Tag Archives: # MRJones

Justice: Better Late Than Never for Irene Garza

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I have an eighty-four year-old friend who has grieved the murder of his childhood friend for  fifty-seven years. Until Friday, December 8, 2017, justice was on hold. A jury in Hidalgo County, Texas found her murderer guilty and sentenced him to fifty-seven years in prison. The man is now a frail 85 year-old man, so it is a life sentence. This is appropriate because, he lived his life after taking hers in a heinous way.

Irene Garza was a twenty-five year-old school teacher who had challenged the racial barriers in the South Texas community in the late 1950’s and won the beauty contest, earning her the title “beauty queen.” According to my friend, she was so much more than that. He says that her personality was the most beautiful thing about her. I can see the pain he feels whenever he speaks of her. He says he spoke to her on the phone while he was in town a few days before her murder. He had to return a few days later for her funeral.

The man who killed her was a Catholic priest. She went to the church to go to confession on April 16,1960 and was never seen alive again. Her badly beaten body was found a few days later in an irrigation ditch. The autopsy showed she had been raped and smothered as well as beaten. The murderer had scratches on his face and his slide viewer was found by her body. He was always a “person of interest” in the case. In spite of his having been fined for a similar assault that the woman survived, officials decided to do nothing at the time.

Now, as Prosecutor Michael Garza (no relation to the deceased) said, “I can say this: Pigs are flying, and Irene is resting.” Justice had her day before it was too late for the man responsible to see it. May the cold arms of Justice give him no comfort. May Irene’s family and friends find what comfort there is in knowing that, however late, Justice was served.

Weeds or Wonderland

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My backyard is a challenge for me in that it is a semi-tropical jungle back there. Over the years, I have dealt with over growths of all sorts of plants. My most hated is the hybrid  blue morning glory vine that tries to smother everything.   I tear it out by the truckload only to see it growing through the grass to strangle yet another plant. Seed companies sell the seeds as annuals. They are…in the Arctic Circle and the Dakotas where the roots freeze in winter. Here in Southeast Texas, they are a perennial pestilence, killing even the small wild morning glories I love.

Beyond that, I have made peace with another wild flower, the common lantana that blooms to provide nectar and pollen to bees and butterflies. The lantanas are more easily contained than the vines and provide food for the Mockingbirds. The mockers relish the black berries that follow the lovely pink and yellow flowers. The bushes provide privacy from the parking lot next door. 

Other plants grow where they want at such a rate that I cannot keep them cut back or ripped out. Pondering the need to tear out a patch of plants rife with seed, I noticed my loud bird neighbors, the Mockers, bobbing about in the bushes, gobbling the tiny berries. Hmmm… Weeds or food for the birds? That is the question. Right now, they are food. Next week they may be piled out front for the City to haul away to the municipal composting grounds.

In this jungle there are lions, leopards, panthers, and tigers who lounge in the yard chairs and occasionally pounce at birds and lizards. I try to manage this crop too, but they are wily creatures who wriggle their way into the fabric of life at my place and bloom among the weeds and wonders.

 

I Stopped at the Cemetery on the Way to the Ferry

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Another trip along the coast. This time, I stopped in Dickinson, Texas to visit a friend from nursing school. She has a lovely bit of the swamp that fools the senses into believing one is well away from the throngs of civilization. Nestled along the banks of a gully, the house is shielded from the surrounding neighborhood by rampant dense growth of new and old forest. As pleasant as hanging out there was, I had to get on down the road home to feed my clowder of cats.

By chance, and my innate GPS, I found State Highway 3 and headed South toward Galveston. The road took me through Texas City, to League City. Along the way, I enjoyed the light traffic and out-in-the-country feel of the area I passed through. Neighborhoods occasionally bordered the highway, and light industrial businesses popped up just off the road in places. Flowers bloomed all along the way even in those areas disturbed by the presence of humans.

The terrain grew lower and swampier just as I came upon I45 into Galveston. A short drive later, and I was crossing the sparkling waters of Galveston Bay under a flawless blue dome of sky. I marveled at the feeling I have when at abject sea level. I love the feeling of being at the point where the earth goes from aqueous to gasseous. A touch down on Broadway, and I cruised until I came the Old Cemetery. At this time of the year, it is awash in wildflowers. I had to stop.

I pulled into the cemetery on the street that runs through it and parked. Thanks to the camera in my phone, I got photos.

In person, the brilliant yellow flowers almost overwhelm the eye. I took close ups of some growing in seams of the sidewalk..

