Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

"What do you think?" the young husband asked tentatively as he and his wife stood side-by-side studying a pair of marble-top chests. "I like them," she answered, hesitantly. "What do you think?"

"I think I like them," he answered carefully.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I do like them, but you don't sound so sure."

Newlyweds. Cute but frustrating. After a few minutes of patiently watching them lob the same question back and forth, I politely excused myself and left them alone in their tar pit of indecision. A few minutes later, they tracked me down. "She likes them!" the husband beamed. "But I'm not sure about him," she chimed in. "So we're going to go home and think about it."

Life offers an endless series of decisions. Colonial or Cape? Cat or dog? Save or spend? Negotiating the tar pit as a couple definitely is a skill you've got to master once you tie the knot.

Here at FCG, we get to witness those negotiations every day. As the indecisive couple shuffled out the door, another couple barreled into the showroom. "Upstairs," she commanded as her husband followed at her heels. Clearly, there were kids in the car and time was limited.

"This one," she said, pointing to a curio cabinet.

"Will it fit?" he asked. "Yes," she said decisively. Within minutes, they had paid, loaded the new piece into the back of the SUV, and roared out of the parking lot.

There's only one thing I know for sure. When you visit our three stores, you're going to find lots and lots of choices. Our showrooms are jammed with an ever-changing variety of beautiful, high-quality pieces of furniture at great prices. So your skill in decision-making is going to get a workout. You might want to practice. Or bring a coin to flip.

My first apartment in Lexington, Kentucky was decorated in frat-boy style. The coffee table was a single milk crate. The television sat on two crates. My girlfriend, soon to become my wife, spent most of her time studying to be an interior designer and the rest frustrated over my barren apartment. Our dog's incessant barking eventually got me thrown out of the building. When I moved, I took those milk crates with me. Hey, quality, comfort and price! 

I was reminded of those penny-pinching post-college days this week when I got a call from a friend. His daughters had destroyed their dining room table with arts-and-crafts projects and he was in the market for a replacement.

"Nothing fancy," he said. "We're used to the junky stuff." In fact, he added, he didn't really want something from our store. What he was really looking for was a consignment reject. In other words, he wanted a table so dented, dinged and scratched that we wouldn't put it in our showrooms.  

"Buddy," I said. "You've got to upgrade." I invited him to visit our showroom to check out our high quality - and reasonably priced - dining room tables.

This incident got me thinking. Milk crates and plywood are fine furnishings when you're just starting out in life. But there comes a time when you have to put down the glue gun. My friend and his wife have good jobs. The problem is, they'd gotten so used to making do that it had become a way of life.

His old maple bat stood in the corner of the room. On a nearby bookshelf were his glove and baseball cap. The boy's clothes hung, cleaned, pressed and ready to wear in the closet. The room was meticulously maintained and chillingly quiet.

For more than two decades, his mother has grieved the loss of her beloved son. She couldn't bear to change a single thing in his bedroom. Then, a few weeks ago, she decided it was time. She and her husband, now in their sixties, needed to create a guest room for visiting family members. That's what brought her to FCG.

Diana, an ASID certified interior designer, would later say that the renovation would become one of the greatest challenges of her career. That wasn't because of the complexity of the design but rather the intensity of emotions - her client's and her own.

Every time before entering the room, Diana would pause. "It looked just like yours when you were growing up," she told me. "Or our three boys' rooms now." Which is to say that it looked like any boy's room in America: a twin maple bed, trophies, sports equipment and photos of siblings, Mom and Dad. For Diana, it was a reminder that life is fragile.

With the couple's permission, Diana injected new life into the silent room. She outfitted both windows with bright cornice boards and gave the walls a coat of fresh paint. She unrolled a Persian rug. Then, our moving guys brought in the furniture: a four-poster rice-carved bed, a mahogany dresser and a secretary desk. New bedding and a flock of pillows completed the cozy scene.

When she presented the fully decorated room to the couple, the mother had to fight to catch her breath. Then, marveling at the change, she said slowly, "A new room for the new year." Later, she thanked Diana. "It's hard to let go of the past," she admitted. "You made it easier."

