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 (340/0)
THE ZOOKEEPER
THE ZOOKEEPER … don’t growl at me … George was always a fun kind of guy. At least once you managed to pull him away from his computer. In addition to his fulltime job, he had two main hobbies: writing and photography. Very often, he’d be out taking pictures, then he’d go home and write about them.
By Margaret Brennan4 days ago in Fiction
WHERE ARE WE
WHERE ARE WE … did I take a wrong turn … The street was not familiar. Oh heck! Forget the street! The town looked foreign to me. We’d only been gone two days. We were so sure we took the correct route, and yet, what we saw was nothing like what we remembered. Where were the lush palm trees? The tall and fragrant cedar trees? The beautiful magnolias? The once-beautiful green grass was now littered with all sorts of debris. There were no street signs to indicate where we were.
By Margaret Brennan8 days ago in Journal
WHERE'S THE RAMP?
WHERE’S THE RAMP … that’s some high tide … May people, especially those living in Florida, love to boat. Whether powered by wind (sailboat) or engine, there seems to be something especially enjoyable about being on the water. I include myself in that category.
By Margaret Brennan9 days ago in Earth
LAUGHING ON THE OUTSIDE
LAUGHING ON THE OUTSIDE … however, on the inside … I was born at a time when parents thought it best to keep a tight reign on their daughters. Most of the girls in my neighborhood were older than I was and were allowed more freedom. At my young age of ten years, I never thought much about it. If one of the girls had a party, I was only allowed to attend if the girl lived on my street – and I had to be home by ten o’clock. After a while, I was no longer invited to these parties.
By Margaret Brennan12 days ago in Humans
THE POWER OF LOVE
THE POWER OF LOVE … many years ago … I was a young bride. Yet, at eighteen, walking down the aisle to join hands with my soon-to-be husband, I thought I couldn’t be any happier. The following year, fourteen months after our first anniversary, I gave birth to my first son. If grinning could actually crack a face, mine would have split in two.
By Margaret Brennan13 days ago in Confessions
I AM A PENCIL
I AM A PENCIL … or at least this week, I am … ** // ** At the insistence and encouragement of my mother and grandmother, as soon as I could print, I’d be writing down little sentences. They often said I had a vivid imagination and shouldn’t let it go to waste. Unfortunately, through the years and several relocations, those little pieces of paper were lost. After all, I was only a kid. Back then, no one ever thought to keep anything like that. We lived in a small apartment and didn’t have room for much else but the family.
By Margaret Brennan13 days ago in Confessions
- Top Story - April 2024