Making Claims

Last Friday, as you may know, my wife was involved in a minor accident. As required, we reported it to our own insurance company, but since the accident was clearly the fault of the other driver, we filed the claim with his – Progressive Insurance.

I expected them to require an inspection by their own claims adjustor, then for me to provide three estimates, then for me to pony up the funds to pay for the repair prior to them reimbursing me…along with possible delays in that reimbursement. That’s not exactly what I got.

As they instructed me, I drove my van in to their office on Monday morning. I showed up about 10 minutes early for my appointment, and they didn’t have all their staff on hand yet, but the one clerk present directed me to the available coffee/tea/cocoa table and told me someone would be with me shortly. The wait was indeed short – once another clerk arrived, she took my information and key, had me sign the rental car contract, and walked out with me to look at the damage. I pointed out the impact area, noted a few older dents that were unrelated (gaining her thanks for my honesty), and turned my van over to her. She pointed out my rental vehicle – since I was bringing them a van, they provided me a van to replace it. I’d actually rather they’d asked about that, since I didn’t expect to need the extra room this week and would rather drive a small sedan, but I still have to count it as a thoughtful and considerate gesture. I made a quick inspection circuit to confirm that the rental was in good shape, got in, familiarized myself with the controls, adjusted the mirrors, and got on the road. Glancing down at the clock, I saw I’d been there a mere 20 minutes – INCLUDING the time I had to wait due to showing up early.

Before the end of the day, their inspector had taken off the bumper and determined what needed replaced, checked with their contracted repair folks, made sure parts were available, and called me to let me know the details, including an estimate that I could get my van back on Wednesday.

An e-mail on Tuesday confirmed that they were still on schedule, and a phone call today let me know for certain that I could pick it up tonight. That process was just as simple, and took me about five minutes. While I was trading keys, the clerk reminded me that the repairs had a lifetime warranty, then he handed me the paperwork and I was on my way.

I don’t file insurance claims very often – maybe all companies handle them this way now. And though I think I need to ask my own company about their claims process, I’m not certain I want to switch over. I am certain, however, that if my car gets hit again, I want the OTHER driver to have Progressive!

Beautiful Words

Most people agree, the three most beautiful words in the English language are “I love you.” I’ve found, though, that in some situations, other words are even more welcome.

When my wife was pregnant the first time, we were a little nervous. Her mother died in childbirth, so we knew there could be problems. The problems surfaced when she was placed on bed rest halfway through the eighth month. Two weeks later they started trying to gently induce labor, and spent three weeks on that. When that, too, failed, they used the more forceful method of Pitocin for two days, before finally giving up and resorting to a C-section. Under those circumstances, “It’s a boy!” was a very welcome phrase…second only to “Mother and child are doing fine.”

Our second child didn’t make us nervous for quite as long – we only went to the hospital so the doctor could check on his condition. Under those conditions, the phrases “the baby is under stress” and “emergency C-section” were unexpected and unpleasant. But a few hours later, as I held a healthy baby in my arms, I heard the nurse say “Your wife is waking up.” Surely I only imagined the angelic choir in the background.

A couple years later, I went away to war, leaving my two babies and their mother behind. During that seven month separation, my wife not only struggled along as a single parent while also dealing with the stress of a husband at war, she worked hard to make sure that my boys did not forget me. The memory of both of them reaching out to hug me while Michael called me “Daddy,” can still bring tears to my eyes.

Today Rita was rear-ended in her van. When she called to tell me about the minor accident, hearing her say “I’m not hurt,” immediately elevated that phrase near the top of the list of beautiful words.

Family Business

When I started this blog, I really intended it as a place to update my extended family on the life of my nuclear family. After all, I hate writing letters - I can't even keep up an e-mail correspondence over the long run. It’s even worse when I try to tell several different people the same things. The sheer repetition gets on my nerves, and I end up shortcutting it, or just not writing at all. With this blog, though, I can write everything once, and any of my family who has an interest can check it out at their convenience.

For some reason, though, it has turned into more of an editorial page. Well, that’s been a lot of fun, and I will no doubt continue the same sorts of entries…but I also want to carry out my original purpose from time to time. Even when there’s not all that much to say. For my new friends who have connected based on our blogs and comments, you may want to skip this one and tune in next time.

So anyway, Rita is doing much better. Her incision is pretty completely healed, and she’s walking a little bit farther every day. She’s been able to do more around the house, too. It takes a bit longer, as she has to do a little, then sit a little, but she manages to get it done. Best of all, she’s lost over 110 pounds. We’ll probably have to buy new clothes soon, as even her smallest stuff is looking pretty baggy.

