“And Let Us Win, Lord”

The other day hangin’ with the Retired Housewives of Baytown (RHOB), we were heading East for a day of “relaxation” ching ching style. $$. RHOB consists of my mama, Aunt Kat, Sue Ella and Ms. MJ- all housewives living their best retired lives. The weather for the last week had been full of rain, a sprinkle of sun then back to rain so we expected a bit of it all. What we didn’t expect, however, was panic, lightening, side-eyes from the passenger sides and the back-seat riders calling on Jesus. We loaded up the whip, Momz led us in a quick prayer and we headed down I-10. “And let us win, Lord!”, Sue Ella concluded with. She understood the assignment.

White-puffed clouds and the morning sunlight shined through the sunroof as we cruised. This weather was a much-needed break from all the heavy rain we’d been having. About 45 minutes in we were coming into a few dark skies and rain ahead. Light sprinkles turned into heavy rain and windshield wipers dancing back and forth making a squeaching sound. We knew it was coming but didn’t expect it so go from 2 to 10 so quickly. Out of nowhere the driver blurts out, “I CAN’T SEE!”. The passenger gave a slow side-eye, “the hell you mean you can’t see?”.

“I can’t seeeee” the driver said in a drawn out effect. Should we turn around and go back home?” as she looks at the passenger.

“No we aint’ going home. How the hell you pray and ask God to get us there safely then get worried when he come. You ain’t givin’ him a chance to work.” Turn your defroster on, that’s what I do” Aunt Kat said from the passenger seat. “And watch this 18-wheeler over here to my right.”

Sue Ella and I looked nervously ahead from the back seat. Eyes glued from left to right between the 2 while silently praying for the storm to past and lowkey wondering if now is a good time to speak. The windshield wipers and gospel tunes from the radio seemed to be the only ones allowed to speak. Moments of silence passed as we drove another few miles of stormy rains. We hit a few puddles and passed 2 cars parked to the right with their emergency lights on. I looked to my right, Sue Ella’s eyes were glued at the storm ahead. In a calm tone, she gave the driver a few instructions as we slowly trucked through the last of the rain.

The wind-shield wipers slowed down as the rain decreased, the sun was shining again! We pulled in for a quick breakfast stop and a chance to breathe. Felt like we all needed a cig for a minute after going through that monsoon, but thankfully we made it safety and securely. I thought to myself, God reminds us in the smallest moments what trusting him looks like. Why we pray, meditate and stay in our spiritual bag. What going through our own storms look like, how we react, what it looks like to have faith at a time we can’t see our way to the end of the tunnel.

Outside of 9-5’ing, my joy and therapy through writing continues. And the book is coming along, with a few new added short stories. I’m finalizing a piece titled, ‘Women Through My Rearview’ highlighting the women in my village circle in a way I’d never done before. Writing it made me ask myself if I’ve shown enough appreciation to those women verbally, and the answer is no. Putting into a few pages the amazing-ness how watching them has helped shape me into the lady I am today. I’ll likely change the title 17 more times, but so far ‘Women In My Rearview’ is beautifully written! I shared it with my therapist last week, Ms. Lady was speechless!.. in a good way speechless. To see her reaction and hear her specific feedback as someone who’s never read any of my previous pieces was heartwarming. My pen game has grown since this time last year, and continues. It’s a relief finding your purpose and so exciting! Here’s a snippet:

Women In My Rearview

“From my point of view, a woman is a female over the age of 40. Any woman that’s past her 30’s and beyond the “lady” years but not quite at the elderly phase. My visual of women started from childhood as the leading ladies were my mama, Big Mama and 2 God-Mama’s. They all had unique upbringings but were your everyday women: Godly, held down a job, could cook a meal from scratch, cleaned and knew how to make a house a home. 3/4 had husbands but all the kids knew the women ran the house. If mama is happy, everybody in the house is happy! But if mama having a bad day or somebody got on her left nerve, proceed with caution! Then there is my biological mother and Grandmother, my 2 sisters, Aunt’s from both sides of the family, family friends and church members. Whether a single woman, married or widowed, I viewed women as being natural-born nurturers as one day I too would follow in their footsteps. I learned with my eyes, ears and a pen. I was a proud blessing to the family as they were to me. Watching them through the years showed me what togetherness looks like, untouchable love, perfect imperfections and most importantly, the power of a praying woman.” ….. to be continued.

As I was checking my email the other day, Facebook reminded me of upcoming birthday’s and it just so happened to be my Aunt Kat’s birthday. She’s straight-forward in a side-eye, loving, cussing Christian kinda way. A petty favorite that will read you DOWN and still keep you in her prayers. She’s truly one of a kind. Anywho, one of the things I appreciate about her is always remaining true to herself. The black lip liner and Vaseline around her lips is a classic. And lips were to perfection every time!

