It is another week and another round of work for those of us who are not retired, yet enslaved to comfort and the novelty of a roof over our heads and food in the refrigerator.

Darla and the boys made it back on Saturday night and it was good to see them. They had a good time up at the lake and enjoyed spending time with their cousins. Darla was able to get up on the wake board and even do some cutting and small jumps. She did take a nasty spill and bought the front end of the wake board. She came up sputtering water and was in some pain. Her neck is still sore. Darla is in her thirties for another year and then she'll realize after her next birthday that she's not a kid anymore. Someone needs to explain that to her heart, though.

I took the opportunity on Friday night to join my mates from the golf club up at Graeagle, a golfing enclave and resort area in Plumas county, about fifty miles north of Truckee on Highway 89. I stayed at a four bedrrom condo with three other couples and had a loft bedroom to myself. We ate barbecued tri tip and chicken for dinner, and then drank some adult beverages and played cards out on the back patio until about midnight. I awoke at seven on Saturday and smelled the fresh aroma of coffee that one of the guys had made when he got up at six-thirty. I rummaged through my room, looking for my duffel bag which had my shorts and golf shirt for the day. I couldn't find it and got up, grabbed a mug of very strong coffee, and headed out to the Mustang. My bag was not there and in fact was sitting disconsolately on my bed back in Roseville alone and forgotten. I'd grabbed my shave kit and my cooler of drinks and my sleeping bag, but forgot my clothes. I'd driven up to the condo in a t-shirt and a pair of Nike swim trunks. Oh boy.

I had breakfast with the gang (eggs, fresh fruit and homemade biscuits and gravy) and then left about eight-thirty for the course. I was going to buy some shorts and a golf shirt for the day. I found a nice shirt in the pro shop for $39, but all of their shorts were $65 or more and I couldn't expel my tight gene long enough to part with that kind of money for a pair of bloody shorts. I ended up buying the shirt and playing golf in my swim trunks. They are black and green and look like shorts and I thought I'd got away with it until one of my cohorts asked me if I planned to swim in one of the water hazards.

I had one of those rounds of golf for the ages, shooting 38-39=77 on a tight golf course that saw my 77, a 79, an 86 and everyone else shot 90 or worse. My drives were splitting the fairways, many of which were narrow with ob on both sides. I played with a 6 handicapper, who shot a ten on a par 5 by hooking his first two drives ob. I ended up winning low gross for the tournament, a first for me and taking the closest to the pin for a total of $60. I also won $40 in the skins competition and walked away with $100. The payout was cash for the skins and a gift certificate in the pro shop for the rest. I paid a third place winner twelve dollars for his $19 certificate and bought a new pair of $90 Etonic golf shoes. They look like white sneakers, but are golf shoes. I had a great time, shooting three birdies, two double-bogeys and a slew of pars for the 77. it was magical and I still give huge props to my chiropractor for my improved golf swing.

Work continues to improve. I'm up to thirty three agents and I wrote my first over $50,000 account this week. It didn't come easily, though. I closed the account on Thursday with a price quote from one of my companies. The underwriter verbally approved the account and said that he'd follow with a written quote. I called my agent and gave him the price and he called back and said to bind the risk. It got late in the day and I called my boss and said that I had a binder, but that the underwriter had not Faxed me with a written price. She said to send him a note and tell him that I was binding based on our phone conversation. I was on cloud nine (the commission on that account is over $2,000 net to me). I talked to Darla on Thursday night from Almanor and told her the good news.

Friday morning I went from my best day at work to my darkest day. I was at my desk by seven-thirty excited to start a new day and what waited for me was a small grenade. Sitting in my fax was a note from the underwriter telling me that he had not approved the risk and that he needed to get reinsurance..I was not bound. My heart sunk to my knees. I called him and asked him what the deal was. He'd approved the risk verbally the day before. He said, that he'd given my a price indication, but not a firm price. I asked him when he could get me an answer. He said by noon. Just before lunch I got a fax from him saying that he could not get reinsurance at a favorable rate and that he was opting off the risk. I'd never heard of anything like this in my twenty-five years in the business. I panicked and talked to my boss. She said to immediately notify the agent and send the risk to two other carriers. I was sunk..I knew that I could not replace the risk at the price quoted and we would likely be on the hook for some compensation to the agent when he was able to replace the risk. I talked to an underwriting manager at one of our companies and he showed some lukewarm interest. I talked up the risk and sent him my proposed pricing and all of my backup for the rate determination. God was faithful as always and the company accepted my proposal and bound the risk Friday night at my price. I got off the roller coaster a little sick to my stomach, but thrilled with the finish. This is the first of many adventures that I'll have as I negotiate and blaze a trail through the unmarked path of surplus lines.

Well, that's all I have time for today. I was able to talk to both of my brothers this weekend as well as talk to Dad and commiserate with him on my work story on Friday night. I have to share a story that our pastor told us on Sunday. An office worker at a church in Dallas answered the phone and the caller said, "Let me speak to the head hog at the trough." The proper lady receptionist asked who he wanted to speak with. The caller said, "You know, the head man, the big cheese, your pastor, the head hog at the trough." The lady was non-plussed and said that if the caller wanted to speak to the senior pastor that he needed to show some respect and ask in a proper manner. The caller said, "No bother, ma'am, I just wanted to donate a million dollars to the church." The secretary quickly responded, "Hold on, I think I see the big fat pig headed to his office right now." Ciao.