Our postman staggered across the lawn under the weight of the package. He dumped it on the doorstep, rang the bell, and dashed back to his truck. Inside, as the bell chimed, the dog went wild.

So did my imagination. A box! Just in time for Christmas! I could hardly contain my excitement - and neither could my three boys - as we hauled it inside and considered the possibilities.

Collin, my middle son, said out loud what we were all secretly hoping. "Maybe it's a giant flat screen TV!"

Instantly, I envisioned ripping the old, obsolete clunker off the shelf and installing our new, imaginary TV. Then, nirvana. We'd enjoy Kentucky basketball games on the big screen. Since our team is ranked #1, we'd watch the March Madness championship game in HD.

The Patriots would probably go to the Super Bowl, and we'd have a big party. The Kentucky Derby on the big screen - amazing! Oh, the fun we'd have. Best Christmas ever, we were thinking as we hovered excitedly over the unopened package.

Then, the boys got busy, tearing it open. Styrofoam popcorn exploded all over the foyer. Even the dog got into the action, nipping and gnawing at the cardboard. I cut through layers and layers of bubble wrap.

The moment of truth was upon us. I reached into the plastic and pulled out ... two large framed prints of horses. The boys and I sat back in stunned silence, our dreams dashed. One horse gazed at us soulfully with a mouth full of hay. The other horse struck a noble pose, staring off into the distance.

Turns out, one of my wife's aunt was downsizing and moving to a smaller home. She decided to surprise her niece by shipping her two beloved antique prints. "So thoughtful!" Diana exclaimed after she heard the commotion and hurried to the foyer.

Well, that's the holidays for you. Even those of us old enough to know better sometimes believe in Santa. But, to quote the Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want.

So, if you got a couple of horse prints this year for Christmas or Hanukkah, I can recommend the perfect solution: FCG. We may be able to find a happy buyer for your unwanted items - and in our showrooms you just might find and get what you need.

"Dad," Robbie pulled me aside and confided in a low, somber tone. "We have a problem."

Earlier, he had spied some wrapped presents tucked under the tree. The half-hidden stash was an irresistible lure for a six-year-old boy. With only twelve more shopping days left until Christmas, he knew he had to schedule some urgent reconnaissance.

This was a job that required absolute secrecy without any interference from his two older brothers or, even worse, Mom. His mission: to determine whether he'd get his fair share of loot for Christmas.

First, he made sure the rest of the family was busy - and not in the living room. Then, he crawled under the tree. Once he reached the target, he weighed and measured the presents from every angle. He undertook his inspection with the precision of a diamond dealer. He probably used a loupe.

The data, once analyzed, confirmed his worst fears. He had one present under the tree. His brothers each had three. So he filed a grievance: "It's not fair." But, he assured me diplomatically, we still had time to fix the situation.

When it comes to Christmas, I'm convinced that every kid on the planet is born with an internal abacus. When they're young, they're thrilled just to unwrap a box. Soon, they start keeping count of the gifts. Every child has to have precisely the same number as his or her siblings - or you're risking a riot.

When they're teenagers, they develop a sophisticated sense of value and style that shifts daily, which creates a gift-giving nightmare. Two parkas, both equally warm. North Face or L.L. Bean? Take it from me, one of those is going to be a big mistake. Tears will ensue. We're not quite there yet at our house but I dread the day.  

Admit it. All of us have a little kid inside secretly checking out everyone else's gifts. So if you're racing around trying to even out the ratio, you'll find help at FCG.

Yesterday, a harried shopper dashed into our showroom in Hanover. "Something for my daughter," he gasped. "All out of ideas!" Minutes later, he tore out of the store with a generous gift card, his arms raised in triumph. "I'm done!" he roared happily. "Done, done, done!"

"So who is winning our little competition?" Brad asked with feigned nonchalance. Brad is the manager of our store in Plymouth. And the little competition is nothing less than FCG's design Super Bowl.

In other words, it's our annual Christmas tree decorating contest. 

