Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

      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.

"Hiya, honey," my grandmother said in her accented English over the phone. "Your Uncle Paul was supposed to come f' dinna', but he just cancel. I got a big pot of sauce on the stove, with brigoles, meat-a-balls and macaroni. You hungry, honey?"

"Sure!" I beamed. Wow! Was I lucky or what! She was making all my favorite food - and plenty of it. Little did I know that I was the weak link in our family. Whenever I answered the phone on Sundays, she knew she had all five of us hooked for dinner. "You be here at five - the whole family," she said, and then hastily hung up before my mother could intervene.

     I was ecstatic, but my announcement didn't go over well with my parents. They understood immediately that their Sunday had been Shanghaied. My Irish mother had just finished peeling a bucket of potatoes, and her pot roast was just about to go into the oven. "Richard!" she yelled to my father, who was trying to sneak out to wash his car. "Call your mother back and tell her we can't come."

My father would make a couple of attempts to call, but by then her phone was off the hook - another one of my grandmother's clever tactics.

     Promptly at five o'clock, we would round the corner of Norwood's Elm Street. I was starving, of course. I'd spent the last thirty minutes vigorously pummeling my two younger brothers in the back seat while my parents periodically yelled at us to quiet down. It was an exhausting but essential duty. I had to work up an appetite for dinner.

     As soon as we pulled up in front of the modest blue-grey ranch house, I perked up, thinking of my grandmother's mouth-watering tomato sauce. "Hey," I said brightly to my parents. "Uncle Paul is here after all! His car is in the driveway."

    "That kid isn't exactly a genius," my father observed dryly, glancing at my mother. Grandma had snookered the whole damned family - again. When we poured through the front door and headed for the dining room, my Dad and his brother just looked at each other and shook their heads guiltily. There would be hell to pay later with the wives - but, heck, the food was on the table! Dig in!

     And what a feast it was. Her meatballs were amazing: moist and big as tennis balls. She'd start with stuffed mushrooms or stuffed clams, follow that with homemade macaroni and brigoles, and top it all off with a golden roasted chicken, a salad, and then a big platter of fruit and nuts. Dessert might be pizzelles, the delicate waffle cookies dusted with sugar. Or a strawberry shortcake. Or a chocolate cake. Or maybe all three.

     Some Sundays she hit the jackpot. She'd have twelve to fourteen people to feed. My grandmother never sat down once during the meal, of course. She just circled the table, platter in hand, heaping food onto your plate and reprimanding you for not eating enough. "Whatsa matter?" she'd say after your third helping. "You don't like-a? I cook it just for you!"

     We lost my grandmother in the summer of 2006. I inherited the battered old table that we gathered around for so many of those family dinners. The legs were scratched and nicked from a generation of grandchildren swinging their legs - and from a couple of misplaced kicks by my aunt to signal my uncle - enough already! Time to go!

      My grandmother's table was a dull mahogany round table made in the 1950s - not exactly my wife's style - so I sold it a couple of years later. I stood in the middle of the FCG parking lot and watched it go down the road strapped to the top of a family van. I was sadder than I ever thought I would be to see it go. What I would give to have one more meal at that table on Elm Street!

     You'll find a lot of tables perfect for Sunday dinner at Furniture Consignment Gallery. They might not have as much history as my grandmother's, but I know you'll make your own memories around them. And, if you ask really nicely, I might just give you the recipe for those meatballs. The recipe may be missing an ingredient or five, courtesy of Grandma who has made sure that nothing would ever be the same in her absence. Especially those meatballs and my Sundays.

After the last few days in the store, we've decided to build a confessional into our showroom. Here you can recite your Act of Contrition, and you'll be absolved of all of your furniture purchasing sins, mortal or venial.

     All week long, a long line of penitents funneled through our door and poured out their hearts to us. "What was I thinking?" cried one consignor, admitting she had blown her budget for a decade on a furniture shopping spree. "Never again," another winced, recalling how she bought an enormous mansion at the peak of the market and furnished it lavishly.

      We heard every variation of the seven deadly sins. One greedily wanted a house bigger than her sister's. Another lusted after a friend's inlaid mahogany desk until she found one even more exquisite - and pricier - in an antique shop.

Their stories were all slightly different, but they had one thing in common: they wanted absolution - and some money back, too.

     Haven't we all been there?

     I can recall attending a live auction several years ago. Consumed in the bidding process, I vaguely remember g-forces driving my paddle up in the air faster than I could think. The heat of the moment, the competition, the will to win! All three took command of my soul. And, suddenly, "Sold for $275! The hutch goes to the gentleman on the left." 

     When I was bidding, I was riding a motorcycle on a winding country road. When the auctioneer banged the gavel, I hit a brick wall.

     The large mahogany hutch looked like a bargain when it was $50. After other buyers got involved in the fray, its value seemed to soar. Once they announced the new proud owner was moi I started to sweat at my poor decision-making. I did some fast math: $275 plus the auctioneer's commission of 12%, plus sales tax 6.25%. I had to move it within the next forty-eight hours and worse yet, where am I going to store it until I figure out what I can do with it?