One Sunday evening we were leaving a pool tournament then I was heading back to the parentals before driving back to Nacogdoches the following morning. My guy at the time walked us to the car and he and I exchanged goodbyes as he proceeded to close the door. Aunt Kat gave us that look like, the hell you AIN’T! “He need to be giving you gas money hell” she said. You driving down here, gas ain’t cheap shit.” Without second thought, he opened his wallet and handed me a few bills. Her tone didn’t too much change but I received a learned lesson in money, playing your part and maintaining a stash of your own.

We all want to win!

Happy Sunday,

Corrita

Take the Money Anna Mae!

The weather has been so gorgeous as of late! Sunday’s like this seemingly always remind me of the routine I had years ago when I lived in Humble- church in the a.m., Big Mama’s for lunch, nap, change into a pair of jeans and head to the club for our pool tourneys. My love for shooting pool started in High School and grew through the years as I listened & took notes from the old heads as they gave me pointers on the art & grit of the game. Before I knew it, I was keeping up with the big boys & had the confidence to play outsiders $20/ball 🎱

Around that time, I met a guy named “Tee”. Military vet, hard exterior, soft interior, cool dude & great conversationalist. We linked up for dinner one night then afterwards headed to shoot some pool at a spot off 1960. When we arrived they had a Friday night tourney going so the place was packed & majority of the tables were reserved but luckily we were able to snag one. As the waitress made her way through the crowd with the rack of balls Tee said he hadn’t played in a while. I suggested we start with a free warm-up game then play best out of 3 at $20/game, winner takes all ($60). He laughed, but agreed, so it was game on!

Of the 3 games I won 2, declaring me the winner. I walked around the table to shake his hand & tell him good game but it wasn’t until I held out my hand for my coins that I realized a devil demon was forming. “Oh you was for real?”, he said. I looked at him with a confused face and a head nod, “uhh yeah.” “Man this some bullsh*t, I thought you were joking. Ion bet money like that. I don’t even have cash on me.” My mouth said nothing in those few seconds but my face and lips gave a “you full of sh*t” look. 😏 “So you were serious?”, he asked. “Yes, and there’s an ATM machine behind you near the entrance.” I leaned onto the table holding my lil wooden pool stick, in case he tried it, while never letting my eyes leave his.

I sensed anger began to form as he paced through the tables over to the ATM. I followed behind at a slight distance, pool stick in hand & wristlet in the other, as he walked up to the machine & inserted his card. The sound from the machine let me know money was being withdrawn but my gut told me this date was over. He turned around to spot me standing nearby, reached for the cash and unexpectedly threw the $20’s in the air and walked out. Story to be continued…

I learned a lesson this day and what I took as fun, Tee didn’t. Betting ain’t for the weak, especially if you’re a sore loser. If that’s the case, stick to the penny machine or game apps on the phone. Whether I agreed or disagreed with Tee’s actions, I learned money and ego is one way to ruin any type of friendship or relationship if it’s not clearly communicated or understood. Cause sh*t gets real when money on the table or issa billion dollars on the elevator.. 💰😅

Happy Sunday y’all!
Corrita 💛

A Seat at the Table

Music is one of the few things that can liven up a living room, bring a crowd to the dance floor and set the mood for any event. Some may have never stepped foot in a juke joint but if the DJ played ‘Hole in the Wall’ by Mel Waiters or ‘Let’s Stay Together’ by Al Green, I’m sure one would easily catch the beat with a head bob, finger snap or foot tap. When I would visit the parentals, Baytown’s own Rhythm and Blues singer, Buddy Ace, stayed in heavy rotation on the speakers. Whether we were lounging at the house, heading to the corner store or needing a shoulder to cry on, his tunes took us on a journey of memories and good times. As much as music has expanded in today’s times, sometimes we can’t help but go back to those deep-rooted songs that touches the soul every now and again. It’s like music has a special key to your innermost feels and each time a song or artist plays, you rekindle those special memories and you’re reminded of its significance each time the notes are hummed or piano keys are played. In the same manner, there are special people who enter our lives leaving their special mark on us forever and a day. You think of the memories, “the good ‘ol days”, life’s lessons, the good times.

My daddy transitioned 12/2/2020 and the weeks after I questioned how to make sense of it all. I felt sad, anxious, hurt and angry all in one. Places we had yet to go and photographic moments that a father/daughter will no longer get to share. 2 months later and I’m still wrapping my head around it all while slowly coming to the realization that my daddy is really gone. My mama had the idea of taking a few shelves and creating a shrine, a set-up with a collection of memories. I thought, what a great idea! I decided to turn one of my glass end tables in the living room to his own shrine, featuring sympathy cards, the piece I wrote and shared at his service titled, ‘Daddy Knows Best’, a candle with his picture, a bundle of yellow flowers to aid in sunshine and a 5×7 picture showcasing his classic stature, style and smile. Some days I’ll take a seat nearby just to gaze, write and reflect. And when the tears fall, I simply let them flow. I miss him daily. I step outside the box and imagine how a wife feels through this process, children/grands having to fill in other roles, friends who were closer than a brother, loved ones who miss his shit talking and just his presence. Through this journey I’ve leaned on friends even more and take it one day at a time. Some days are up, other days are blah but having that support system makes it easier. You’re reminded to remain grateful for the experiences, life lessons, recipes and photos to share a laugh or two.

