and attention that only a small business can provide.

The High Point Furniture Market wrapped up its spring exposition this week. Basically, it’s a six-day party for the interior design industry. Some 80,000 flock to North Carolina for the event every April. Well, it’s a party – and a workout. High Point is the biggest home furnishings trade show in the world. Visitors need a map, a shuttle bus, sensible shoes and a lot of stamina to make their way around hundreds of showrooms full of furniture, rugs, lamps and accessories.

Diana was there, and she came home exhausted but full of insight about the latest trends. Here are her comments:  

This year, the theme is all about “lifestyle.” What does that mean? For one, furniture makers offered clean, crisp, well-organized displays that were so perfect they lulled you into a fantasy. It was like imagining yourself driving your convertible down with the top down on an oceanfront road on a sunny day. You’re living the dream – or at least you can within these displays!

All of it was geared to capture those rare moments when the kids are happy and healthy, and all of life is in perfect harmony. Finally, you don’t have to hold your breath anymore. You can exhale. Isn’t that we all want? We long for those precious, perfect moments to last forever.

Furniture manufacturers spend millions of dollars trying to figure out what you long for in your life. They pay consulting firms wads of cash to try to understand you and your buying habits, so they can help you feather your nest. And if they can’t exactly figure it out, they will dream up a theme.

But there’s a fatal flaw in this manufactured theme. That perfect lifestyle isn’t mine and it likely isn’t yours. My life revolves around three young boys. Yours may include messy teenagers or rambunctious grandchildren. High Point’s elegant mahogany library with the high ceiling and the rolling ladder wouldn’t work for us. My three-year-old would be clinging terrified to the top while his older brothers raced the ladder from one side of the room to the other, shrieking with hilarity. We’d all end up in the emergency room. Disaster!   

Ditto the glass-top dining tables with dove white slipper chairs. That $100-a-yard silk would be covered in peanut butter and jelly within a day. The glass would be smeared with milk. Crumbs would be ground into the $25,000 Aubusson.

  At High Point, the displays are exquisite. The pitch is enticing. Far from the chaos of a house with three growing boys, I’m buying every bit of it. The problem is, the trade show is selling a lifestyle that doesn’t exist for most of us. Maybe even all of us.  

The key to success is to design for the life you live right now – not your fantasy life. We’re practical and pragmatic New Englanders.  We want good jobs, a good education for our children, and communities with good values. We are thrifty and very resourceful. We know quality and we prefer it.

 At Furniture Consignment Gallery, you can design for the life that you live every day. Our showroom is full of furniture and accessories that fit our imperfect – but wonderful – lives.  And you can achieve the look that suits you and your family for less, which leaves more on the budget for the truly important things.

So you tackled a redecorating project, but things went awry and you’re not exactly sure how it happened. Worse yet, you have no idea how to fix it. Here are five common decorating disasters and some tips on how to avoid them.

The Floral Fiasco: After agonizing over swatches for days, you finally found a chintz you liked for the sofa. So you decided to double down on that bet. You did the chairs, the ottoman, and the window treatments in the same fabric. Heck, you even bought another bolt to cover the bar stools and make a shower curtain. Yes, it is possible to have too much of a good thing – even if it is of good quality. I love tiger maple Eldred Wheeler, but a room full of it is boring and predictable. You might love the look of an all-white room in a design magazine, but err in the execution and your home will feel like an igloo. Good design is a skillful mix of patterns, color and texture.      

Photo: Bedroom 324 of the White House- "The room as the Chintz Bedroom, circa 1963  (Kennedy Library)"

The Skittles Color Scheme:

You wanted every room to have a unique personality, so you did each one in a different color. Now, your guests are looking for the pot of gold in your home because they think they’ve wandered into a rainbow. Pick a pleasing neutral that flows through your home, and you can still infuse your decorating scheme with spicy pops of color.

Photo of Color experiement Exhibit at Salone del Mobile in Milan by Porro

Scale Snafus: A small rug in a big room looks like a postage stamp on a pool table. There’s no excuse for that kind of mistake even if you must show off your beautiful hardwood floors. Scale is a tough challenge for a decorating newbie, but it is absolutely crucial. Cramming oversized furniture into a small space just shrinks the room – and causes bruising when you try to navigate around it. On the other hand, a big room looks cold and uninviting with furniture that is too small or too dainty. Scale isn’t just about the furniture, either. Patterns in fabric also affect proportions. Misunderstanding scale is where many inexperienced homeowners run amok in their decorating projects.   

