Margaret Brennan
Bio
I am a 76 year old grandmother who loves to write, fish, and grab my camera to capture the beautiful scenery I see around me.
My husband and I found our paradise in Punta Gorda Florida where the weather always keeps us guessing.
Stories (335/0)
The Walker Derby
When my son, Ken reached his 17th birthday, we were sitting in the living room one summer Saturday afternoon when I noticed my son didn’t look right. He was pale, and his lips had a blueish tinge. Early the next Monday morning, I called work and explained my need for the day off. I immediately called my doctor and he suggested I take him to the clinic where blood work could be done immediately. My son was anemic. He was placed on an iron supplement and a change of diet. The wait began for his health to return. But what made him anemic in the first place was still undetermined or rather, explained as a poor teenage diet.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Families
WAY BACK WHEN
“Oh, Mom,” Maggie sighed as she leaned against the door she closed gently. “I love him. He’s the greatest.” Mary Harris heard this more times than she remembered as she gave her daughter a knowing smile. “I know, honey. But you said the same thing last week about, what was his name anyway?” She hesitated to remind her sixteen-year-old daughter that she started this ritual the day she reached her thirteenth birthday.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
THE LAST BALLGAME
“That was the best game we’ve ever had!” my brother, Frank said as he draped his arm around my shoulders. He couldn’t have been any happier and I couldn’t have agreed more as I stood on my toes, lifted my head, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. After taking off my glove and wedging it under my left arm, I rubbed the palms of my hands on the front of my pants to dry off the dampness the leather produced. Together, we walked off the field remembering how it all began.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Families
My Time on a Ventilator
You groggily awaken in the OR's recovery room. Your surgery has ended so you close your eyes for a peaceful recovery. Without warning, you feel as though you’re being propelled through a wind tunnel and somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone shout, “Hurry, she’s not breathing.” Someone else shouts: “Her heart stopped.”
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Longevity
A Mother's Worry Never Ends
Like every mother, I fall into that old cliché: “A mother’s worry never ends.” I can’t even pretend that my worries are worse or more exaggerated than others. However, we also know that the worries of mothers differ according to their own personal circumstances. Mine are not unique but I thought I’d share them, nonetheless.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Families
The Day The Stars Fell
Emmie grew up listening to tales about the television stars her dad met through his job as a carpenter and stagehand. She eagerly waited for her dad to come home from work each night to fill her in on happenings behind the camera. How she longed to meet some of those famous people. Just meeting one would make me happy, she thought as she’d drift off to sleep each night.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Humans