It had been a blissful two weeks. I had just gotten back from what I call vacation, and other’s call Suzen’s Insanity> 2 weeks of a “my lake house for your apartment “house swap in August. Friends (and my mother) didn’t get it. Two weeks in August in the sweltering streets of Manhattan? And who, exactly were these people? And why, exactly won’t they be interested in pocketing your grandmothers’ good silver? Although I invited a chosen few down, most just shook their heads and muttered a faint “thanks but no thanks”. A few brave souls ventured in. No mind, to me it was the equivalent of 2 weeks on the French Riviera. You can have your beach. Sun. Cancer. Danger. Give me the streets of NY any day.

Not all vacation mind you; this was a working vacation: 4-5 hours per day of focused computer work sitting at the table looking out on the Highline, the boats on the Hudson just past it, and ooow! Those guys up in the scaffolding on the 30 something floor in the building across the street washing windows. Were they shirtless? Were they wearing sunscreen? Were their mothers aware of their activity? This was working? After those 4 hours the city was mine. Billy Elliott (Discount tx from, the Chelsea Galleries, backgammon in Bryant Park, treks to the east village, the west village, the daily spontaneous shows in Washington Square Park, the Highline, of which my daughter tells me I am addicted to. Maybe I am. Who cares? An early morning bike ride down Hudson River Park to Battery Park and the glorious views of the Statue and Ellis Island, and the miraculous Freedom Tower rising up ahead of me. Did you know there are free kayak rentals just below Chelsea Piers? More yoga then I’d done in a 6 month period all from deals from Living Social and Groupon, and ok, from having gone a wee bit overboard on said yoga classes, a $35 dollar one hour massage from another coupon. And let us not forget the “Best Margarita in Chelsea” found via a google search of same search words. 3 separate happy customers concurred, and now they have a 4th. I recommend the Jalapeno strawberry-juiced before you. Friends liked the Watermelon Margarita, also
.And walking, walking, walking. Did I mention walking ?

As 2 weeks came to a close, my daughter just returned from Israel, came to spend the last weekend with me and bore witness to her mother plunging from a high of 12 on a scale of 1-10, to a low of 2 on the Bliss–O-Meter, as we packed up and headed, in the pouring rain to Grand Central. In such torrential rains our brown grocery bag of leftover fridge items finally gave way, strewing spicy arugula and individual packages of Trader Joe’s nut and fruit mix all over 42nd street. These became gifts to the homeless man sitting in front of the open doorway to the station, although he refused the carrots, pointing to his toothless mouth, and we trudged into the station, discombobulated, depressed, and lugging what could have been the 200 + lb body of my ex husband in my roll on.

And then it happened. Heading back to the car at the Katonah train station it occurred to me: where was my briefcase? The briefcase containing my beloved MacBook Pro. My livelihood, and what some would pityingly call my best friend. After a minor (ok not so minor) break down right there in said parking lot, we tore out of Katonah like Starsky and Hutch. (Starsky and Hutch? Showing my age) and raced up to the Southeast station hoping to beat or at least meet the train, simultaneously calling a Lost and Found report into the MTA, “case number” and a not so encouraging comment from the dispatcher that I shouldn’t get my hopes up followed. Oh no!! And oh no! at the Southeast station as well. Train: gone. Security: not so helpful. They’d told us while filing the report that we’d be receiving a call from Lost and Found within 24 hours. “Do you promise??” I screeched, glancing at my daughter’s mortified stares at her out of control mother. Yes, ma’am replied the weary bored dispatcher. “Because you don’t understand, I continued, my daughter sinking further down into her seat…”This is an emergency. There’s VERY important documentation in this computer…” Silence. And then there was the other daughter, sitting and waiting to be picked up at the Bridgeport Ferry, in the opposite direction. Oh boy.

I suppose you’re wondering where this is going and what it has to do with marketing your company. The story gets more crazy before it concludes with a smart marketing tip, so rather than risking not being published due to excessive length, I’ll conclude with part 2 next week. Does she or doesn’t she get her computer back? And who really cares??

Hey, it’s summer. We can have a little fun.



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