I got back on the road and drove straight onto the ferry. As luck would have it, It was the Robert C. Lanier again. I tried to get a photo of the name, but I was blinded by the sunlight and had to guess what was on my screen. I did get a nice shot of a pigeon and a grackle riding across from island to peninsula as well a bit blurry shot of the seagulls following the stern.

With Galveston in the rear view mirror, I cruised up Bolivar and once again saw a flock of roseate spoonbills working a tidal ditch. Their bright pink bodies above the water on their long legs resembled tropical flowers as they filtered the mud for crustaceans.

No time to stop for photos. I felt the pull of home and my cats, so I followed the road until it led into my driveway. Happy cats greeted me, eager for a pet and a cuddle.

Spring Sprang in February

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We had a three day winter back in January. The temperatures dropped below freezing just long enough to nip back the accursed morning glory vines that try to smother everything. Now it is the end of February and I wear shorts, go barefoot, and run the fans. Everything is blooming. Redbud flowers dapple my car, bright red quince draw the bees, the Formosa azaleas work to bloom over the entire bushes, paper white narcissus send out their heavy scent, and shy violets are not so shy. To add to the beauty are the pats of butter fluttering by in the guise of Sulfur butterflies. Pipevine swallowtails dive and flutter, showing off their velvet black wings decorated with gem-like dots of blue and gold. Even an early Gulf Fritillary showed up and made me think of the Monarchs who will drift through later. Not bad for mid winter.

clump of paper whitesazaleaviolets-in-a-potquince-close-wide-shot

Slant Well Launches!

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Slant Well is hot off the e-press at Smashwords. This is my second novel to be published. It is the first I have self-published. A Texas tall tale set in my hometown and surrounding swamps, it is non-stop action. Magic, murder, and mayhem with a dollop of sex and love.

Here is its first review:

SlantWell_200x300_dpi72From the first page, you are riveted.  You’re drawn into a “magical” world of  murder, mystery, and a very special touch of “magical” love.   MR brings each character to life in such a way that their various personalities will enchant you, instantly.  A few of the characters you’re going to love from the moment you open the book but there are a few, you’re going to love to hate as each character plays their role perfectly throughout the story.

Who knew oil rigging could be so troublesome?  Who knew one little woman could cause so much trouble and turn a hardcore PI so soft, and  hard, almost simultaneously?  This book will captivate you with Texas oilmen, PI’s, Russian mobsters, eagles, hawks, dragons, magic and love.  I can’t recommend this book enough.  My review couldn’t possibly do it justice.  You have to read it to believe that all the above-mentioned things work so exceptionally well together.

Read it now and thank me later,

Rose M. Brate, author of: Broken Promises, A Promise Kept, and My Promise to You.

 

SLANT WELL Launches on Full Moon

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Slant Well cardA tale of murder, magic and mayhem in the oil fields of Southeast Texas, Slant Well combines a quest for justice and revenge with characters you’ll love and love to hate. An oil well explodes, shapes shift, a dragon is unleashed, and a goddess finds love.

 

Available on Smashwords and other fine ebook sellers.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/650695

 

Ready, Set, Publish

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I am going on a new adventure. The formatting is done. Soon, I will publish my novel, Slant Well, on Smashwords. I am as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. The adrenaline is exquisite. I haven’t felt this since the days of running bed races to get patients to the ICU to save their lives.

Slant Well is the result of my taking some Geology classes, having a wicked streak, and seeing the sign pointing out Big Hill Federal Oil Reserve while I traveled the roads on my Hospice rounds. The story started in my mind and grew to the point I had to write it or have my head explode. A long time and a lot of work later it is going to press, e press as it it now.

This is the blurb for the back of the book… P.I. and occasional hit man, Allyn Jones takes a job in Texas oil country. There, he faces the greatest challenge of his life…a woman. He must survive the deadly forces she commands to form a bond with her. Together, they unleash ancient magic against the murderous would-be oil thieves who sent him to kill her. Shapes shift, an oil well explodes, and a dragon is unleashed.

My friends who put up with me writing this Texas Tall Tale are cheering me on. My fellow authors are also supportive of this endeavor. Two of them are hands on. Ruth de Jauregui is coaching me on the publication process. Rose M. Brate read and reviewed. Here is the return email she sent:

SlantWell Review

First, let me say thank you so much MR for allowing me the pleasure of reading, “Slant Well”.  It was intriguing, spellbinding, well-written, and impossible to put down.  It has been a very long time since I’ve found a book that’s held my interest like this book did.  I loved it and I look forward to a “Slant Well 2”!  Winkie face….

