The photo is from 1978. My son, his truck. Behind him, my truck.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Two Shingles

Thursday, January 19, 1995

A couple of weeks ago during a winter storm, a big old branch (we call them widowmakers) fell from a redwood tree and shattered Marilyn's skylight.  Today she has asked me to meet an insurance adjuster to discuss the work.  I expect him to try for a cheap fix, though I can't imagine what that might be.  Duct tape?  You have to replace the entire skylight.  It'll cost a thousand dollars.  Maybe he'll try to squeeze me down to eight hundred.

Tim wears boots and a cowboy hat.  "Howdy," he says.  He's scribbling on a clipboard while squinting up at the roof. 

I've got my ladder.  I ask if he'd like to climb up and take a closer look.

"Naw," he says.  "I'd say you need to re-shingle."

There's one spot where the branch damaged a shingle.  Two shingles.  "I can weave them in," I say.

"No.  Re-shingle the whole side."

I'm puzzled.  The roof is only three years old; it would be an easy spot repair.  "Why?" I ask.

"I had a house in Dallas," he says.  "A tornado turned it into splinters.  I had insurance, and you know what?  They went bankrupt from all the claims.  I never got a penny.  So you know whose side I'm on."

Tim hands me the estimate - $6525.00 - returns to his Cadillac, and rides off into the hills.

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