We got off to a slow start yesterday morning, Sheba and I. From 10:30 onwards, the day was gorgeous. It was lovely to see everything drying out. I did a lot of tidying and some shopping in advance of Tim’s arrival. I had Pinecone Park looking mighty fine by the time I had to go to the ferry to fetch him.
He arrived on time and I was there to meet him in glorious sunshine. He picked a perfect two days to visit. We came home, and slid into Happy Hour together and then transitioned to watching things on TV while I made and served dinner, at a slow pace, family style in front of the telly.
Today has dawned clear and bright and Tim is coming on the dog walk.
“Chris, what’s that gold star on your vest?”
I am terribly proud of myself!
One lingering aspect of my breakdown is my inclination to question things. It never existed before; I was a salesman’s patsy. The first time was with ICBC. They rejected my claim for repairs to damage to my car from an unknown driver that happened to my car while I was in Vancouver. The reason, I spoke up was the agent saying: “We would find you at fault for this damage.”
How can I be faulted for damage to a car on Gabriola when I am in Vancouver? It did not make sense to me, so I argued—politely, of course—and got the repair accepted.
This time it was with my house insurance that I buy through a broker. I got a bill for $2,400 for my policy for 2020; I got it in 2017 for $1,675. I told the broker I would not pay money to a firm raising rates like that.
The company came back with an offer at $2,200 and I rejected it. Today, I agreed to renew my policy for $1,800! It’s a good policy; I just had trouble with their usurious rates. I’ve become a squeaky wheel.