Each of our three stores is given a tree, a small budget for ornaments and a deadline. Trees must be fully decorated by Dec. 1. Then you - our customers - get to vote on the best of the three trees online or in person at the store.

The prize? Technically, a catered lunch for the staff that created the winning tree. But, in reality, the winners have bragging rights for a year. Considering the competitors, that's no small matter.

Our contest pits Brad, a maestro of design, and his staff against his identical twin brother, Ron, and the staff of our store in Hanover. Ron is manager of that store and an equally gifted design genius. And he's got a score to settle: his brother's team won last year.

Our third combatant - oops, I mean contestant - is Donna, formerly Brad's protégé and now manager of our store in Chestnut Hill.

Like any war, this one has secret battle plans and spies. Ron recently invited his staff to his home to work on their tree. Outside, the wind was whipping the last of the autumn leaves off the trees. Inside, the group was busy baking gingerbread men and making candy.

Suddenly, someone noticed a face pressed against the rain-slick window: Brad, on a spy's mission. Luckily, he escaped without bloodshed.

Each of our showrooms boasts a spectacularly decorated tree this year. In Hanover, the Gum Drop Tree is studded with delectable treats: gooey chocolate balls, candy ribbon and an army of marshmallow men. In Plymouth, the Nutcracker Tree celebrates the beloved ballet with ornaments celebrating its colorful characters hidden in the boughs.  

In Chestnut Hill, Donna and her team created a tree that celebrates the beauty of this snowy season in silver, white and teal.

'Tis the season to be merry. Around here, we try to remember that the contest is just a friendly little competition. So, as they say in Chicago, vote early - and often - for your favorite tree. All I ask is that you say a prayer for me when it comes time to announce the winner.

So maybe my timing wasn't perfect ....

While undertaking the sixteen-hour drive over the river and through the woods to my in-laws in Kentucky, I listened to a radio talk show. According to the enthusiastic host, Thanksgiving was the perfect time to discuss end-of-life issues with older relatives.

In other words, white meat or dark? Burial or cremation? Pass the carrots, please. And, speaking of vegetables, when do you want us to pull the plug?

So after we finished our family feast, I thought I'd broach some of those topics with my in-laws. "Have you two created a will?" I asked. "Who's the executor?"

"Glad you asked!" Papa responded with great zeal. An Army veteran who did two voluntary tours in Vietnam, he wasn't a man to approach anything without a battle plan. "We've got good long-term care insurance in place," he said. "And we've taken care of the will." Diana, my wife, would be the executor.

He paused then for a moment and nodded his head slowly. We all leaned in a little closer. "I've given a lot of thought to this," he said thoughtfully. "And I'd like my ashes to be spread all over Nancy."

His wife's name is Becky.

In the uproar that followed that disclosure, he quickly explained. Nancy, Kentucky is the home of the Mill Springs National Cemetery, one of the oldest national cemeteries in the U.S. Established during the Civil War, some 4,000 veterans are buried there.

Well, the conversational floodgates opened - probably out of relief. Suddenly, everyone at the table had an outrageous death wish.

"I want to be shot out of a cannon," my mother-in-law announced. She wasn't about to be upstaged in the department of grand theatrical exits. I looked over at Diana. She was starting to look a little panicky. How would she find a functioning cannon in Kentucky?

Maybe some topics are better left alone at Thanksgiving. And probably Christmas. I've learned from this experience. So my advice would be to steer the conversation to more uplifting subjects. "Gosh, Mom, your dining table is so beautiful. I bet when the time comes we could get good money for it at Furniture Consignment Gallery."

Thanksgiving didn't really begin until my grandfather's tan Oldsmobile rumbled into the driveway. My mom would send us three boys out to help my grandparents unload the car. Inside the trunk was enough food to feed an army - and my grandmother was a tiny Italian General Patton. "Pick that up from the bottom - it's heavy," she would bark at my brother. "Careful!" she would scold. "That's hot!"

