Having arrived extra early to Shakespeare’s Globe in London so that Troy could stand in line for the spot closest to the stage, Huck, Jeni, and I had time to visit the gift shop. We purchased many treasures that afternoon, but perhaps the best was a coffee cup surprise for Troy with these words from As You Like It (the play we were rehearsing when we began dating in 1991 and spoken by the character I was playing): “I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it.” A few hours later we four were wiping happy tears off our faces having experienced the incredibly joyful production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Indeed, we like this place!

And we liked – LOVED! – all the places we got to see over the course of our ten days abroad. This dream-come-true trip with the Tacketts was part college graduation celebration (for Lily from KU and Huck from CMU next May) and our rescheduled 2020 France vacation that wasn’t meant to be. From the adorable Irish with their narrow roads, stone walls, and gorgeous beaches, to the fancy Brits with their landmarks galore, to the beautiful Parisians with their baguettes and fresh flowers, every place brought us delight and laughter – and maybe a little bit of panic when we desperately looked to Huck for translation.

There were some scares. Like that moment at XNA when right before boarding Huck realized their pink flowered suitcase was left back at TSA and had to run and get it. Or in County Cork when Troy accidentally withdrew 600 euro from the ATM. Or in London when Troy’s passport jumped out of his money belt and onto the ground where Huck found it. Or in our Paris airbnb when Troy accidentally activated a deadbolt and locked the entire building in for a bit.

I’m a lucky lady.

Some moments we’ll always cherish:

the Irish lad who fist bumped Jeni saying, “Cutie detected!”
discovering ice cream cones called 99s in Ireland
surviving driving on the other side of the street on roads built for one car (thank you, N8)
the pub next door to our airbnb that provided our Guinness
the glorious long strand beach and castlefreke forest walks
the woman in Cork who took a picture of Jeni, Lily, Huck, & me while shouting, “Smile girls! And boy! Or whatever!”
navigating the London tube strike with success (thank you, N8)
recovering from our amazing 4 mile London sightseeing walk in our airbnb’s hot tub
pimms along the Thames post-Shakespeare
Jeni’s graceful fall/slide down the steps of the Louvre causing fellow tourists to scream and then laugh
chardonnay in mona lisa cups
Troy pleasing people along the Seinne River doing 6-7 during our boat cruise
the birth of Frenchie Tik Tok near the Eiffel Tower (because I’ll do anything to make gen z laugh)
Huck’s ability to speak French so we could order food and navigate the metro (thank you, ms. b)
the incredibly long hours of sunlight
the constant threat of drizzle followed by beautiful sunny skies

Since home is where the heart is, it is of course wonderful to be back on Anne Street. Special thanks to our neighbor Jennifer for keeping our yard beautiful and our dog sitter Sharon for keeping Franny and Zuzu happy and safe. To all those who donated to the Schremmers Are Going to France fund six years ago, thank you! We finally spent your pounds and euro very happily. And to the Tacketts most of all … merci, merci, merci!

Some final words of Shakespeare that sums everything up very nicely: “Are you sure / That we are awake? It seems to me / That yet we sleep, we dream.”

Again I find myself on the last day of the year – one of my very favorites of all the days – remembering the year that is about to end. Instead of taking you through our 2025 – the good, the bad, the heartworms – I’ll just focus on the ups and downs of December, as it’s a very good sample indeed.

One afternoon at work a few weeks ago, I suddenly had to move a baby grand piano from the dance studio onto the big stage moments before a kindergarten tap performance started in one room and a preschool piano recital in the other. I also had to locate three pairs of lost tap shoes. It was the kind of absurd chaos that happens to me daily in December. Thankfully there’s always a good friend or two nearby to help my weak little arms and multi-tasking brain. But this particular five minutes also included Huck texting emails for me to proofread before sending them to a professor and an advisor in order to drop an impossible graduate level course at the very last minute. The urgency all around me was, as they say, palpable! Never have I felt more important, more valuable to my society! My society of little children and a 20-year-old!

The recitals were adorable, the emails perfect, and the class was dropped as if it never happened. “I learned a lot of lessons this semester,” Huck has repeated more than once this month. Also more than once this month I have listened patiently to many math lectures, pretending to understand things like combinatorics and set theory while secretly thinking about Pluribus. I will always appreciate our child’s valiant attempts to teach me, just like the good old days.