    I raised my hand. "Excuse me, sir... I'd like to apologize to the folks that I outbid. You see, I really don't need this hutch. It's not the money. What I was thinking? Can I give it back? This guy over here bid $250. Maybe you could sell it to him. I'll cover the extra $25."

     I was looking for absolution and my money back. The room went silent. The man I outbid shrunk down in his seat. Clearly, he had gotten caught up in bidding, too. Now, he just wanted me to go far, far away.

     Yes, I have been there. Haven't we all at one time or another? Life goes on. We make mistakes. Forgive yourself and move onto the next great thing in your life. And when it comes to fixing those mistakes, come see our new confessional at Furniture Consignment Gallery. We promise to listen - with sympathy - and help you get some money back, too.

In 1944, as war raged across Europe and the Pacific, Joline Anderson married Robert Wright in a borrowed gown with a bouquet of flowers nipped from her mother's backyard. For something old, the couple had an heirloom ring. Something new was a wedding gift from a friend and furniture maker: a Salem chest.

  For sixty years, that mahogany chest held the treasures of a long and happy marriage: baby booties, poodle skirts, cashmere cardigans, prayer books, postcards from the kids, photos of the grand-kids. It was one of the most special pieces in our showroom for the few days that we had it.

   Consigned by a family member who, sadly, didn't have room for it in his home, the chest seemed to whisper the secrets of lives well lived in homes well loved. There's magic in knowing the history of that chest.

     Indeed, stories are important. When I was in high school, I used to keep a journal. It was full of adolescence angst, alternately heartbreaking and hilarious when you read it twenty years later. I got a little lazy about writing when I went to college. Entries were terse and infrequent -I was majoring in English and channeling Hemingway - but there is one telling item written when I was a sophomore:

"I met a girl named Dianna today. She was pretty and nice." 

I may have spelled her name wrong, but I got the relevant facts right. She was pretty - and nice enough to marry me four years later.

    To some, it would seem silly to write down fleeting thoughts about our cars, our clothing, our furniture, our homes. But these are the details that illuminate our lives. Who doesn't remember their first car with all its loveable dents? Or that sofa that you managed to squeeze into your first apartment? Or the dining room table where you hosted your first Christmas dinner? All the nicks and scratches tell their own stories, often about the best days of our lives but, sometimes, about the worst days, too.

     We witness many a reflective moment with our consignors when they are turning over to us the furniture they've enjoyed for years. They'll tap a desk or a dresser gently with a far-away look in their eyes and relive a memory before entrusting it to our care.    

    So on the next rainy day, take a moment and jot down the history of some of your most prized possessions.  Even if it seems silly now, your story may have meaning for someone who may someday own that piece. Your words will enrich somebody's life - if only the consignment guy who opens a drawer and finds your note on a yellowed piece of paper.

He was straight from the big screen, I swear. 

He looked just like Doc Brown from the movie Back to the Future. Remember him? The zany professor obsessed with time travel? The guy in our showroom had the same frenetic energy, the enthusiasm, and, of course, the finger-in-the-light-socket hair.

     A retired teacher, the customer told me that he is living the dream with his wife. The two are sailing from Cape Cod to the Bahamas with lazy stops at any port that looks intriguing. What brought him to our store? He had furniture stored in seven states, he said, most of it inherited. Now, he wanted to consign it. He was having too much fun on the water to think about roosting on land again.

     This mad-scientist look-alike proceeded to pepper me with thoughtful questions about our business. The result was an impromptu Q&A.

Q. How does consignment differ from an estate sale?

A. An estate sale typically is a one, two or three-day event in which the contents of a house are sold. Sellers often hire a professional to appraise the contents and conduct the sale. A professional typically takes a percentage of the net proceeds as a fee, generally 35%.

  When you consign with Furniture Consignment Gallery, we remove the furniture from your home and sell it in our showroom. Your furniture is displayed artfully in our showroom with other quality items.

Q. Why would we choose consignment over an estate sale?

A. Some sellers like the idea of unloading their unwanted items quickly in a weekend estate sale. Others don't like the thought of letting the public or their nosy neighbors poke around inside their homes. Consignment means you don't have to sacrifice your privacy to sell your furniture.

Q. Have you ever discovered a 'lost treasure' that turned out to be worth millions?

A.  So you think you have a Rembrandt in the attic? Television shows such as "Storage Wars" and "Pawn Stars" are sparking fantasies like that among sellers, but that's just what they are - fantasies.

  Rarely does a seller pluck something from the cellar that turns out to be worth millions. Most people know the value of their possessions. They know the age and historical provenance of items that are valuable. Such items typically are sent to auction houses that specialize in valuable antiques.

Q. Do you travel to the countryside and scour old barns for heirlooms?

A. Honestly, we don't have the time to do a lot of archaeological work to stock our showrooms. We handle high-quality, name brand furniture that is generally less than twenty years old.  Sifting through an old barn for a jar that might bring a few bucks isn't really our business.

