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California Health Insurance Agent Matt Lockard was a pleasant voice to Mrs. Yakamora, but by the time they spoke, she’d had a close encounter with some undesirable avians.

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Mrs. Tumera Yakamora, 87, weighed less than ninety pounds, but her Medigap coverage purchased from that bird-loving Matt Lockard was in effect if she ever needed it. Long-widowed, a single passion remained:  Watching the birds that flocked to her Vallecito home.

Her mistake seemed innocent except when considered in retrospect. While stocking certain bird feeders, she began substituting small bits of pork chop instead of the recommended suet. “I think this will be a nice change of pace for my little friends,” Mrs. Yakamora said to no one in particular.  She often engaged in lively banter with no one in particular.

Pork chop in any form is not recommended for bird feeding.

She first saw the vultures, an inquisitive pair that she tolerantly chose to name Judy and Punch, on a Tuesday afternoon. But by Wednesday dozens hovered in the increasingly fetid air. Several perched aggressively in her desert willows. “There’s too many,” Mrs. Yakamora said, before making a second mistake of getting a broom and attempting to shoo them.

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 She became frightened when a cadre of the scavengers, only slightly smaller than condors, began circling very low, hissing, and chasing her about. A particularly vicious one caused her to trip and fall. When she noticed several pieces of decaying pork chop protruding from its beak, she couldn’t suppress a scream.  This sound bred of fear must have provoked the creature still further. Only barely did she manage to pick herself up and scurry back into her kitchen.  Mrs. Yakamora couldn’t help wondering if she’d been vulture-nipped as she reflectively sipped a cup of her favorite jasmine. She chose that moment to call Matt Lockard at his office far away in Ventura.  “Matt,” she managed, “it’s Tumera Yakamora.”

He had no idea what had been happening on the other end of the phone line when he said, “How’s the birding going? See any odd species lately?”

She began sobbing before she mentioned Judy or Punch.

“I saw a blue jay in my yard yesterday,” he said, “first one in a while.”

“Matt stop!” she shrieked, “I got vultures!”

“That’s okay,” he said without missing a beat, “You still have Medigap.”

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Centenarian David R. Morse’s family should have seen the birthday cake disaster coming. When Great-great-grandfather Morse tried blowing out all the candles on his birthday cake, the result was predictable. If it wasn’t for a California Health Insurance agent, it could have been financially tragic for his family as well.

He lived with his extended family instead of in a rest home. It was a big family living in a big house. Grandpa-pa-pa as he was known to all was loved and revered. Although he hated celebrating his own birthday once he’d attained his late nineties, his annual party had become a family tradition, and Grandpa-pa-pa Morse reluctantly went along. The worst part was blowing out his candles with a single exhaled breath, a perfectly timed gust expelled from his increasingly frail frame that could put out all the candles at once so that he might “get his wish.” Last year at age 102 he’d wished for an end to this ordeal, but secretly of course, so as not to disappoint his younger kin. This year, the massive cake, with papaya-flavored frosting, was decorated with 103 candles, each like a tiny universe flickering. “Blow Grandpa-pa-pa,” shrieked eight-year-old Adam, already a little windbag who’d easily blown out his own candles, all eight of them, just two weeks before. The family’s beloved centenarian was gathering his remaining breath in a mighty storm at that very moment, but the task before him seemed immense. Could he still do it? Grand-pa-pa Morse huffed …. And blew with all the might he had. The result was strange. Instead of going out, the 103 candles suddenly blazed as one! Everyone in the room, a gaggle of Morses, gasped. Grandpa-pa-pa not only gasped, but began wheezing. “That’s never happened before!” exclaimed Mossy Morse, his family-values smitten granddaughter, age fifty-six, who already had grandchildren of her own, of which Adam was one. By the time Mossy’s husband Alexander realized there was an emergency, he’d begun putting the cake out with a nearby extinguisher. Adam screamed, “Grandpa-pa-pa!” when the boy saw their patriarch keel over. Moments later, they were all in the emergency room of a nearby facility, as Grandpa-pa-pa Morse was receiving urgent care.

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Mossy Morse said out loud what most of the clan had been thinking. “Thank goodness we anticipated this when we purchased a policy for our beloved grandpa-pa-pa from that friendly California Health Insurance agent we met on the pier at Santa Monica,” she said.

“Will Grandpa-pa-pa be able to blow out his candles next year?” asked Adam with a touch of naiveté. All Adam got for asking the question was a big hug from everybody – including his now reinvigorated grandpa-pa-pa.

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Leonard was in a natural foods grocery store’s parking lot when a 94-year-old woman mistook his brand new Saab for a stop sign. It was a good thing his injuries were taken care of by a policy he bought from California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard.

Health Insurance Helps in Car Crash

Leonard Durban was proud of his brand new Saab. It was chartreuse with a gold trim. It had no flaw or blemish. While shopping one fine sunny day, he’d purchased his groceries two bags full and was preparing to exit the parking lot of Nice Foods where natural foods were sold.

His Saab was stopped. But another car, a 1965 Studebaker which was the color of phlegm had approached from within the parking lot as Leonard looked on with horror. The driver, one Agnes L. Penta, an irascible 94-year-old, was practiced in cutting corners as she approached stop signs. She’d been driving this way for what seemed like an eternity at least for any traffic she unfortunately encountered. As far as she was concerned, Leonard’s brand new Saab had no right to be where it was. Even its right to exist was questionable in her murky mind.

“I always stop at the stop sign when I shop at Nice Foods,” she toldthe police officer called to the scene, “I can’t help it if he was in my way. He hit my car. I had the right of way.”

Leonard had tensed his muscles when he saw the phlegm-colored Studebaker approach, and impact triggered a generalized pain almost immediately. But within minutes as Leonard’s sad Saab story was ending, he recalled California health insurance agent Matt Lockard and he managed a weak smile.

“You stupid ninny. Why are you smiling like a jackass?” Agnes screamed at Leonard while flashing what could only be described as her characteristic reptilian grin. At that precise instant, all Leonard could produce in response was an agonizing grimace accomplished while smiling because he now knew it annoyed the vicious woman.

When the phlegm-colored Studebaker and its despicable driver had begun to recede into Leonard’s memory, and after he’d been treated to alleviate the neck and back spasms caused by the accident, a more pleasant interlude occurred. Leonard found himself inside the office of California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard.

“You’re completely covered,” Matt said, “and your auto insurance covered the damage to your Saab. It’s fixed good as new. But that elderly driver …”

“I don’t blame her,” asserted Leonard, “Life’s too short.”

“Not for the woman who hit you,” replied Matt. “She’d take any moment she gets, and yours too.”