Michael is now officially a theatre critic for WashingtonPost.com. Admittedly, he’s one of several dozen throughout the city, and his “beat” is restricted to high school plays, but it is still pretty cool. He is participating in the “Cappies” program, where a few students from each participating high school review and rate several productions at other participating schools. These reviews and scores provide each school an independent evaluation of what they’re doing well or badly. They also provide the reviewers a wider exposure to different theatrical ideas and experiences, as well as training them on what to look for when rating a show. That gives them a better way to judge their own work in the future. And at the end of the year, the best shows receive awards in several categories. Best of all, those awards are presented in a gala at the Kennedy Center.

Michael is very excited about it. He’s really looking forward to seeing all the different plays, especially since one school plans to put on Little Shop of Horrors. He also likes the opportunity to get a review published – the best reviews will appear in the Washington Post. I think what he’s most excited about, though, is the chance to express his opinions and affect the awards. He can’t rate his own school, of course, but he can certainly decide which play he thinks is the best, and root for his choice to come in second behind his school!

David is still enjoying his Creative Writing class. He’s got about two chapters done in a fantasy novel – he plans to complete the novel by the end of the year. They’re both gone a lot visiting friends, or monopolizing the phone for hours at a time. It’s hard for me to say anything, since I remember doing the same thing when I was their age…didn’t I, Dad? And stop laughing!

Me? Pretty much same old, same old. Under the Army Chief of Staff’s guidelines for public web sites, I can’t talk much about work, but nothing much has changed there anyway. It does seem to be wearing me down a bit, but in two more years, I should be able to quit and get a real job…and after 18 years, I’m pretty sure I can manage another two!

Anyway, that’s about it for news from here. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get upset about some other political issue…

School Report

I went to the Open House at the boys' school today. Looks like they're both doing pretty well. I didn't get to meet all their teachers, due to the awkward system they have set up - they schedule a 10-minute block for each class, and you have to basically follow the child's schedule around to all their classes to see all the teachers. Since no arrangements were made to allow for one parent attending for two children, I had to pick and choose a bit on which teachers to meet.

I met three of Michael's teachers, for his Spanish, History, and Physics classes. All three seemed to think he's a pretty smart kid, and told me he should have no problem making up for missing four days last week. His Spanish teacher was especially enthusiastic - not so much about Michael, just enthusiastic in general.

I met the teachers for David's Chemistry, Algebra, French, and Creative Writing classes. They seemed pretty impressed with David. I nearly made his Creative Writing teacher cry when I told her that he was more enthusiastic about her class than he had ever been about anything in his life. As it happens, he likes that teacher, but that's not why he's so excited - he's been pumped up about this class from BEFORE the first day of school! Would you believe he's working on a novel?

At any rate, they both seem to be doing well, which was very gratifying. I know they're smart, of course...with a mom like theirs, they could hardly help it, and I like to think I'm not totally stupid, myself. But it's always nice to have other people agree with me...and even better to see that they're applying themselves well enough to make that intelligence apparent!

As an aside...if anyone is actually reading this blog, I'd love to get a comment once in awhile, just to let me know if I'm wasting my time!

Maris D. Hall, 1919-2005

My grampa died last week. He was a difficult man in a lot of ways, but nonetheless, well-loved. It was slightly amazing to see just how many people showed up to pay their respects. Family, of course, but also people he worked with, people who shared his interest in antique tractors, and even people from his time as a Boy Scout Leader.

The three people who spoke at his service pretty well captured the real Maris Hall. He was a talented manager, able to run the power system for a small city for years. An even more skilled engineer, whether working on the electrical system for a Navy ship, restoring a rusted hulk to a showpiece of a tractor show, or hammering raw iron into a functional piece of camping gear. A very intelligent man, he always had an answer to any question. Usually, it was the right one. He didn't handle disagreement all that well, though, especially from his own loved ones. For the last year before his death, he and his one surviving son barely spoke, because Dad disagreed with his new plan to bring the grandchildren in to pick over his possessions prior to his death, then auction the rest. He asked Dad to visit him to discuss the change, but the decision had already been made - Dad was supposed to approve of it, not dare to point out the problems involved. I suspect Dad is going to have trouble dealing with that over the next few years...