Welcome to the Museum: Turning the little-used guest bath into a luxurious spa is a lovely idea, but it shouldn’t be your first – or even second – project. Dedicate most of your decorating budget to the rooms you use every day. We often see homes that boast a state-of-the-art home theatre or palatial guest quarters, but the family actually lives day-to-day in a space that has shabby furniture, bare windows and poor lighting. Don’t spend all your decorating dollars on the rarely used specialty rooms just to impress once-a-year guests. You and your family deserve comfort and beauty every day.

Dim-Bulb Design: Lighting should be

layered in almost every room. That typically means a combination of recessed lights, lamps large and small, and perhaps sconces and chandeliers. Plan for a variety of lighting in your decorating budget. I also recommend dimmers to set the mood. Dull lighting can make your rooms look gloomy and washed-out. On the other hand, no one feels comfortable in a place so bright it feels like an operating room.

The Black Monster: The television is a critical element in most family rooms, so you should take extra effort to make sure it is placed correctly. This can be a challenge. Putting a flat-screen above the fireplace could mean big chiropractor bills in the future. When the screen is set too high on the wall, you may get a crimp in your neck watching it. And you can’t always stick the television in a corner, either. When you invite folks over for beer and Bruins, you don’t want them executing a bizarre yoga twist just to catch a glimpse of the screen.  Finally, resist the temptation to buy the biggest flat-screen in the store. The television shouldn’t dominate the room.

Still, everyone makes mistakes. You shouldn’t punish yourself and force your family to live inside a cocoon of cabbage roses … if, say, you were the one who went overboard with the chintz. Call Furniture Consignment Gallery and we might just find another home for your mistake – and put some cash back in your pocket.

"I would accept a reasonable offer on the altar table." The gentleman - and potential consignor - indicated with a sweep of his hand on the long, rectangular table in his living room. The piece was clearly old, but it was rough-hewn and lacking any ornamentation.

     Curious, I asked him what he would consider reasonable. "A good offer would be twelve thousand," the man said firmly, "and a reasonable offer would be six thousand." 

     I gulped. Would that be in dollars or peanuts? I thought. I quickly squelched the comment, because I knew he wasn't joking.

     Asian furniture occupies a special niche in the consignment business. China is an ancient country, and treasured possessions such as porcelain and furniture typically have been passed down from generation to generation. In this case, the eight-foot altar table was more than two hundred years old. Its construction and workmanship suggested it had been built during the mid-Qing Dynasty, China's last dynasty, which ruled from 1644 to 1912.

     How did the table get to Boston? The gentleman's mother had been a pioneer of Asian-influenced interior design who had visited China frequently to scour that country for antiques after it opened to the West in the early 1970s. Some of her most important pieces had been consigned to the Boston Design Center, where showrooms had built vignettes around items she had collected in Japan, Korea and China.

      Her son had inherited some of her favorite pieces, including the altar table. While it wasn't as rare or exquisite as something you might see in the Shanghai Museum, it was beautiful for its history and provenance. Yet the price he was seeking was still astounding - at least for our customers.

     Sentimentality sometimes creates a fog of confusion for consignors when it comes to the value of their furniture. In this consignor's mind, the altar table may have represented his mother's adventurous spirit in venturing into a place as economically chaotic and primitive as China in the 1970s. Or the table may have been a reminder of her celebrated career as the doyenne of Chinese-inspired décor in Boston.

     But our buyers wouldn't see those things in this rough table and we couldn't command the price he was asking. We agreed that Furniture Consignment Gallery wasn't the right place to sell the table, and we parted as friends. In leaving, I offered him some advice. Antique stores that specialize in Asian furniture attract knowledgeable connoisseurs. After visiting with some specialty stores his pricing expectations could be validated or he may find that he would need to reset them. They would at least appreciate his altar table - and the story of the woman who launched it on its long journey to the U.S. Secretly I was hoping he would decide otherwise and give us a chance.