Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

Her cats slithered between the chairs as we stepped through the front door. In the living room we saw a kitty jungle gym and a couple of litter boxes. A well-worn cat scratching post, like a massive cactus, was perched in one corner of the kitchen. Nick, our highly allergic truck driver, looked panic-stricken. Hives were imminent. We backed out quickly, knowing that the strong eau de feline meant her furniture wouldn't find a spot in our showroom.

At our next stop, we were greeted by a disdainful French Bulldog, clearly in the midst of a long aristocratic reign as Louis XIV. He made it obvious: every sofa and chair in the house was part of his kingdom.

Later, I got an email a good friend who recently lost his beloved dog to cancer. For years, the dog had treated the coffee table like a chew toy. We were planning to repair the table. "Let's not fix it just yet," my friend wrote in the email. Attached was a photo of his new puppy.

As I write this, the sweetest dog who ever lived, my boxer, is swatting at my chair looking for attention. Feeling ignored, she hops on the sofa hoping to get busted - then hugged - for a mischievous infraction of the house rules. Okay, I'm not the strictest disciplinarian when it comes to my Casey girl.

Yes, we love our pets. Sometimes, we spoil them in ways we'd be embarrassed to admit. But they can be hard on the furniture. You may not be able to consign anything after years of domestic bliss with your pet. But you'll probably agree with me: it's worth it.

"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.  

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.