Remembering Cathy Scott, 1950-2020

Remembering Cathy Scott, beloved student, friend, and longtime member of Safe Place Writing Circle at Seattle’s Recovery Café. Cathy, who passed in her sleep sometime between Monday night, May 25, and early Tuesday morning, May 26, was a treasure, full of wit and vitality, and one of the kindest, most generous souls I've ever met. I am among the many who loved her and will miss her. Here is a photo of Cathy in her element, reading her work in front of a live audience at Elliott Bay Books in Seattle. The occasion was the August 2018 launch of Raven Chronicles Journal Vol 26: LAST CALL. Some of you may have been there and remember Cathy.

—Anna Bálint, founder, Safe Place Writing Circle

CATHY SCOTT

October 29, 1950 - May 26, 2020

Three Glimpses of Life Well Lived

in Cathy’s own words

All writings written in Safe Place Writing Circle

between 2016-2019

1

FIRST PASSION

My first passion? Cats, animals, but first and foremost, cats! I baby-sat, played with, nursed and nurtured kittens and cats. And occasionally a duck or chicken or opossum. It is a passion that has stayed with me my entire life. Well, my entire life so far! I haven’t actually lived my entire life yet!

Then came words! From the very first time I could print a full, more or less, sentence I read and wrote, my first prayer, my first story . . . And I read and read, and fed the cats, baby-sat and nurtured the cats.

Music came along right about the time I could walk. Dancing with Mother, singing with my sister, singing on the bus, dancing to American Bandstand, Hullabaloo, etc . . . Ricky Nelson was my first musical crush. The Twist came later, knocking out the Hootchy Kootchy Hula that Mother was trying to teach me. My hips just would not move like that, but the Twist was just right! The Twist. The Pony.  The everything!!! I was good!!!

Mother very kindly put my sister and I in boxes. My sister Ellie sang and I danced. Period! End of story! But neither of us cared to stay in our little Boxes, so Ellie danced and I sang! And still fed the cats, and, one time, a baby squirrel. 

When asked to pick a job for a pretend job interview in Junior High I picked . . . Ta Da . . . File clerk! I guess, in hindsight, another passion of mine. All my books were alphabetized, all indexed—on proper index cards. And I still fed the cats, and occasionally a stray dog or two. And sang and wrote and read and nurtured and . . . Well, you get the picture

2

TRUNK OF DREAMS

My trunk. My dreams. What silly dreams when I was a teen. A writer. A singer. A dancer. A poet. A nun. As I look back on my life I realize that all these dreams have actually become reality. At one time or another. In one way or another.

A nun. Yep. For two years anyway. A singer. Yep. Head Chantress the second I got the white veil. A writer. That too. I wrote fantasies of the erotic sort and was published. A dancer. Well, not really, but I was pretty good just the same. Good enough for me as a realist. You have to be athletic to dance and that I was not.

Now, at sixty-six I have a new year to keep on keeping on.

Dancing is a few years behind me. Or ahead. Who knows?

Singing? I will always sing. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes deep in my heart and soul.

And writing? Oh yes. I will always write. Maybe even be published here and there. Will I ever be famous? I doubt it. But who cares?

And the rest of my New Year will be full. Writing classes, circles, petitions. Is there hope for the New Year? I’m breathing, aren’t I? Aren’t you?

3 

MY LAST MOMENTS

Okay, I think I’m ready. The first thing to do is to call my family back East for a long, last talk. Call my family here, then send them hither and yon, but mostly hither. Safeway is only a block away and it’s time shop for the last potluck I’ll have here. If I’m crossing over tonight I need time with my friends, my family. Someone will bring music. We’ll laugh and cry. I’ll be missed, I know. Why, is what I don’t know . . . I guess it’s because I’m Mom and Sis and just the one with a little extra this and that to share. 

No one will care if we have a little wine with this wonderful good-bye party. I will only grieve that my fur babies will no longer have their Mommy, but know God will provide for all my children, two and four-legged. I will sing one last time. Perhaps not well, but happily, lustily and, most of all, wistfully. 

At the end I will play with my babies and feed them love and treats, then lie down in faith and hope, curling up with gentle purrs and kisses. They will know. They always know. Perhaps the Lord will be good and let them pass with me. I will, perhaps, get up and write one last little writing. A poem maybe, or just gibberish. Good or bad they will be my words, my soul, my heart! Then I will kiss my daughters goodbye and lie down again with my babies, close my eyes, and live the Hope I have carried in my heart for so long.

4

(A short piece she wrote about our current crisis and the need to shelter-in-place.)

ALONE IN SUNLIGHT

The sun is shining. The window a frame for spring. A river flows through the living room. In the bedroom two large cats race around and round, chasing a moonbeam. In her chair, an old woman reclines, savoring the warmth and deciding that, no, she would not sacrifice herself for the economy. Not for the greed of any white man who pretends he is in charge. This is her world, her river, her cats chasing the moonbeam. Soon she will retire and help the moonbeam to escape, and enjoy the happiness and joy of her two big cats. The moonbeam needs to rest. So does she. And she rests. Tomorrow she will release the moonbeam and the sun to play again, and again she will sit in her recliner and decide to enjoy the sun and laugh that anyone would think she was ready to give this up for such as he.

—Cathy Scott, 3/29/20