Furniture Consignment Gallery Blog

"I live in the Pinehills."

Moments after strolling into our showroom in South Plymouth, these silver-haired ladies and gents manage to work that fact into the conversation. And why not? A Pinehills home is a status symbol for baby-boomers who have worked hard. For 30 years they commuted to and from Boston, put their children through college and endured all of the rigors of life. Living there is an achievement that demands recognition from us youngsters who are buried with everything that comes with raising a family and building a career.  

As I said to one gentleman who lives in this fine community, "you are where we want to be." To which he retorted, "No, you are where we want to be." Well, we would all like our youth back in some shape or form if we knew it would all turn out OK. If you made it to the Pinehills, then trust me, it all turned out OK.  

This vast active adult community is our new neighbor to our new showroom. So howdy, all of you former engineers, stockbrokers, stand out salesman, teachers, nurses and Docs. Now, here are a few tips from my side of the street.

If you haven't bought furniture since 1985, you might now be experiencing some sticker shock. Yes, your dining-room set was a lot less expensive back then, but so was a gallon of gas: 76 cents in 1985 vs. $3.52 this week at the Shell station in Plymouth.

So after you hit the furniture merry-go-round, and feel the pinch of a fixed income minus the real estate taxes, insurance, car payments on the Lexus, condo and greens fees; spending money on new furniture can cause some sharp internal pain. Fret not neighbor, we invite you to come on in and wander around our new showroom. We feature quality consignment furniture made by elite craftsmen. We have the brand names you trust - at a fraction of the price you will pay at the major furniture stores.

But here's the bad news. You want to consign some of the furniture that filled that four-bedroom colonial you recently sold in the suburb with the good schools? That dark pine bedroom set that seemed so chic when you were a young buck? We can't sell it for you. And the same goes for your knobby, colonial dining room set, your flame-stitch upholstered chair, and your Queen Anne cherry anything that is circa 1982. They are as outdated as a lavender leisure suit.

On the other hand, if you are a really active retiree and you've got some recently-acquired treasures that don't fit in your new "cottage," come on in. We'll serve up a great consignment deal with just a little envy on the side.

"Dad!" Robbie, my four-year-old, was tugging hard on my coat. I bent over to listen. His blue eyes still have a lot of baby in them, and they locked onto mine. "Dad," he said, urgently and loudly over the noise of the jubilant crowd on Boston's Boylston Street. "I have to go to the bafroom."  

Not now, I groaned to myself. We had a prime viewing spot right at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. My brother, JT, was running. Any minute now, he would be crossing the blue-and-yellow line. His journey to the marathon had been a long and arduous one. I really wanted to be there to cheer for him.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm starving." Cade, my thirteen-year-old, always seems to be hungry now that he's a teenager. I glanced over at my wife, Diana. Maybe we had a few minutes to find a bathroom and grab some hot dogs for our three boys. Besides, my parents were stationed a block or so down the course, also on Boylston Street. They'd alert me with a text if they saw my brother nearing the finish. Diana smiled and nodded as if to say "What can you do?"

Ten minutes later, the boys were munching happily on hot dogs we'd gotten from a vendor on Exeter Street. We were hurrying back to the finish line when suddenly we heard a massive explosion. The street shook beneath our feet. We stopped for moment, confused. Then, a second explosion "It's a bomb!" I shouted to Diana, as we grabbed the boys and started running for cover.

My brother was only a mile away from completing the marathon when the cops diverted him - and thousands of other runners - into Kenmore Square, where they frantically tried to call or text loved ones they feared had been hurt or killed. My family was one of the fortunate ones. We were shaken, but safe. My parents were sitting directly across the street from the site of the second explosion. They were unharmed, but they witnessed the carnage, which has left them deeply distressed.

I can't stop replaying that afternoon in my head. I am sure the terrorists who planned the attack would have been disappointed that we stepped away. After all, we were the target - along with all the hundreds of other families and friends celebrating a race that brings out the very best of the human spirit: courage, endurance, hope.

Our near-miss mirrored the paths of so many others.  The terrorists want us to be believe we should be punished for our way of life and for our freedoms, but the angels hovering at the finish line who were there to guide and protect so many of us, defy all of that logic. There are those who were not as lucky and we pray for their recovery. Now our job is to get back to business.

Ways to help the Recovery

Donate to the official charity of The One Fund Boston, Inc. to help the people most affected by the tragic events that occurred in Boston on April 15, 2013.

or you can support the Red Cross with blood bank replenishment.

For More info about donating blood in your area please click here.

Can't donate for personal/medical reasons? Click here for alternative ways to help the Red Cross.

Early in the morning, picking up the paper in the driveway, I saw the water bottle perched on top of a fence post by the road. Condensation was beginning to freeze on the outside. I knew he was out there in the cold, racking up the miles, training for the Boston Marathon.

