I actually knew Lynn Zynda for just over three years, but I’ve tried to live up to what I admired about her every year since. Lynn and her high school sweetheart, Dexter, were married and lived in a big, rambling, UNAIRCONDITIONED house right near Texas A&M. Lynn was the archivist at the Texas A&M Acquisitions and Gifts Department, where I worked every semester I was at Texas A&M. In my first memory of her, she had a hard-charging new boss who had called her at home the night before. Lynn, politely and very firmly, clarified for Suzanne (the new boss) that she worked very hard at work, and then left work, and she did not expect to be called. 

At the famous (in my mind) birthday party

I was really impressed by her boundaries, and resolved to get to know her better. Carol McGinty, my dearest library friend, was also Lynn’s friend, so she helped me. The more I knew, the more I loved. Lynn had three young children by the time I graduated, Henry, Ann and Mary. The children were dressed as close to unisex as humanly possible–lots of denim and white onesies, a theme I tried to recreate with my children. Lynn showed me the amazing (still in the package!) finds to be had at Goodwill. She loved time with her family, and gradually let me in — I was welcomed into their home, and a highlight for me in college was attending her children’s birthday parties. 

Ann, their middle daughter, was adored and beloved, and — a bit mysterious. She LOVED dresses (and they were scarce in their household—Lynn had no idea how Ann became so enamored of them, but she was. Then, for her birthday (3 or 4, I can’t remember), Ann came up with a request: Shark Barbie [it was in the Baywatch heyday, and it was actually Baywatch Barbie with a dolphin, but Ann called it what she called it]. Lynn was fiercely opposed to Barbies, and fiercely in love with Ann. The two sides of her warred, and she brought it up at the office. Carol and I were resolved: We’d buy Ann shark Barbie! I think Lynn was relieved, and a bit horrified. 

In addition to buying the despised/beloved Barbie, Carol (who had by then also become my roommate) and I went to one of those ‘we only carry smart toys’ children’s store and bought all manner of sharks made to teach children about the ocean. We went to the party, and as usual, Dexter and Lynn had created a welcoming, warm space. There was a lovely dinner, cake, and lots of muddy playing in the backyard. Another mutual friend, Florencia, was there, and as Lynn and Dexter took care of their three children, mingled with their guests, and reveled in the joys of the life they had chosen and so specifically created (‘do not call me at home. ever.’), I aimed to create something like that of my own, with or without shark Barbie.

Now, 20 years later, I have my own Henry, Ann and Mary (our models are named Oliver, Allyson and Eleanor) and they dress themselves however they prefer, just like Lynn’s kids. We’ve so far dodged the Barbie bullet, but when it comes, I know I’ll buy one with a smile, remembering Lynn’s Ann and her shark Barbie. 

Jana Sneller got me in college. She just … she got me. She cracked me up, she treated me kindly, she knew me and she remembered me. For my 21st birthday, she showed me what it means to be known.

Early in the day, after giving me strict instructions to ‘look nice,’ she picked me up. As you see in the accompanying photo, I had a really awesome hat on, because I always obeyed Jana and I thought the hat was adorable. She parked me in the passenger seat of her crappy, beloved car and started driving. Telling me absolutely nothing about her plans, we whiled away the hours in the car, gossiping and laughing.

When we arrived, it was to the wonderful city of Austin, her hometown and a town I’ve always loved but spent didn’t know well. Our first stop, she took me to the famous Mount Bonnell in downtown Austin and got me out of the car. We walked up the lovely path, until at the top, revealed by fog I SWEAR I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP — there was fog in Texas! — was Jana’s wonderful dad, Dave, and her two youngest brothers, Matt and Jeff (all pictured). They were there holding signs that said, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth!” with their new puppy. It felt … astonishing. That someone else’s family would love me enough to stand on a mountaintop with signs to celebrate my birthday. To wait for me on a mountaintop with signs — this was before cell phones!

The day had just begun. Jana next took me to Book People, a famous bookstore in Austin, and said I was permitted to look at books AS LONG AS I WANTED TO. Jana was … not a reader (I mean, she knew HOW to read, but … she preferred to work out). She sat in a chair and patiently waited as I examined poetry, fiction and more books that I could find in College Station for what seemed like hours. I don’t even remember what I bought — just the feeling, again, that someone who didn’t HAVE to love me by blood would choose to treat me so well.

And then we went to West Lynn cafe. I was a vegetarian at the time, and it was the finest vegetarian restaurant in Austin. She had made reservations, and we were there right on time. I remember I ordered enchiladas. I remember Jana insisted that we drink a glass of wine — I was turning 21, after all! — and I begged off, saying I hated wine. Jana was unmoved, and ordered them to bring us a glass of the sweetest wine they had, “so it tastes like apple juice,” I said. They complied, bringing us a sugary sweet Gewurztraminer.

I don’t remember the conversation–I’m sure it was similar to all of our conversations, since we were only friends while we were young and enthusiastic. Boyfriends, mutual friends, other people we knew, professors, and our future careers probably took up some of the time, and teasing each other and laughing at silly stories we knew or made up took up more.

Jana had an early class the next day, I think — while I stayed at her parents’ house other times, I think that night we drove back to College Station. I don’t remember the drive to Austin, but in my memory the drive back late at night, talking over the day with Jana, was a fizzy, delicious delight.

We grew apart, and haven’t talked in decades. I think of her often, but never more so than on my birthday, when I remember how precisely she knew me, and how amazing it felt to be known.