This was her battle station - and it smelled like a five-course banquet. There were pepper biscuits, stuffed mushrooms, fried artichokes, sticky buns, and, of course, boxes and boxes of fragrant cookies. The starter dish, however, would be Italian wedding soup with homemade meatballs followed by a lasagna to mangia on before they carved the bird. Grandma was determined to march inside, take control of the kitchen and hijack the meal. It worked for me!

My poor mom, on the other hand, had been up cooking her own special dishes since 4 a.m. - but she knew she wouldn't win against this culinary tyrant. She graciously accepted all the goodies. She took a breath and counted to ten and conceded her kitchen. Her food got pushed into the warming oven, but my mom endured the insult with grace and dignity.

Looking back today, my mom is happy she didn't make a battleground out of Thanksgiving. She embraced the parade of food, somehow knowing that her mother-in-law was a kitchen bully but everyone would appreciate her special skill for cooking.

I learned a lot from my mom about Thanksgiving. It isn't about the perfect meal. It's about an imperfect family gathering around a table to make perfect memories.

Admit it. You're harboring a secret fantasy. The whole family is gathered around your table this Thanksgiving, sipping wine and feasting on turkey while you bask in their appreciation. Problem is, you don't have a table.

If you ordered a dining room set today from Baker or Ethan Allen, you'll get it in time for ... Easter. That's right. Twelve to 16 weeks is the standard waiting time for a set from a quality manufacturer. Customize your order and you won't get it until Memorial Day. Of course, you'll be sitting alone at your new table because by then everyone also will be gathered around the grill on the patio.

Ordering a new custom dining set might just be one of the worst investments you can make in terms of time and money. First, you write that big check with all the zeros, then you put your entertaining plans on hold for months. After your order goes in, the manufacturer has to wander around the forest figuring out which tree to cut. Then, the wood has to dry...

On the other hand, buying a gently used table at our store is one of the best decisions you can make. For one, you'll save thousands of dollars. In fact, we're offering an extra 10% off this weekend to show our gratitude for your business.

Choices? We have 80 tables in stock - and more arriving every day. We have six Bakers, including an extra-long custom one. We have a Guy Chaddock if you prefer something less formal. Or for those who want handmade, we have a solid cherry Shaker-style Thomas Mosier and a gorgeous cherry trestle table made by Great Meadows Joinery with ten hand made ladder back chairs.

Best of all, you can have your table now. Now means we can help you load it in your SUV, or we can deliver it right to your dining room with time to spare before Turkey Day. Now means you'll hear "Pass the cranberry sauce" at your home on Nov. 27, 2014.

 In our three stores, we have always found space to experiment with products. Our customers count on us for not only for quality furniture - they also know they can also complete their design projects with stylish new accessories including decorative pillows and nautical prints. 

This month, we're taking that concept one step further. We're opening a new mattress center in our store in Plymouth, featuring mattresses made by Gold Bond.

FCG sells a lot of bedroom sets. Our customers love how we display our furniture with beautiful bedding, lamps and other accessories. While we've always carried a small selection of mattresses, we recently realized that our customers want more choices. That's what they'll get in our new mattress center.

We decided to feature exclusively mattresses made by Gold Bond, a fourth-generation company in Hartford, CT. Like FCG, Gold Bond is family-owned. We share the same values of quality and service. And its mattresses are made right here in New England. Gold Bond buys its cotton in Mississippi and Louisiana and manufactures the mattresses in a factory in Hartford.

Order a mattress from us on a Friday and Gold Bond will ship it within a week. Their attention to detail and comfort is second to none. All their mattresses are two-sided - including the pillow tops. That's a feature no one else in the industry offers.

Why are we dedicating the space to a mattress center? Until now, we had a limited variety on the floor and customers didn't have the opportunity to comfortably test mattresses. Plymouth's new center will allow you to stretch out and relax. And we will be offering a wide variety of mattresses including organics, hybrids, pillow-tops, firms, latex, gel and memory foam.

This means greater convenience for you. Now, when you purchase a bed or a bedroom set in any of our locations, you can select a mattress, too. We'll deliver and set it up for you all at the same time.