Year’s end always brings a natural pause—a chance to take stock not just of the news we covered, but of the people behind it. Recently, I checked back in with several individuals featured in News & Schmooze in 2025, curious to see where their stories had carried them since we last spoke.

Last spring, I sat down with Annie Klein, who was preparing for her June bat mitzvah at Congregation B’nai Amoona. Annie never knew her mother, Lisa, who died of an aggressive gastric cancer just five months after Annie was born. Lisa’s story, shared in the Jewish Light in 2012, resonated deeply throughout the St. Louis Jewish community, inspiring friends, family and the rabbis of the former Shaare Zedek Synagogue to rally around her family in the hardest of times.

When we met in April, Annie was joined by her father, Thomas, and Angela Brenner—Lisa’s closest friend and Annie’s unofficial “godmother.” Lisa and Angela were first drawn together by their shared devotion to Harry Potter, a connection that has grown to include Annie as well.

Fittingly, Angela’s bat mitzvah gift to Annie was a trip to Disney and Universal Studios, complete with a visit to “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.” A generous Jewish Light reader who read Annie’s story in April also surprised her and Angela with tickets to “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” when it arrives at the Fox Theatre this spring. And, as any good summer should, Annie’s included time at her favorite place of all: Camp Sabra.

I learned to play mahjong this year, thanks to teacher extraordinaire Phyllis Siegel, whom I wrote about in May. For five consecutive Monday nights, a group of eager beginners gathered as Phyllis taught us how to bam, crack and dot — and, eventually, how to shout “mahjong” with confidence.

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While our group still meets weekly to play, Phyllis’ teaching calendar has exploded. “Mahjong is out of control,” she said when we caught up over the weekend. “Celebrities like Julia Roberts, Jenna Bush and Savannah [Guthrie] keep talking about it. They play, and everyone wants to learn.”

Currently, Phyllis is teaching mahjong or bridge most days of the week, from Clayton and Des Peres to Chesterfield and Affton. And for bridge players without New Year’s Eve plans, she’s got a pitch: a potluck at 6 p.m., cards at 6:30 and should you so desire, home in bed by 10 — all for $10 sanctioned play or $5 social play. The event takes place at the Bridge Center in Olivette.

“Where else can you go New Year’s Eve for $5 or $10?” she said chuckling. If you want to join, contact Phyllis at [email protected].

In June, I paid a visit to 96-year-old Shirley Mosinger and her dazzling miniature shoe collection—a labor of love she’s spent more than five decades building, now topping over 200 tiny pairs. Most of them live in an 8-foot-tall glass-front curio cabinet in her bedroom, a shrine to all things pint-sized. At the time of our meeting, Shirley promised she was done collecting, and apparently, everyone listened. “The children know I have enough to make me happy,” she said recently.

But her hobby clearly has some staying power. Shirley’s great-granddaughter, 9-year-old Mara, was so captivated by the cabinet of mini marvels that she’s started a collection of her own.

And the best part? Shirley is feeling pretty darn good and, if all goes according to plan, will be stepping into 97 in just a few weeks.

July found me downtown at Rosalita’s Cantina, where the Staenberg Not Your Parents Group had taken over the upstairs private dining room for its monthly dinner. The crowd: 20- and 30-somethings gathering for a free night out — dinner, drinks and, most importantly, good conversation.

The idea came from Liessa Alperin, director of congregational life and engagement at Congregation B’nai Amoona. After sitting down with eight Jewish young adults and asking how to help keep them in St. Louis, the answer was refreshingly simple: “What if you just take us out to dinner once in a while?”

B’nai Amoona Sisterhood stepped in to fund the early meals, but as attendance swelled to roughly 50 people a month, the tab grew, too. Enter philanthropist Michael Staenberg, who kicked in $10,800 to keep the dinners rolling. More recently, a QR code has been added that lets participants chip in as well, stretching the budget and the lifespan of the program.

And the momentum shows no sign of slowing. At least 15 more people have signed up since July, bringing the group’s total roster to 170 — proof that sometimes all it takes to build community is a good meal and a seat at the table.