It's probably a good thing Grampa didn't ask our opinion. I went because he told us it was important to him, and despite my own misgivings...and all OUR past disagreements...if it was important to him, it was important to me. It sort of made me feel like a vulture circling him, but it WAS his idea. I didn't discuss it with my cousins, but I did notice the sorts of things they selected - small things, things of sentimental importance, nothing of real value, just like me. In fact, one of them flew in, obviously with no intent to take anything that wouldn't fit in an already-full suitcase. I am pretty sure they were there for the same reason as me - the Old Man called, and we came. That's sort of important to me. It was good to see my cousins again, and even better to see that apparent understanding between us.

I still have a lot of unresolved feelings about my Grampa. He was a reactionary old conservative. We shared a bond through our military service, and I was proud beyond words to accept the flag symbolizing his service when it was removed from his coffin by fellow American Legionaires. But if he knew more details about my political views, he might very well have disowned me. He never really accepted my wife, even though she's made me a happy man for twenty years. But I've noticed over the last few years how many of my mannerisms and speech patterns are echoes of my father. This week it finally occurred to me to wonder how many of his traits are reflections of HIS father...and how many of mine I will pass down to my two boys. The Old Man is in me, and always will be, and it is somehow comforting to think that a little of him will continue to live on, even past my own death.

When I saw him in May, he seemed the same vital powerful man he had always been - maybe a little slower, and certainly a little more deaf, but still going strong. My dad tells me he was still that way practically up until two weeks ago, when he found he was sick. He lasted for a long time, then ended quickly and relatively painlessly. And I guess that's a good way to go. But I'll miss him. I love you, Grampa.

RenFaire Time

Our trip to Maryland Renaissance Festival yesterday was a great success. Rita couldn't go, of course, but both boys invited friends, so I set out with a cargo of five teenagers - Michael, his friends Amanda and Josh, and David and his friend Amber.

Had I mentioned I hate travel? Well, this area has helped develop that hatred to new levels. For unknown reasons, the junction from I-95 to the Beltway and I-395 had two of the three directions blocked off. Fortunately, it was still open my direction, but the huge number of drivers wanting to go elsewhere were jamming up my exit, driving slowly as they looked longingly at the way they wanted to go. Getting home was even worse - we left a little later than planned, and found ourselves in the traffic jam that results when the Redskins' game ends - half a stadium worth of people trying to get past the bottleneck at the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. It took us over an hour to go ten miles.

But we got there eventually, and it was worth it. I hung on to the kids long enough to get a couple pictures, but then each set of friends went off together, and I wandered the streets alone. That is actually not a bad way to see the Festival! It's nice to select which shows to see on your own, and to only look at the shops that really interest you, and especially to feel free to stop and watch the street theatre without worrying that your partner isn't interested.

That street theatre is one of the best parts of the Faire. Yes, some of the people you see passing are employees - such as the two women "dancing" on rings and ropes hanging from a tree branch 20 feet up. Others, I'm not sure about, like the four ladies ranging from a 6-year-old to an adult, all dressed in matching yellow outfits and mime makeup...and with Mom on 5 foot stilts. And still more were just fellow guests like myself, like the guy who has better than 50% of his chest, arms, and back covered with tattoos, or the ladies in belly-dancing garb dancing to whatever music was handy.

The scheduled acts are pretty good, too. I very much enjoyed the antics of Hack and Slash, two men who have a comedy act that includes whips, swords, and a bed of nails. Imagine, as Hack lies on the bed of nails, and Slash comments on how difficult that is...and how much MORE difficult it would be (as he lifts a concrete block from the stage) if we add the old-fashioned torture of weights on the chest (as he drops the block onto Hack - hey, isn't the chest a little bit higher up?).

The O'Danny Girls were great, too. Ribald lyrics in beautiful three-part harmony - I laughed at every verse, even the ones that made ME blush, and sang along with every chorus. They were followed by a band of two bagpipers and two drummers playing traditional Scottish and Celtic tunes...mixed with a little Stairway to Heaven!

Michael's group joined me for the Joust. I wasn't terribly impressed by that show, though. Certainly, the young squires that tried to catch the brass ring on their lances had a tough task, but I think the older squires throwing javelins at haybales could have done better. No one managed to unhorse their foe in the actual joust, nor even break a lance on their opponent, making it very difficult to tell who was winning. I suspect that the result of the whole competition was predetermined to match the story of the Faire, but I think the players went too far to make sure things ENDED right, at the cost of putting on a good show.

We spent way too much money, and I've got sore legs and blistered feet, but I definitely want to go back next year - and I'm looking forward to having Rita on my arm again for that one!

By the way, I've got pictures from our visit posted up - check my photos section if you're interested.