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.
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“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.
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