On Monday, my 37-year-old brother will fulfill one of his life's goals when he strides across the blue-and-yellow starting line in Hopkinton, MA, one of 27,000 runners. At 37, he has two other goals for the marathon. He wants to finish it- and enjoy it.

For almost a year, my fence post has served as a pit stop on his journey to Hopkinton, his water bottle a daily reminder of his determination. Not so long ago, when we three brothers would race, JT always came in last. He'd stagger in eventually, groaning in pain. He was out of shape and he consumed too much of the unhealthy stuff.

All that changed two years ago. He embraced health and fitness with a newfound discipline. I ran with him recently, but turned back home, tired and footsore, at mile three. He continued merrily down the road for another seven miles. After he completed two other marathons successfully - with times of 4:54 and 4:35 - JT's running club helped him secure a coveted slot in the world's most prestigious race.

We salute JT and all the runners who will pit their will and their endurance against the challenge of running 26.2 miles. Our family will join JT today at the Runner's Expo in Boston, where he'll pick up his bib number and race instructions. Tomorrow, we'll carbo-load a pasta dinner at Mom's. On Monday, we'll be cheering when he crosses the finish line.

The marathon brings tens of thousands of runners to Boston, and we're always delighted so many stop by our stores during the weekend. (Here's the tip-off: they're wearing the blue jackets with the yellow stripes, and they're as lean as greyhounds.)

So if you are running the marathon, why not keep on going? Our Chestnut Hill store is only 6.3 miles from the course. Hanover is another 33 miles - we'll have a water stop set up for you. And Plymouth is only another 24.3 miles. Please, folks, just don't ask me to pace you, but if JT hasn't expended all of his energy maybe he will lead the charge.

"Memorial Day," the woman sighed. "That's the goal."

An experienced real estate agent, she is eager to list the house, a gracious colonial in a wealthy equestrian town. She knows some young family will love it. But the road to a sale has been rocky. The sellers? Her aging parents.

Dad recently suffered a stroke. His voice, once booming with authority, is weak. He was polite, but also seemed perplexed by the project they were undertaking. Mom understood the challenge, and she was overwhelmed. In a few short weeks, she has to shrink their lives to fit into a tiny condo.

All her life, Mom had been a collector of books, silver and figurines from their travels all over the world. She also inherited some valuable furniture from her parents and grandparents. Preserving these things was her way of keeping them a part of her life.

Their daughter understood the heartbreaking dilemma: how do you part with a lifetime of treasures when every one of them holds a precious memory? How - in eight weeks - do you sift through a household that sustained a marriage and a family for fifty years?

I toured the house. There were some well-maintained classic pieces that our customers will love. But the couple needed more help than that if they were to meet their deadline of Memorial Day. I made some recommendations to them which might prove useful to you.

First, hire a professional organizer. A skilled one will help you winnow through your possessions quickly, urging you to part with unneeded items while preserving pieces that have the most meaning.

Invite three reputable personal property auctioneers to estimate the value of your unique items or collectibles. They will help you determine what will sell at auction - and for how much. Choose one to handle that for you.

Then, check with me to consign your high-end furniture. At Furniture Consignment Gallery, your pieces will be priced appropriately and stylishly displayed in one of our three showrooms. Avoid the temptation of selling it yourself on Craigslist; it can be risky and time-consuming for downsizers.

Next, hold an estate sale to sell the dishes, the small appliances, the lawn mowers, and the trinkets. When the last buyer has meandered down the driveway with your old mop, call in Goodwill. Whatever doesn't go on its truck goes in the dumpster.

Sure, it's a lot to do, but things move swiftly once you've got a plan. Remember: Memorial Day is still eight weeks away. You can do it - and you've got help.

"Quit it!" I snapped irritably without taking my eyes off the computer screen. "Ouch!" 

My Boxer had been swatting my left hip relentlessly for an hour. I was engrossed with plans for our third store. She was clearly miffed. "What about TV?" she pouted. "You and me? Our favorite shows? Homeland? Hoops? The evening news? Just us on the couch while you rub my ears and scratch my neck. What did I do wrong? Come upstairs, PLEASE!" 

For the last eight weeks, I've been poring over cash-flow projections, organizing employee schedules, and managing inventory with one big goal in mind: opening our third store. Just about every evening, I ignored my dog.  My thigh endured swat after swat of paw and nails. Eventually, I got calluses.

Normalcy.  Even the family dog knows when something is amiss, and she didn't like it. Normalcy is what we all enjoy until we get the urge to make a big change - like getting married, having a baby, starting a new job, buying a home, going off to college, launching a career or opening a new store. Normalcy is what we crave once we've made that change and got where we are going.