One day I was at the table eating and burst into laughter as I was reminded how every now and again I’d receive a random phone call from him about what letter came in the mail with my name on it and could he open it. “Uhh, no!” I would think to myself, “the nosey nerve of him!” Or the times he’d visit my many apartments and as soon as he walked in the door he’d start looking in closets or head straight to the kitchen just to leave with a plate of food or snacks from the pantry. The amount of preparation he put into seasoning a slab of ribs (or anything he did) and the little things to take care of home were notable. The rude awakening of knowing life can be here one day, gone the next and no one is exempt. 2020 was on its last leg and tougher times were ahead so one of my goals for 2021 was to brush up on my craft of writing and storytelling and preparing for my 1st book release! *screams* No title yet, though.

After being off work for about 1½ months, the transition back became a silent struggle trying to find the balance while keeping myself afloat. Shortly after, life came knocking again and exactly 2 months after my daddy’s passing, my God-daddy transitioned on 2/2/2021. The amount of tears that poured my cheeks between the 2 months left me in a daze. Growing up from baby steps to lady steps, my parents and God-parents have always been neighbors and it’s been a beautiful blessing to watch their friendship blossom over the years. My daddy and God-daddy were both Virgo men, they were different yet so much alike: intelligent, hardworking, reliable and honest with a nosey sense of humor. The women, my mama and God-mama, were nicknamed Laverne and Shirley resembled after the 1970’s comedic sitcom. If one called, the other came and they stuck together. Overtime we all became family and my God-parents became part of my village. If I had gotten in trouble at school or did something I shouldn’t have, I knew an hour-long lecture was coming from my God-parents about what I did, why I did it and how that decision could impact the next. Some days I was over all that talking but I knew I couldn’t avoid the discussion and taking a seat at the table. After all, they lived across the street and never hesitated to *knock knock knock*, walk right in to borrow some rice or sugar, squeeze a laugh in with the parentals then head back across the street.

During the summer months before I started freshman year of high school, I had to decide between staying in band or playing sports. I played the clarinet throughout Jr. High, learned to read sheet music, made the Honors Band and participated in a few school competitions so it was a no-brainer to continue my craft in high school. On the 1st day of band practice, all the incoming and returning band members had to meet in the grass in front the school. The weather was in the high 90’s and we were there to practice songs and learn step formations. I’ve always been chocolate so it wasn’t hard to know that I melt in the heat. 😏 After a few hours, I refused to march up and down the field everyday sweating while still having to breathe the notes out my clarinet, memorize songs, take 2 steps up and 3 steps to the right. My Lord, I was an hour in and was over it! My little clarinet didn’t compare to the bass drums or leather straps the percussion team had to wear but I was hot and they wouldn’t be getting another day out of me because I had quit!

Word didn’t take long to spread in my family and before I knew it, I was getting called across the street to my God-parents’ house to take a seat at their table and get lectured. In my 14-year old mind, I didn’t see the big deal: quit something you don’t like and move on until you find what you do like. Simple. My decision was made and I wasn’t going back to march on nobody’s hot drum line. Well, I had to endure the lecture on giving band a fair chance, possibly regretting my decision later, what this experience teaches me about pushing through the challenges of life, etc., etc. My decision was still made and by this point my hand was scrunched up on my face, neck tilted in pain and was on my way to sleep but I continued to listen. My God-daddy always listened first and gave his final disposition last. He didn’t say many words but he spoke volumes in the words he chose. Whenever he didn’t agree with my decision he never shied away from letting me know why but always said the decision is ultimately mine. I later joined the volleyball and track and field teams and was glad to receive the same amount of support from the side lines.

I was asked to speak at my God-daddy’s service and wrote a piece titled, ‘A Seat at the Table’. When you sit at a table, a certain level of organization and structure takes place. No specific type of table but when you think of any table, it’s a place everyone gathers for a common purpose of eating dinner, playing dominoes, working on a project or having a business meeting. In the piece I shared stories of events that would take place when I visited my God-parent’s home and the times we gathered at the table. Some days I’d pop in, notebook in hand, for a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, a piece of toast with a few slaps of jelly and a glass of milk. Other days we’d eat whatever sugar-free candy that was on the table and talk about school, work, my love life or what the Houston Texans did that week. It was an honor to pay tribute to him and share what A Seat at the Table meant to me then and how those teachings still apply today.

He said once, it’s not what you say but how you say it and explained certain discussions are hard to hear because it’s the truth and we don’t always like to listen. He explained, when you love somebody, whether a spouse or friend, you tell them the truth anyway and let it come from a place of love. They may not receive it the first time around but if it’s coming from a genuine place, they’ll come back around.

Happy Black History Month,

Corrita