Here’s who I am…

Although I attended four high schools: Ferndale, Michigan—seven months, Palo Alto, California—four months; Birmingham Michigan—two years; and San Mateo, California—three months, I’m a high school drop out.

Before I was twenty-four, I had moved twenty-one times. Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s all food for the laptop.

I’ve had two husbands—both named John (which prevents confusion). The first one was nice, the second one’s a keeper. I have a daughter, a son, two stepdaughters, six grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, and two sons-in-law.

In grade school I wanted to be an architect, a justification for chopping up cardboard boxes. In high school I wanted to be an illustrator, or a writer, or a painter, or a wife and mom.

After I was a wife and mom, I also wanted to be smart, so I took night classes and spent several hundred credit hours at Oakland Community College, Wayne State University and The College For Creative Studies. I was good at writing and good at art (my teachers said so). I wrote newspaper articles and a children’s book that were published. And two novels and ten children’s books that weren’t.

Once I had a job as an editor, but I wanted to be in the art department, so I became a graphic designer. I did that for a long time—years and years and years (decades). I loved the work and handled the stress. Then I got breast cancer, decided life might be short, and started painting full time. There were art galleries, and art shows, and art fairs. When I got tired of doing that, I went back to writing. This time around: two novels and a memoir, so far.

And that’s what I’m doing now. For two weeks in the summer I write in an old trailer at John’s family farm in Wisconsin. The rest of the time I write in Michigan, where I can see the Detroit Zoo water tower from my window.

Lynn Arbor—Writer

Latest Post

Forty Winks

So, what if you go to bed at night hoping/planning on winking four hundred times (forty winks is just a nap) but you only wink two hundred times, or terrible and very distressing—you only get forty winks here and there throughout the night? You don’t die, but they say winks are good for your brain health. So, what does your brain do when the winks are evading you?

Thinking’s not good. If you’re having a thought the winks will wait till the thoughts finished before dozing you off…especially wink blocking questions, like the following:

Do birds have REM sleep? Do they dream? And how would you know? You could catch a bird and wait till it falls asleep, then watch its eyelids and see if there’s movement under them. Do birds even have eyelids?

Cats get forty winks all the time...duh, "Cat Naps."

Dogs dream. Teddy (a black and white Springer) had dreams of running. Lying on his side (getting forty winks) his legs would be escaping to some wild dog tundra.

Jim and Sue with Teddy....a long time ago.

Me with Teddy...also a long time ago

If you’re lying awake thinking, you’re thinking in words. But what if you didn’t have language, would you be awake with video clips in your head— pictures floating around in your synapses, bumping into each other?

If you were blind from birth would you have any pictures, or would it just be blackness?

Don't adjust your screen...it's just black.

Black Friday’s coming tomorrow. What to buy everyone? And then Christmas, did the family like the silly games we played last year? What other games could we play? 

Kristen (granddaughter) is coming home for Christmas. Should I make paella? Of course, I can’t match the paella she's be having in Madrid. But should I try? 

Making Paella last summer at the farm with John, Alison, Charlie, Katie, and Walt.

Maybe I'll just get the recipe from Alison

Ryan (grandson) loves deviled eggs, so for sure I’ll make them. But in the middle of the night, I wonder: do I usually mash the yokes with a fork, or mix them with the blender? In the blender all the good eggy ingredients get stuck under the blender blades. Fork it!

And how come it feels like it should just be September, and November is almost over?

So many questions. So little sleep.

Today we’re going over the river and through the woods to my brother Tom’s for the feast. Do calories count on Thanksgiving?

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.
Gobble. Gobble.

If you have answers to any of the above questions, please comment. Maybe it’ll help me get some winks.


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