Margaret Brennan
Bio
I am a 77-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 (388/0)
The Lost Wind
Boys will be boys! Isn’t that the adage? Adage or not, it’s sometimes enough to drive a mother crazy. While we didn’t live in the part of the city occupied by tall skyscrapers or high-rise apartment buildings, our town was still considered to be within the city limits – meaning that our parks opened at seven in the morning and closed at dusk unless the city was holding a special community event.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
A Painting, A Photo, A Memory
You never know how things will turn out or how they might affect your life when they do. My husband was one of nine children. While growing up, they were a very close-knit group of siblings. Once marriage and children began taking each away from the group, the relationships became somewhat distant. Several moved to other states, some were too busy raising their own children. My husband, unlike the others was and still is not a telephone person. If someone called him, that would be fine, but he was not the kind to originate the call. Still, after all these years, he still is not. All too often, one sibling would call the rest and relay any news but often, just to keep us all in touch.
By Margaret Brennan3 years ago in Families
I'm Not Getting Paid Enough For This
Allow me to begin by saying I love my husband’s family. In my opinion, I love them just as much as he does. When my husband and I first started dating, his family treated me as though I were already one of them. My husband became a widower the year before we met. I’d been divorced for about fifteen years.
By Margaret Brennan3 years ago in Families
Together Again
Mom was only fifteen when she met my dad – to be more specific, when she first saw him. He was lying in the street, doubled over, and gasping for air, when she saw a crowd huddled over something. She walked over to see what the fuss was about and that’s when her eyes landed what she described as the most handsome boy she’d ever seen.
By Margaret Brennan3 years ago in Families
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 Brennan3 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 Brennan3 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 Brennan3 years ago in Families
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