Not Sherry

I feel guilty about the fact that I hate to cook. As a woman you feel like you have an obligation to not only cook, but to enjoy the process. I don’t. I like to eat. Does that count? My husband said I’m not doing it right. All good cooks turn on some music, pour a glass of wine and then everything begins to click and in no time at all you have dinner in the oven, it smells delicious, and tastes even better. You even have time and energy to sit down and enjoy another glass of wine.

So, I tried it. I got all set up with a glass of white vintage. My iTunes isn’t working, so it was an old episode of Castle on TNT and I was off and running with my cutting board, skillet, vegetable, chicken, and fruit. Everything you need to make a yummy meal and nope…no pop! No sizzle! No sudden realization that, “I love this! Why didn’t I start drinking wine sooner?” Turns out if you don’t enjoy cooking, no amount of wine or reruns of Castle are going to make it better.

I have several cookbooks. I only have the ones that guarantee you can fix a meal in 30 minutes or less and that have pretty pictures. I need to know what it’s suppose to look like. Have you ever opened a cookbook? They excel at giving you a list of ingredients as long as your arm. Half of them you have no idea what they are or where to get them. I flip through for a shorter list and wonder how you can prepare a meal in 30 minutes if you have to gather 20 ingredients! I give up and toss it on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. I proceed to rummage around for one that says, “Easy Meals in 15 Minutes or Less”. That’s better. No need to be bored before I get that first glass of wine poured!

I can not say that I have been able to cross over and find joy in cooking. Thanks to my husband’s suggestion though, what I have discovered is that I feel very cosmopolitan drinking my wine while I’m whipping up tacos, burgers, and scrambled eggs. All in 15 minutes or less.

My lunch was extremely spicy today! It was the result of talking with my husband over the insanity of the Healthcare Marketplace that resulted in my needing multiple glasses of water and a Prilosec chaser! I suggest if you are upset about something you don’t discuss it while shaking Louisiana Pepper Sauce over your entree, if one properly calls leftovers an entree.

I believe Obamacare to be a fiasco of proportions that only the federal government can manage. Obamacare eliminated the exclusions for pre-existing conditions. Good! That needed to be done. So what else? I’ve got nothing! 10,535 pages of legislation and that’s all we got? What am I missing? I’m missing the affordability in the Affordable Healthcare Act. But that isn’t what I’m writing about today. I’m writing about my lunch!

My husband and I have embarked on a huge course change in our lives. He retired from a part time job and also sold his business of 13 years. So, here we are, in need of health insurance and applying through the Marketplace, because you have to, but that’s a story for another day. We were asked to estimate our income for 2015. Considering we are both currently without work, but assuming we will find something that challenges us we made an estimate of what we thought we might earn, not knowing of course what that would be or when. You must notify the Marketplace if your actual income changes during the year so that your premiums can be adjusted accordingly.

Here’s the kicker. We have to prove that what we estimated is what we are going to make. What! How do we do that? We’re not making anything yet? No problem says Uncle Sam. All we have to do is send in our W-2’s and self employment ledger from last year, or if we’re one of those early bird wackos who has his tax return done already, we can send that in.

How does what we made last year prove what we’ll make this year? I realize they are trying to catch people lying about their income to get the subsidy, but that hardly seems necessary. They already know! They checked with the IRS, when we applied for health care, to get our 2013 income and said our future estimate didn’t match what the IRS said we made two years ago! Of course it didn’t! I was employed, my husband was employed and now we’re not! Keep your pepper sauce in the fridge. Welcome to the rabbit hole Alice!

Welcome to my blog, website, both…who knows. I’m new at this and not quite sure what’s I’m doing, but hopefully you’ll make the journey with me through the maze of something new.

Let’s start with the name, “Not Sherry”. I’m not Sherry. I’m Sheri. Pronounced (Sure ree) or (Sh uh ree). You see my problem? The only people I don’t have to correct all the time are children. The reason, they listen. Adults, not so much. Add to that the way it’s spelled and it’s a recipe for “Sherry”. There is nothing wrong with the name Sherry. It’s a perfectly good name. It’s just not mine.

I love my name. It’s different and I think it’s pretty, but I would have loved it more if my parents had bothered to check a French dictionary on how to spell it, or perhaps with their Louisiana friend, who I was named after, to see how she spelled her name. Instead, they winged it. Winged it!! Winging it saddled me with a lifetime of “Sherry”.

You may think that I could solve that problem by simply correcting people. You’d be wrong. That works right then and there, but one glance at a name tag, a sign in sheet, an appointment book and I’m back to Sherry. So, I have a choice. I can correct again, or let it go. I usually let it go. I answer to just about anything. If I’m within earshot and you’re trying to get someone’s attention, chances are you’ve got mine. I thought about changing the spelling of my name. Even talked to my mom about it, but I worried about hurting her feelings if I did.

I looked online for help with the phonetical spelling. I discovered my name was spelled all sorts of ways, including the way mine is spelled. Guess I should lighten up on my mom then.

So, I’m Sheri, Not Sherry. Welcome to my website….blog. Walk with me.