During our very, very warm Christmas week, we resisted turning on the air conditioner and instead got out the flip flops. After returning home from long. hot dog walks, I would take off Franny’s and Zuzu’s bras – or collars – so they could cool down. Confused like the rest of us, our daffodils started to come up. On Christmas Eve while sunbathing in the backyard with the sisters on their second birthday I heard a neighbor shout on the other side of our fence, “NOOOOOO!!! THE BEAUTIFUL GARDEN IS GONE!!!!” And though the day was warm as May, Troy’s flowers are long gone and the once beautiful side yard is now very bare as if it never happened. “It will all return in the spring!” I felt like shouting. And also: “Look: Daffodils!”

Two days after Christmas, Huck had a minor car wreck while dropping off a friend following an afternoon spent at Crystal Bridges. It was a fender-bender caused by a forgotten blind-spot check, adding one more lesson to the growing list. “If I never have to drive again, I’ll be happy,” Huck repeated more than once, thankful for friends willing to be private chauffeurs for the next week.

As the final few days of December arrived, so did a blessed cold front that has found us once again gathered in the cozy Christmas tree room with candles and a blazing fire. I can tell Huck is beginning to look ahead to semester six – sending TA emails, daydreaming about new math classes, attending Zoom rehearsals and board meetings – one that will hopefully be more manageable and less stressful thanks to lessons learned and only one graduate level course.

For Troy and me, this year was mostly about taking care of Franny and Zuzu – healing, loving, holding, walking, playing – and letting go of Huck just a little bit more. This was best summed up in Troy’s 34th annual Christmas card that did not contain a single human for the first time ever! What can we say; when two little creatures show up and heal your broken hearts, you feel indebted to them forever. Watching Huck take comfort in them every single day has been my favorite part of this sweet Christmas break.

While trying to wrap up these thoughts on the losses and lessons and joys of life, I’ve decided to end this New Year’s Eve blog with Mizuta Masahide’s beautiful haiku:

Barn’s burnt down –
now
I can see the moon.

There’s a naughty list?

It goes without saying that Huck’s a passionate mathematician who writes proofs in his sleep, but did you know that he’s also the board secretary for his school’s student-led theatre organization Scotch ‘n Soda? He loves being on the producing side of things and dealing with the drama of it all, both on and off stage, which he clearly inherited from his mother. The other day I asked how their current show was going, and he listed all the elements that had suddenly come together magically, resulting in a completely different show (in the very best way). As a fellow theatre person, I had to send him every theatre person’s favorite theatre quote from Shakespeare in Love:

“Allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”

And of course every theatre person knows that “nothing” is the last thing we do; it all turns out well because of the unbelievable amount of work that is poured into it. The mystery is that we keep forgetting the power of a group of humans creating something together.

And like so many quotes and metaphors, this one is true for all of life, really.

This time last year Troy and I were adjusting to much loss, grief, and stress. The month leading up to my dad’s move into assisted living, which coincided almost immediately with our puppy’s sudden death, we daughters pilfered through his home of 55 years to begin the long process of emptying it. For me this meant taking some favorite paintings of his, an outstanding collection of seasonal hand towels, and half a dozen wind chimes that bring me daily comfort and a quick stab of pain. In a year’s time our dad has lost his home, his car, and most recently his dog Elvis (who is now living his best life with my sister 560 miles away). A full year later, he’s still planning to “go back home tomorrow” every single day, filling boxes that we secretly unpack when he’s not looking. Some days are spent looking for his lost dog, until we remind him Elvis is happily playing at doggie daycare and will be home soon. Because all the rules dissolve with Alzheimer’s, we have become a loving band of liars in a desperate attempt to keep our old man from feeling anxiety and sadness.

We sisters and our exceptionally handsome husbands are also a group of humans creating something together. We aren’t sure what it is, but it’s something. We have an ongoing text thread called Hotts Dots ‘n Lawful Bros about UTIs, collapsed lungs, animal and laundry neglect, oxygen tanks, falls, hospice, tooth pain, uncharged phones, and many other insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. But this thread also contains jokes, Thanksgiving plans, recipes, advice, gratitude, sudden healing, encouragement, photos of the world’s cutest couple, and even a treasured recording of a butt dial fart. It is all of this combined that helps the six of us transition into the inevitable and slow letting go of the two people who gave us life all those years ago.

And hopefully “it all turns out well.” Just like that.

