When your name is Lynne, L-Y-N-N-E, you don't get to 60 years old without having corrected people your whole life long.
"Is that L-Y-N-N?" folks ask.
"No, it's got an E at the end of it. L-Y-N-N-E."
But folks get it wrong all the time. Lynne, or Lynn, is a name from the fifties. Most Lynns (and Lynnes) were born then. It's much rarer after that.
I almost never meet another Lynne, so when I do, it's an event, as it was when Lynne Berg buttonholed me at the AQS show in Syracuse last Saturday.
She squealed, and grabbed my arm as I walked by, then held up her name tag to explain why. I squealed right back and gave her a hug. She and her husband had a vendor booth, and they make and sell the most gorgeous
solid wood custom sewing and quilting cabinets I have ever seen. We chatted a while, and then had lunch together, where we talked football, of all things.
I had a great time looking at quilts in Syracuse, but meeting people like Lynne really made it a special trip.
