Cook Forest

  I have a place in my mind’s eye, as I sit here in my office.  There is a hint of what I envision surrounding me as I sit in my swivel chair.  The hint is found in the wood paneling.  The place in my mind is Cook Forest.  Let us be clear on the Cook part.  There is no 's making it Cook’s Forest, a common mistake my kids like to correct each other on.  I know this for a fact because I used to give Cook an extra S until the rustic timber signs, that grace most State Parks, corrected me as I got older.
  Cook Forest is a place of history, my family history.  I have been going there since I was 16 years old.  Wait, I take that back.  I was 16 the first time my Mom took all my siblings while I was left to stay with my Dad, who had to work.  Something about teenage attitude.  Whatever.  It’s been over thirty years that this forest has welcomed my family for a week out of every summer.
  We started in a single River cabin when it was my family of origin.  My Mom and Dad and us twelve children.  I can still hear shouts of laughter mixed with the scent of popcorn as it softly rained outside, calling for game night inside.

  Eventually, as we grew into family units of our       own, we moved to the Indian cabins.  These tiny,
single-room, log cabins with chinking, held us for a few years until the babies kept coming and we returned to the original large River cabins on the upper tier.  This is the best place to see if the Clarion River is full enough to go tubing.  It’s amazing how laughter from the river can bounce its echo up into the trees, like a call beckoning us to come play.

  There was one summer, July of 2004, when there were more tears than laughter.  That was the summer my Dad died.  Still, Cook Forest gathered us in.  Hugged in her trees, bathed in her river, we held one another and remembered Dad.

  My husband and I now bring our seven children to these rustic cabins that ALWAYS smell the same.  Each year, our vacation begins the same, with the kids running into the cabin, inhaling loudly and exhaling the words, “Coooook Foressst”.

  Traditionally, our cabin is framed in majestic trees which open to frame bright clusters of stars at
night while a campfire draws all of us together below.  We number about 60 now and take up all the River Cabins and three quarters of the Indian cabins.  You can imagine our campfire circles are pretty big.  When we descend on the Cooksburg Café for ice cream, we often fill every metal table, log bench, and every inch of standing room.  This is right next to the Café sign where the bats like to roost. Just a bit of extra fun.

  Yes, I like looking at this wood paneling in my office.  If I close my eyes long enough I can almost hear the whooshing of the wind that rustles through the tall trees in Cooksburg, PA.  I know what you’re thinking…Cooksburg has an S.  Just trust me on this…it’s COOK (no S) Forest and you should go if you get the chance.  Listen for the screams of laughter up on the hill.

Obituary Assignment Inspires

I’d never been so thrown by a class assignment. Yet, there I sat,

staring at a blank screen, waiting for the words to come as I tried to write my own obituary. I began with my name. I moved on to the “dash” part which would include: born on…dash…died. I chose not to fill in the date I died, but did take note of how old I was.

I was 47 years old.

I’d been alive for 47 years. That’s 17,155 days to get it right. I looked at the prompts for this writing assignment. What do I want my life to reflect? I thought I’d take a creative approach and write about the dreams that I’d had for an entrepreneurial venture. Who were the people I wanted to impact? I wrote about my family and the throngs of other creatives who would be loved to live by words I had written.

So full of life!

And then it hit me. Or should I say, SHE hit me, and spoke to my heart in the way of one who had been there. My sister, Mary, vibrant, strong, energetic, driven. Yes, Mary who had taken her role as the eldest of twelve children and blazed trails for the rest of us to follow. Headstrong, resilient, yet vulnerable and self-protective. Mary called to me in this assignment. I felt my eyes drift to her most recent business card that rested on my desk, Director of Veteran Affairs at the Erie County Courthouse. I knew that assignment had been a joy to her. My sister passionately embraced her role of helping veterans receive the benefits they’d earned and deserved. I was one of those veterans and had the privilege to see my sister’s work in action.

Though she loved her job, what made her zest come to life was love for people. She didn’t have a clique, Mary loved everyone. She

Mary with her family

didn’t see color, age, size, or financial status…she saw fellow travelers in the journey of life. Her special tribe was her children and husband. She’d been married three times. Her belief in love and a desire to provide a caring home for her family kept her heart open to possibility. Her capacity to live the line, “Hope springs eternal,” led her to open a shop as “The Cookie Lady,” take on several jobs within the realm of her Criminal Justice degree, joyfully serve in a comedy club,  seek and win ribbons for various baking competitions, and even enter competitive body-building after having her six children. She had trophies that nodded to her drive to succeed. Yet, with all her accomplishments, I was most grateful for her generous kindness.  I remember her knock on my door when I was a single mother. Opening the door back then, let in the whirlwind of my sister and her bevy of children for a ten-minute visit to bring me a meal. No matter what turmoil was taking place in Mary’s life, she dealt with it by internalizing the phrase, “Fake it til you make it,” pasting on a smile and helping others.

Even when the cancer diagnosis was delivered.

I was in the car with my sister when she had to make a quick stop, to drop off one of her long blond wigs to a co-worker who wanted to dress up for a hot date with her husband. Mary had sass. Mary had pizazz. She had style, fun, and a bravery that allowed her to try on all sorts of looks…even as she dropped down to under a hundred pounds.

I am so grateful that I had enough sense to accept her offer to hand out Halloween candy at her house that final October in her life. She was in full-form with her striped stockings, black silk pointed hat, full make-up, and of course, a fantastic wig. She smiled and called each neighbor by name. She giggled with the litany of compliments to her fabulous persona. “Well, why wouldn’t I dress up?,” she laughed.

Susie, she now seemed to whisper as my keyboard sat untouched…do something. Do it all. That dream to touch people and bring your ideas to life doesn’t just happen. Take the steps to bring it to life.

I am 47 years old…turning 48 this year. Mary was 48 when that date was filled in after her dash. I want to live and love others. I will write the obituary as a list of my goals…and I will take steps toward those goals with gratitude, courage, perseverance and the memory of those who have led the way.

Living Life Large