After nearly eight weeks of squeezing himself back into our nest, Huck returned to Pittsburgh a few days ago for his third year of college bliss. Favorite quotes of the summer: “Oh no! I forgot I have a board meeting!” and “I’ll be right there as soon as I finish this spreadsheet.” On his second to last night Troy and I had our only tech nightmare of the summer as we settled down to watch another creepy show and realized our TV audio wasn’t working. After many failed attempts to “do what Huck would do,” we submissively admitted defeat and watched him bravely, patiently bring British accents and dramatic music back into our home. There was no scolding, no judgement, no lecture, no teaching, no tears – just a heartfelt “thank you” and a simple “you’re welcome.”

We’ve all grown up!

Over his two months in Arkansas Huck enjoyed fun-filled visits from the Tacketts, Nickels, and Shannon, much cuddling with Franny & Zuzu, sleepovers at the “Holly House” with his Fayetteville besties, favorite restaurants, one visit to the Mount Sequoyah Pool, one Games Night, one hot tub, Eureka Springs, dog walks, Adventure Time, making delicious Marry Me Tofu, renewing his 2020 passport that was sadly never used and expired in June, his first professional massage, his first Comedy of Errors, his first new play reading, and of course the aforementioned Zoom board meetings in his childhood bedroom.

And like every good 20 year old son, Huck is experiencing perimenopausal symptoms alongside me so that together we can complain about hot flashes, achy bodies, and lack of sleep. Fortunately for me, hormone replacement therapy is available and encouraged. I never thought I’d say or hear the words “estrogen patch” as much as I did this summer, amirite ladies?

And so begins Huck’s junior year of college as a math major, possible Russian minor, Head TA, CMU Singer, and Scotch ‘n Soda Board Secretary while living in an overpriced apartment with CMU besties. On the way to the airport Thursday morning he was animated and chatty and proudly announced, “You know how people ask what you would do if money were no object, if you could spend your time however you wanted? I would do exactly what I’m doing. I just wish I could do it all year.”

I skipped mentioning that money only felt like no object because we were the ones paying (amirite, parents?) and just grinned—nostalgic for my own college days and oh so thankful that he’s loving his.

And now back to our clean and tidy nest that just got a lot bigger.

These two had a chocolate blueberry cake date and forgot to take a picture so they got creative for me.

On one of our favorite days—when shiny happy people gather in rainbow colors, waving flags in support of loved ones who deserve more pride and less shame for living authentically in a harsh world—we made a joyful detour to the airport and brought our baby home for the summer! Huck is now halfway through college and enjoyed sleeping in every morning and doing math research every afternoon with a favorite professor these last seven weeks. Please don’t ask me what math research means; I don’t know! When I last requested details he asked, “Do you want the actual answer or more of a theatre analogy?” Analogy please, I said timidly. So basically they succeeded in doing a scene from an impossible play and then concluded their time together by experimenting with the entire complicated script. But with math.

As the temperatures rise and the thunderstorms and tornado watches seem to have finally ended (though it is raining as I write this), Troy and I have kicked off our seventh annual summer break with patio sitting, flower admiring, and dog cuddling. Franny survived her four month heartworm treatment and life is back to normal while we wait for her official diagnosis in November. We call Franny and Zuzu The Wonder Twins, as they regularly strike the very same pose while sleeping, squirrel hunting, or just being cute. We’ve got a new fence and new patio furniture that thankfully came with rain covers, which we’ve gotten very good at taking on and off, on and off, on and off. We began the summer with a fun-filled visit from our favorite Texas Gregs, then spent a week in Kansas and Colorado where we celebrated our dad’s 84th birthday with Jeni and Nathan to ignite those long term memories.

Some silver linings of Alzheimer’s: the ability to make a person happy and surprised merely by your presence over and over and over and over again AND the constant reminder of what it’s like to live fully in the present moment. If only we could master these skills without losing all of our short-term memory and life as we knew it.

While in Wichita we celebrated our other Wonder Twins, Jackson and Rylee, turning 15 with Troy’s family and spent some time with my mom who is now on Hospice care due to a collapsed lung and very frail body. She’s on oxygen and receives regular visits from nurses who pamper her with their tender loving care, and we’re told she may live like this for quite a while. She loved the North Pole t-shirt our dad brought back to her, a place they first visited on their honeymoon and would later bring their daughters and eventually grandchildren.