We finally opened the new store. Yes, we did it! We had a great open house, inviting family and friends to see what's been on our minds - and our to-do lists - for the last couple of months. We hope you visit the new showroom in Plymouth, or either of our two other stores soon. All of them are open seven days a week now. That's a big change, too. We used to be closed on Mondays.

But now we need some normalcy.

With all three stores fully staffed and packed with beautiful furniture, I finally got to sit down and click on the television. I put up my feet on an ottoman that I got from a pretty cool furniture store and rubbed my dog's soft, beautiful, floppy ears. After all the excitement of the last few months, the dog and I are ready for some normalcy.

"I will close," Ron, the manager of our store in Hanover, said nonchalantly. "I don't really care about the ribbon-cutting ceremony." Then he reached under the counter and pulled out an oversized, foot-long pair of blue plastic scissors. "By the way," he said, handing them to me, "I found these and I thought they would be great in the photographs."

Who knows where he found the scissors but he had bought and hidden them as a surprise for the ribbon-cutting when we opened our new store in Plymouth. And as for his comment that he didn't care about attending? I wasn't buying that line of manure. Being at the opening meant everything to Ron. Right then, I knew we would wait for him before we cut the ribbon.

Last Thursday, we formally opened our third store. Ron arrived just as Christa, our photographer, was documenting the event. She waved him up to the crosswalk where the red ribbon was strung from post to post. There, he joined his twin brother, Brad. Click went her camera.

Ron smiled and clapped his beaming twin on the back. We'd recruited Brad from Florida to manage the new store. This was his moment, but it was a moment largely due to his brother. Ron has been with Furniture Consignment Gallery since 2006, and year after year he has steadily grown the store in Hanover. He gave us the confidence to make this bold move. As a result, we doubled our inventory, broadened our footprint in New England, and hired his brother Brad.

Since December, Ron has quietly done all he could to ensure his brother's success. He sent some of the fine furniture in his inventory to Plymouth. On his days off, he would quietly sneak into the new store to set up the checkout counter, un-box lamps and arrange furniture.

On Thursday, we took a lot of photos. After all, it isn't every day that we have a ribbon- cutting ceremony. We'd re-arranged the group about a dozen times when I heard a sudden "Snip!" Impatient with the endless camera clicking, Collin, my ten-year-old, cut the ribbon and announced to the crowd, "Plymouth is now open for business."  

I was flooded with relief. "Thank you, Collin," I thought. Thanks for ending the anticipation and launching this new phase of our business. The twins seemed even more grateful than me. I guess they suddenly realized they were going to have a lot of fun together in this world of furniture consignment.  

So drop by our store in Plymouth. You'll find sofas from $229.99, dining sets from $349.99 and sectionals from $1,199.99. We've also got accessories for your beach house and beautiful lighting for any house on any Main Street. All our stores are celebrating. We are offering 10% off on all merchandise through Sunday. Indeed, Plymouth is open for business.

In the end, the room was utterly transformed. All it took was six weeks of hard labor - and a flash of creative genius. 

   This fall, Diana Frucci is one of 35 designers participating in the showhouse sponsored by the Junior League of Boston. Each designer was assigned a room in the Potter Estate in Newton, a rambling Victorian built in 1867.

     Diana's assignment was a challenge. A century ago, the "Lexington" room likely had been unhappy quarters for a servant. Dark, dingy and claustrophobic, it required a heart-thumping hike up three flights of stairs. Sunlight struggled through a grimy window. Squeezed into the room's tiny closet, oddly, was a sink.

     Over the last few weeks, though, Diana worked her magic on the place. She envisioned the room as a cozy hideaway for a busy family's au pair. She covered walls and ceiling in a dramatic cobalt-blue damask wallpaper.

     For furniture, she raided the two showrooms of Furniture Consignment Gallery. She took a gleaming Biedermeijer chest for elegant storage and a velvet wingback chair, which beckons the weary visitor to rest.

     Beside the bed is a bold piece of art: a painting of a bare-chested and muscular man in a swimsuit. (Maybe the nanny is actually a ... manny?)

     And as for that awkward closet, Diana came up with an inspired solution. She gave it a splash of color, painting the walls a vivid poison green and wrapping the sink in a sophisticated geometric print. Then, she filled the basin with orchids.
     If you design it, they will come - and they will fall in love with it. That's Diana's dream.An estimated 10,000 will visit the Potter Estate over the next six weeks, according to the Junior League, and they'll be looking for decorating moxie. (For tickets and more information, check out jlboston.org) After all, a showhouse is showbiz. Instead of greasepaint and glitter, this is a performance done in fabric and furniture, paper and paint.
     Attendees should all make that climb to the attic to spend a few moments in a very special place designed by Diana Frucci. They won't be disappointed.

Photos

See more photos at our Facebook Page Here.

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.