🏈 Football, Food, and Fierce Loyalty: My Sunday Ritual
There’s something about Sunday afternoons that feels sacred—especially when the Detroit Lions are playing. Football isn’t just my favorite sport; it’s a whole mood. And today, they’re up against the Green Bay Packers… a team I absolutely cannot stand (laughing). So yes, I’m cheering loud and proud for my Lions to take that win and make Detroit proud.
While the game’s heating up, I’m in the kitchen switching up dinner plans. I originally pulled out chicken, but my taste buds had other ideas. Tonight’s menu: Salisbury steaks smothered in rich gravy, served with fluffy rice. It’s already late, so I need to get moving—but there’s something comforting about cooking while the game plays in the background. It’s my kind of multitasking.
This is what Sundays are made of—passion, comfort food, and rooting for the home team. Whether we win or lose, the Lions have my heart. And this meal? It’s about to have my stomach.
I blog because I have something to say. Not just to speak—but to express, release, and reflect. Blogging gives me space to get things off my chest, to share what’s on my mind, and to honor the experiences that shaped me. I’m an individual with a story, and I believe stories are meant to be shared.
I love to read because I love to learn. I would listen to an animal if it could tell me about its life. That’s how deep my curiosity runs. Every blog I read is a chance to pause, reflect, and say, “I never looked at it that way.” Those moments—those quiet revelations—are why I keep coming back to the page.
When I write, I’m not just telling my story. I’m inviting you to think about yours. Maybe something I say will remind you of a time you faced a similar situation. Maybe you’ll see how I handled it and think about how you did. That’s the beauty of blogging: it’s not just about me. It’s about us.
We’re all different. Our experiences take us down different streets. And that’s okay.
I love New Balance shoes. I love the way they feel on my feet. But does that mean I should talk down on other gym shoes? No! It just means I prefer what’s comfortable for me. That’s how life works. We learn from each other’s preferences, stories, and truths. We don’t have to agree to grow.
I LOVE meeting someone who is not me. It gives me joy to read about someone else’s life, to walk in their shoes for a moment, and to see the world through their lens. That’s why I blog. That’s why I read. That’s why I listen.
Because learning starts with listening.
If you feel inspired and lead to send Blessings~ Zelle
There’s something magical about the TV shows we grew up with. They weren’t just entertainment—they were family, laughter, lessons, and comfort wrapped into 30-minute episodes. As a kid, my living room was my portal to worlds that made me laugh, think, and dream.
I remember watching What’s Happening!! and feeling like I was part of the crew, laughing at Rerun’s dance moves and Dee’s sharp comebacks. Good Times taught me about resilience and love, even when life was tough. And Sanford and Son? That was pure comedic gold—Fred’s grumpy charm and Lamont’s patience were a dynamic I’ll never forget.
Then there were the classics that shaped my sense of humor: The Three Stooges had me in stitches with their slapstick chaos, while Happy Days made me wish I could hang out at Arnold’s with the Fonz. Bewitched sparked my imagination—who didn’t try to wiggle their nose hoping magic would happen?
Cartoons like The Flintstones and The Jetsons gave me two sides of the same coin—prehistoric fun and futuristic dreams. And The Brady Bunch? That was my crash course in blended family life, sibling drama, and groovy fashion.
These shows weren’t just background noise—they were part of my upbringing. They taught me values, gave me laughs, and created memories that still warm my heart today. I’m grateful for every moment spent in front of that glowing screen, soaking in stories that helped shape who I am.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith – Action, chemistry, and chaos. A wild ride of love and espionage.
Tyler Perry’s Good Deeds – A soulful reminder that purpose often lies beyond routine.
Titanic – A sweeping love story that never sinks, no matter how many times I watch it.
Monster House – Creepy, clever, and surprisingly heartfelt. Childhood nostalgia with a twist.
Just Wright – Romance meets resilience. Queen Latifah shines in this feel-good favorite.
The True Story of The Apostle Paul – A powerful portrayal of transformation and faith.
It Should Happen to You – A classic tale of fame, identity, and the longing to be seen.
A Patch of Blue – Tender and groundbreaking. Love that defies prejudice.
Mo’ Better Blues – Music, passion, and the price of ambition. Spike Lee at his finest.
White Chicks – Outrageous and hilarious. Sometimes you just need to laugh out loud.
Each of these films has offered me something—whether it’s a lesson, a laugh, or a lens into someone else’s world. That’s the beauty of storytelling. It connects us, challenges us, and sometimes, it heals us.
Growing up in a home with both parents, I always felt a deep need to express myself. My mom understood me—she saw the spark behind my endless questions. But my dad? Not so much. He didn’t understand why I asked so many things. To him, it felt like noise. To me, it was the beginning of understanding.