Meanwhile we’re watching a beautiful, epic Korean story on Netflix called “When Life Gives you Tangerines,” and each episode is a tender (and often funny) work of art. When the protagonists’ first baby is born, they call her their Eternal Nostalgia. As ours unpacks and makes himself back at home for the next two months, like Emily from Our Town I want to whisper to him to enjoy his parents’ youth, energy, and cognitive abilities, even though he’s probably taking note of our gray hairs, crows feet, and the chorus of “ows” when we get up from a resting position.

“Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?” (Thornton Wilder)

As we feed Franny and Zuzu a mixture of chicken, spinach, carrots, and green beans atop their dry kibble, along with the occasional frozen blueberries and mango, and some pumpkin now and then, we like to picture Max, Molly, Sunny, and even Otis gathered together in doggie heaven looking at each other and shouting, “What the hell!”

My sister says this excessive doggie pampering,which includes routinely buying pricey elk antlers, yak chews, and obedience classes, is a direct result of empty nesting. With our child no longer at home to dote and spend money on, we’ve redirected our attention, affection, and forgiveness to a sea of tan and white, whom we lovingly call our Angel Babies from Heaven. Even Huck regularly uses this moniker when requesting pics.

Nearly all of our blankets have a random hole in them, and most of our sheets and pillow cases have either been destroyed or eaten at the edges. One day we attempted to separate the sisters while we were at work in hopes of protecting their spay incisions from each other’s mouths. It was the dreaded January 6th, soon to be forever referred to as Zuzu’s Insurrection Day, wherein she somehow got the cone of shame off her head, tore off the molding around the door, brought down the curtains, ripped parts of a picture frame apart, filled the floor with sawdust, wood pieces, and nails, and somehow did no damage to herself.

We no longer separate them.

At their first vet appointment, two weeks to the day of adopting them, we learned that Franny has heartworm infection. We’ve survived the first month of her treatment and are now starting the second, which is a bit of a reprieve. The real work begins in mid-March when Franny will receive her first of three injections that require cage rest and sedation for around ten weeks. The final test to see if she’s completely heartworm free is scheduled for January 16, 2026.

We’ve loved dogs, we’ve lost dogs, and now we’re cherishing every minute with these two and looking forward to warmer days with normal activities like walks and dog parks and playing. When Huck was little he made a small black spot with a Sharpie on his lime green comforter. When asked why, he innocently answered that he just wanted to see what it would look like. And though I love my blankets to be intact and Sharpie-free, every single damaged portion makes me smile.

A year ago!

When Huck was little I always made a point to write a New Year’s Eve blog, summarizing our year together in a few paragraphs to look back on someday. He’s no longer little, in fact towers over me, but this morning as I watched him calming the dogs into a December nap on their bed in front of the Christmas tree and fire, I felt inspired again. I took a picture as he joined me on the couch to admire our sleeping beauties. Huck then played this Regina Spektor song we used to listen to when he was a baby (who knew he’d grow up to love her?), as he felt some of these lyrics matched what we were feeling.

“This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again.”

Happy New Year, loved ones, whatever it may bring!

Way back when the summer turned into the school year, my heart was heavy with worry and anticipation for my parents. It was becoming heartbreakingly clear that we needed to move my dad out of the home he’d lived in since 1969, and while I knew this was necessary and could even be a good thing, I also knew it was going to be incredibly stressful and sad for all of us. One day in September I told my yearbook staff that I needed a good cry. Others agreed that they, too, could use one, and so a few of us sat and concentrated on trying to cry. It didn’t work.

Fast forward to now, and what I would give to stop having a good cry.

One of our favorite storybooks of Huck’s childhood is Michael Wane Rosen’s “Going on a Bear Hunt” with a chorus that repeats can’t go over it, can’t go under it, we’ve got to go through it. My sister Jeni recently learned that emotions are like a tunnel with a beginning, middle, and end that we have to go through in order to avoid getting stuck in the middle. A few days after my last blog post, Troy experienced every dog owner’s nightmare and lost our Otis forever right as I was witnessing my parents being reunited in Wichita. What followed has felt like trudging through long wavy grass, a deep cold river, thick oozy mud, a big dark forest, and a swirling whirling snowstorm of grief for my precious puppy, the dad I knew, my childhood home. Just like in the book, I thankfully had a very loved one going right through that long dark tunnel with me.