July also introduced me to the “water nymphs,” a legendary league of nine St. Louis Jewish women who have basically turned early-morning water aerobics into an extreme sport… of friendship. For more than 20 summers, five mornings a week, the nymphs have been splashing, stretching and schmoozing (not necessarily in that order) in the backyard pool of Gloria Schonbrun—until Gloria and her husband Scott pulled the ultimate plot spoiler and moved to Denver this fall to be near their pregnant daughter. The other eight nymphs are still recovering from the shock.

What makes these women truly magical isn’t just their synchronized kicks—it’s the community they’ve forged, stroke by stroke, story by story. They celebrate it all: birthdays, surgeries, marriages, mammograms, new grandbabies, new restaurants—you name it, with equal enthusiasm.

When I checked in with water nymph member Nancy Weigley last week, she said they haven’t yet found a new pool home, though two of the nymphs are on the case. So, if you happen to know anyone willing to open their backyard to eight women who love a little water exercise—and an awful lot of chatter—let me know. I’ll happily pass along the invitation.

In August, I caught up with 12-year-old Drew Patchin, who had just released his debut children’s book, “Marshmallow Can Do Hard Things.” Drew has spent nearly half his life battling anaplastic ependymoma, a rare brain cancer that has meant countless treatments, 20 surgeries and long hospital stays. Last month, he became a bar mitzvah at Temple Israel — an achievement reached only after extraordinary hurdles.

“On Nov. 19, he had brain surgery, and on the 29th, he had his bar mitzvah,” said his mother, Jennifer Patchin. The surgery relieved fluid from his brain. “We went to the hospital on the 18th, and they told us the best chance of him making it to the bar mitzvah was to do surgery the next day. He left the hospital the same day — and he was better almost immediately.”

Earlier this month, the family was set to return to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis for routine scans. Instead, Jennifer said, they made a different decision: after years of pursuing every possible treatment, they will no longer put Drew through the exhausting cycle of scans and procedures. “The only reason we are stopping,” she said, “is because nothing is going to help or change the reality.”

The choice carries both grief and relief — grief in acknowledging what lies ahead, and relief in sparing Drew the “crummy stuff” that has dominated so much of his young life.

At home, Drew now uses oxygen as needed, usually at night, and most medications go through his G-tube. Swallowing has grown difficult. A home suction machine helps. Mobility is harder too; his parents transfer him into his walker or wheelchair, and his right side no longer cooperates.

And yet — Drew remains Drew.

He still attends school for three hours a day. At home, he plays Scrabble on the family’s interactive board and spends time with his younger brother, Tyler, and his service dog, Snoopy. Sound baths, which he attends every few days, ease his symptoms and even help him move his right side more freely. “He loves going,” Jennifer said.

Despite everything, Jennifer is clear: Drew still has meaningful, joyful moments. He is comfortable, surrounded by love, and, in her words, “happy.”

Even in this difficult chapter, the Patchin family is holding tightly to the moments that bring Drew comfort and delight — treasuring them for as long as he can enjoy them.

Finally, few columns have prompted the kind of public outpouring sparked by the column in November of 82-year-old Frances “Fran” Cohen — who lives alone, fell in her Creve Coeur condo and wasn’t discovered for four long days.

It was ultimately staff members at the Jewish Community Center who grew concerned enough to request a welfare check. Police and firefighters found Fran on the floor — alive, but barely. She was rushed to Missouri Baptist Medical Center, where doctors determined she had broken her left hip.

The fall also revealed something far more serious: a tumor pressing against her brain. When I last spoke with Fran, she was preparing for surgery to remove it on Dec. 3.

Since then, I’ve been trying to reach her. For the past 10 days, she hasn’t answered. I’ve called repeatedly, checked with folks at the J in case word had filtered back, and phoned MoBap and other hospitals, hoping for any scrap of news.

So I’m turning to you. If you’ve spoken with Fran, or know how she’s doing, I hope you’ll let me know.

I didn’t know Fran well, but she was a fixture at the J, someone you came to expect in class, someone whose presence quietly became part of the rhythm of the place. After all she has endured, I care — and I am sure you do as well — about knowing that she is OK.