     After we wrapped up our chat, the sailor took a sweeping glance of our showroom as if he was scanning open water for whales or mermaids. For just a moment, he looked wistful. "This furniture is really beautiful," he said. "Sometimes, I miss having a home..."

     I suppose it is human nature to always yearn for what you don't have. I was ready to stowaway on his boat when he described the scarlet sun sinking into the horizon, its reflection radiating across the blue ocean.

      I may be living my dream here at Furniture Consignment Gallery, but I'd sure like to take to the sea someday like this old salt. Might even trade a dresser or two to make it happen.

     6:35 AM Today:  "As of last night at 7:00PM papers are signed, and more importantly money is finally down!! I would like to proceed with consigning the furniture -- if that is alright with you. Are you available on March 2nd?"  

     All week long we have been fielding calls from customers eager to schedule furniture pick-ups. The signs are there that the Spring real estate market is coming in like a Lion!  "As soon as we have the sales agreement in hand, you can come get the furniture" says one, happy to be setting off on a long-anticipated retirement adventure consignor. Another is joyfully moving into a new home. "We move on March 6th. Can you sell our old dining room set? It is too big for the new dining room. And I found a new set in your showroom that will fit the new house perfectly!"  

     After years of waiting out the recession, people seem to be on the move again. That is always an emotion-filled journey, one that we're happy to share with our customers. When we are helping customers who are moving, we witness the full range of emotions in those who are selling and buying homes. Sellers are sifting through memories of lives well lived and coming to terms with the decision to make a change. Buyers are eagerly looking forward to fulfilling their dreams of creating a new home.

    A big move creates anxieties, but it is typically mingled with excitement and anticipation. Decisions must be made. Some hesitate and fret over the details. Others leap from one decision to another with the speed and agility of a star hurdler.

     One of our customers is making her fifth move - in five years. Having seen her through all these transitions, we are beginning to feel a bit like family. We were at her home this week swapping out beds, cleaning out some high quality pieces from her basement and trying to get her squared away before her 2PM showing. She was calm -- I was stressed! "We've got to get these beds made!" I exclaimed. "Don't worry. They'll either like the home or they won't", the wily moving veteran said with cool composure.  

     In the next town over, we recently sold a dining room set for a customer who was moving out of a lovely colonial in the suburbs. We were back at the same house the following week - delivering a different dining room set to the new homeowner.

     Strange things happen during a move. Emotions run high. Some folks make good decorating decisions under stress. Others don't. Furniture that fit perfectly in that big family colonial may not work in the chic new retirement condo. The formal dining room set that looked so elegant in Newton may not work in your casual house on the Cape. Some people are able to anticipate that certain pieces won't work in the new home before the big move. Others incur the expense of moving the items, try to cram furniture built for a large home  into a small home and then make the decision to consign the items. 

     We wouldn't think of offering advice about moving - every family handles that challenge differently - but we do have one suggestion: Keep Furniture Consignment Gallery on speed dial.

     You never know when you might need us. And we promise we'll do our best to help you.  

     7:03 AM Today: "Let's do Thursday, March 1. I'll make it work." says yet another client on the move. 

     The world is full of strange and interesting characters. Anyone who works in a retail store will vouch for the truth of that statement.

     Last week, our front door squeaked open and in slipped a man who acted like he'd just gotten a top-secret assignment from Mission: Impossible. He darted from one corner to another in the showroom. Eyes narrowed, he cased the place with the caution of a minesweeper. His salesman avoidance radar was on high alert.

     But I felt up to the challenge. I strolled over as he was about to slip out the door. "Sir," I asked. "What's on your hit list today? Are you on the prowl for anything in particular?"

     But this guy was one cool customer. "A bed," he said with a deadpan expression. "I'm just looking for a bed."  

     So here's the thing from my perspective: We have over fifty beds between our two stores in Hanover and Newton. If this man needs a bed, we should be able to locate him a bed.

     After asking a series of questions about what kind of bed he might be looking for and with not much response other than "just a bed", we took a jaunt through our inventory. How about a cherry sleigh bed , the manly choice? No. How about an exquisite burled walnut antique made in Italy, a real showstopper? No. A classic cherry four-poster bed by Stickley, a keeper for generations to enjoy? No. A mahogany bed with pineapple posts, classic Americana? No. A Thomasville 4 Poster, fit for a king? No. A gleaming brass bed for a touch of yesteryear?

      By now, I was in full stride. I enjoyed reeling off the choices in our huge inventory of beds: twin, full, queen, king, cherry, mahogany... We are proud of the treasures in our stores. They've been selected from some of the finest homes in the New England area and we have some great choices right now. Yet this customer just frowned, shaking his head at my every suggestion.

     Realizing my time was coming to a close, I finally conceded defeat after describing just about every bed in both stores.

      "Sir," I said with regret. "I'm not sure that we have just a bed."