One thing I salvaged from my childhood home was a little Currier and Ives looking clock that plays a sweet Christmas tune on the hour, another thing that can bring on the tears. I called my dad the other day right after the 2:00 song and he agreed that it was a little heartbreaking somehow to hear those songs. Together we used to appreciate Johnny Mathis singing, “Christmas makes you feel emotional.”

There are no words to describe how difficult this transition has been for my dad, and therefore for all of us. He is confused and lost, sometimes literally and four miles away. We were warned it would be a hard move, but we had no idea.

Which is why when a pair of Corgi mix sisters need to be rehomed at the most wonderful, emotional time of the year, you stop everything, wipe your eyes, and drive an hour and a half on a Saturday to meet them, only to dry your eyes again because they remind you of all the dogs you’ve ever loved. (But when Otis Redding begins singing “Try a Little Tenderness” at your highway exit, you quickly skip it because that’s a little too much.)

So we got ourselves each a little Christmas present this year, one named Franny and the other Zuzu, who will undoubtedly be serenaded with the “White Christmas” hit song Sisters throughout their hopefully very long, happy lives. My gift of the year was Huck, never an animal fan, after hearing about us meeting them last weekend, exclaiming: “Oh my gosh, Mom! GET THE DOGS!”

Cue another very good cry.

Otis 2023-2024

Apparently Troy and I are in the Sandwich Generation as middle aged people who are simultaneously caring for children and elderly parents. Of course Huck is an adult who’s doing fine on his own, but there’s still emotional labor involved in parenting him from afar (as well as his financial dependence on us). And nothing compares to the stress and sadness of watching your parents grow older and lose their memories, personalities, and marbles.

In an urgent turn of events, we’re moving both of mine into a lovely facility in Wichita near my sister Lori this weekend. Dad and his best friend Elvis the dog will be in a one-bedroom assisted living apartment while Mom and her stuffed animals will be down the hall in memory care. For them to be under the same roof again answers a lot of frantic prayers over the last four and a half years, and though this is a life change like no other for all of us, we three sisters are grateful. And a little unhinged.

These past few weeks have been a frenzy of trips back and forth between Kansas and Arkansas (and Iowa for my sister Jeni) as we navigated dementia, toured facilities, and began preparing our childhood home – where I was brought as a newborn with sideburns in 1970 – to be emptied and sold. (Does anyone want a painting?) Husbands took turns taking their father in-law to the neurologist, giving new meaning to the phrase “in sickness and in health.”

Due to a refreshing bit of timing, in the middle of all this was our long planned trip to Pittsburgh for fall break. Huck was a welcome breath of fresh air with his youth and carefree conversations. He excitedly showed us every single classroom of every single class he has taken or is taking at CMU, and in one of them he gave us a sample T.A. lecture that took me right back to his childhood. (Except that back then I could pretend to know what he was saying.) He made us smoothies every morning in his beautiful apartment, showed us “The Dungeon” where he builds sets, props, and costumes, and together we explored beautiful Pittsburgh. When I look at our one and only progeny and imagine the three of us in 30 years, I feel bad for not giving him at least two siblings.

In between our travels west and east, last week Otis developed seasonal allergies and was prescribed steroids that can, and did, cause incontinence. All over our house. I’m not sure how a one-year-old sneezing, peeing, adorable puppy fits into the Sandwich Analogy, but it’s getting crowded in here.

After returning from Pittsburgh I emptied my suitcase, did some laundry, and filled it up again to head back to Kansas for one more night on Marc Street with my dad and sisters. Can I handle the seasons of my life? I hope so.

Huck left us this morning in the fives to begin his second year of college hundreds of miles away. Yesterday he packed all his things up in two suitcases and several boxes for us to ship, said goodbye to his besties, and then came home to walk Otis with me through the neighborhood one last time. After a family pizza dinner we attempted a reenactment of our old Mommy/Huck dance to the song “Sugarfoot” from days of yore (but quickly cut some of our more famous moves when we realized how much weight he’s put on since age three.) Randomly (and magically) Shawn Colvin’s cover of “You’re Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go” popped up on my dinner playlist, so we slow danced around the living room together, which was really just a very long hug.

Huck came home in early May as we were ending one school year, and he’s left us in late August as we begin another. To quote my friend Sara back in New York City, Troy and I are experiencing the “wonderful terribles.” To quote my friend Shana right here in Fayetteville … it’s a “heart clench.” And to quote Bob Dylan, “You’re gonna have to leave me now, I know. But I’ll see you in the sky above, in the tall grass, in the ones I love. You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.”