From the first page, you are riveted.  You’re drawn into a “magical” world of  murder, mystery, and a very special touch of “magical” love.   MR brings each character to life in such a way that their various personalities will enchant you, instantly.  A few of the characters you’re going to love from the moment you open the book but there are a few, you’re going to love to hate as each character plays their role perfectly throughout the story.

Who knew oil rigging could be so troublesome?  Who knew one little woman could cause so much trouble and turn a hardcore PI so soft, and  hard, almost simultaneously?  This book will captivate you with Texas oilmen, PI’s, Russian mobsters, eagles, hawks, dragons, magic and love.  I can’t recommend this book enough.  My review couldn’t possibly do it justice.  You have to read it to believe that all the above-mentioned things work so exceptionally well together.

Look for this book online soon, read it, and you can thank me later!

Rose M. Brate

Another shout out to amazing cover artist, Dawne Dominique of DusktillDawn Productions for this cover that covers the story so well.

SlantWell_200x300_dpi72

 

Indignant Indian

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Some of my ancestors were here before the Europeans arrived. I’m one of those Americans who say, “I’m part Indian.” If I’m being horribly politically correct, I’m part Native American. Three tribes that I know of. As such, I found it particularly offensive when, this morning, I opened the newspaper. Yes, I still get a print copy. On the page with the puzzles I found the Word Sleuth puzzle with a list of Native American Treaties to be found in the scrambled letters. This is offensive to me because none of the treaties were of the Native Peoples making. All were penned by White Men. All were broken by White Men.

My Cherokee Choctaw great-grandmother hated Oklahoma and taught her children to hate it also. Why? Because her people were forced from the lands they peacefully inhabited for thousands of years into the wasteland that whites didn’t want, Oklahoma. The treaty said the Natives could live there in peace.Then, when white men decided they wanted the wasteland, they broke the treaty and forced the Natives onto reservations and starved them. In a twist of irony, she married a white man to escape that hell. Another woman made a similar choice more than a hundred years before. She married a Frenchman and left her people in Illinois to move to Louisiana. I know much less about her.

Broken treaties are the legacy of my European ancestors. Here is the list that was presented for my amusement this morning: Albany, Arakira, Chicago, Cusseta, Detroit, Fort Adams, Fort Clark, Fort Pitt, Hopewell, Lapwai, Mandan, New York, Saginaw, St. Mary’s, and Tellico. This is a short list of the broken treaties. There are many more. My kinfolk are still treated like outsiders in this land. They never claimed ownership, only stewardship during their time on the land. I am indignant that their lands were taken. I am indignant that they were slaughtered because they were in the way of the invading horde of white skinned devils. I am indignant that the treaties were broken. I am indignant that that list of treaties was used for amusement.

I am Walks Alone. My skin is white because she made a choice to leave the horrors of broken treaties and starvation. I am Walks Alone and I remember the women who made that choice.

Juneteenth

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June 19,1865, Galveston, Texas. News of the Emancipation Proclamation was delivered by General Gordon Granger. “All slaves are free,” he declared more than two years after the law was passed. From there the news spread as fast (or as slow) as humans and horses could carry it. One hundred fifty-one years have passed since that day. As a small child, I remember my father telling me about Juneteenth, the day black people celebrated their freedom. This was before the civil rights movement, before it was safe for people of color to throw big celebrations. They celebrated anyway and the celebrations grew to be known nationwide. Now we all celebrate the ending of the lawful holding of a human as property. Let us continue to grow in tolerance and love for all humans. Happy Juneteenth!!!!

The Pink Mylar Balloon

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On Valentine’s Day, I went to one of the lovely parks in my city with friends. I watched the children play on the unseasonably warm windy day, keeping a sharp eye on the two children with us. As the afternoon progressed, I spotted a pink heart-shaped Mylar balloon as it got away from the child playing with it. It rose in the sky, a pale pink heart against the white clouds and blue sky, triggering something within me: the need to write about it. At that time, I could not find the words but the thought stayed in the background of my mind. A challenge to write a story sixteen words long also stayed with me.

Last night, long past the deadline for the story, it came to me as I lay trying to shut down the day’s thoughts and go to sleep. I got up and wrote it down, because I knew it would be gone in the morning. Satisfied that I took care of two things in one short story, I went back to bed and slept, happy with the knowledge that I could again write a story.

Here it is, inspired by that sight:

The Pink Mylar Balloon

The pale pink heart-shaped balloon escaped my hand. It floated away, disappearing like my love.

pastel-pink-heart-foil-balloon-2628-p