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 (347/0)
LISTEN AND WATCH
LISTEN AND WATCH **worry and wait** ////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ As Gloria stood in the doorway that connected their bedroom and kitchen, she heard the distinctive hissing sound of the nebulizer that her husband had insisted he no longer needed and thought, “Well, clearly, he finally realizes his inhaler isn’t enough.” She thought but didn’t say aloud.
By Margaret Brennan5 days ago in Longevity
OH! LOOK, SHE'S BLUSHING
OH! LOOK, SHE’S BLUSHING! “…am not!” I was only eight years old when we met, and he was nine. Our meeting was accidental but inevitable since we belonged to the same social club. It was a club organized for those whose ages ranged from eight to, well, whenever the teens decided to move on. It was known as the Sea Cadets whose adult founders (mostly retired US Navy sailors) thought it might be fun for children to learn about the Navy.
By Margaret Brennan7 days ago in Confessions
- Top Story - May 2024
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ELLEN MARIETop Story - May 2024
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ELLEN MARIE *** just had to know *** ++++++++++++ As Mike drove through the town he hadn’t seen in about twenty years, he wondered about those he’d left behind when he left for what he thought would be “greener pastures.” He wanted to make his mark on the world. Determination drove him and the little town of Meadowville wasn’t where he wanted to be.
By Margaret Brennan7 days ago in Fiction
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 Brennan12 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 Brennan16 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 Brennan17 days ago in Earth