I wasn’t trying to be nosy. I was trying to learn. I wanted to understand why people thought the way they did, why they reacted the way they did, and what shaped their choices. Over time, I realized that every experience a person goes through becomes a lens through which they see the world. That lens influences how they respond, how they love, how they protect, and how they communicate.
Even now, I ask questions—not to pry, but to connect. To understand. To grow.
But when words failed me in conversation, I found another way to speak: writing. Writing became my sanctuary. It gave me a voice when I felt unheard. It gave me clarity when the world felt confusing. And most beautifully, it connected me to others who feel the same way—those who may not write, but who find comfort in reading.
Writing is more than just words on a page. It’s a bridge. A mirror. A healing space.
So to anyone who’s ever felt misunderstood for being curious, for feeling deeply, or for needing to express themselves—know that you’re not alone. There’s power in your voice. And if you ever feel like speaking is too much, try writing. You might just find yourself there.
I just moved into my new place in Brush Park this past Saturday, and that’s why I’ve been quiet on the writing front. Now that everything’s put away and my space feels like home, I’m back to doing what I love—writing.
What I adore most about living here is how alive the area feels. Little Caesars Arena is right on the corner. Ford Field and Comerica Park are just down the street. I’m a huge fan of concerts, the Detroit Lions, and anything that brings people together. From my patio, I can hear the roar of Tigers games at Comerica—it’s like having front-row seats to the heartbeat of the city.
Soon, I’ll be working out in our fitness room and writing in the community room, which has a full kitchen and a cozy vibe that’s perfect for creativity. The apartments here are five stories tall—a big change from the 22-floor building I came from—but it feels more personal and grounded.
One of my favorite things? Watching people walk their dogs. As a dog lover, it warms my heart and makes me smile every time. The energy here fits my personality—friendly, vibrant, and peaceful. People greet each other with hellos and plenty of smiles. I feel like I’ve found my place, and I plan to stay a while.
Every morning since my stroke, I’ve made a promise to myself: stay consistent. I’ve always known what I needed to do, but consistency was my biggest challenge. That changed when I started writing down my daily goals first thing in the morning.
📋 I keep my list close, checking it throughout the day. Each checkmark feels like a victory—a quiet celebration of progress. It’s a feeling I can’t quite explain, but it fills me with joy and purpose.
As I move through the day, I notice things I want to add to tomorrow’s list. But I’ve learned not to overdo it. Pacing myself keeps me on track and prevents burnout. This rhythm of planning, doing, and reflecting has become my anchor.
💖 I love this new version of me. She’s focused. She’s intentional. She’s healing.
I’ve got something exciting brewing—like a new candle scent that just feels right. Starting mid-September, I’ll be launching my very own YouTube channel… and I need my tribe, my village, my FAMILY to help me light this flame! 🔥
This channel will be a cozy space where heart meets humor, and spirit meets storytelling. I’ll be sharing:
🕯️ My journey in candle making (plus hosting classes!)
😂 Funny stories that’ll make you holler
🙏 Candid talks about God, faith, and personal testimonies
💬 Heartfelt chats about life, family, and friendships
👩🏽🏫 Lessons learned, laughs shared, and love poured into every video
My goal today? Hit 250 subscribers—yes, TODAY! Because when faith moves, mountains follow 🙌🏽
So please, if you’re reading this and your spirit says “go head, sis or brother,” head on over and subscribe to my channel 👉 @Iamlacrease. Drop a comment, share the love, and let’s grow together. I promise to keep it real, keep it funny, and keep it full of grace.
Every day I’m at my daughter’s house, I make sure my sweet Brendan gets his daily dose of love—and I mean real love. He’s my grand dog, my Black Lab, my baby. Giving him kisses every single day is more than just habit. It’s our sacred ritual. It’s the way I show him I’m here. That I see him. That I cherish him.
Brendan is the smartest, sweetest little schemer I know. He’s got this look—those eyes—that just melt me. And when he tilts his head and starts working me like I’m his personal snack machine? I laugh, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. His mom swears he gets away with everything when I’m around, and she’s not wrong. But isn’t that part of being a grandparent in any form? We spoil with love because we understand time doesn’t wait.
I know Brendan won’t be here as long as I’ve lived. That truth stays tucked in the back of my heart. But while he is here, I’ll keep kissing that face, rubbing his belly, and slipping him treats when he’s earned them—and sometimes when he just looks too darn cute. Loving Brendan is a daily devotion. And it brings me joy that words almost can’t capture. But I try. Because every good boy deserves his story told.
Inside the mind of cree 