Harbor Pilots in Our Midst

I've been rambling on. I forgot to push the start button. I am speak wonder. My real name is Kathy Joy, but I noticed on the Cadre here my name defaulted to speak wonder when I scheduled my live. So speak wonder. It is I speak words into the world, hopefully as a healing balm. Hi, Catherine. Hopefully as an echo of affirmation and as a message that you are not alone and we are on this planet and traveling this journey together. Today is Thursday, caregiver day. Last week was my maiden voyage. Introducing and telling you more about harbor pilots.

I'm coming to you live from beautiful city of Erie, Pennsylvania. I like to describe it as a city with a town feel. Hello, recovery cafe. I live near the water. In fact, in a future Cadre presentation, I want to be at the harbor. I just have to make sure it has good wi fi so that we don't lose the live. I'll be doing that. It's perfect weather for it. In fact, I don't know about where you live, but where I live, we're getting lightning bugs in the evenings now, and so I'm standing on my porch, of course, in the middle of the day, not even afternoon yet, and I won't be seeing those fireflies or twinklies until this evening.

Back to harbor pilots. Last week we talked about in the caregiver picture how there are things in the harbor that help you and come alongside you, and they represent the people in our lives. So we talked about anchors, those who keep you steady and grounded, and we talked about tugboats, those who give you a push in the right direction and a pull back when you need it. Today I'm going to talk about the sign that you sometimes see in the harbor that says slow, no wake, and we're going to talk about harbor seals.

It's kind of random, but it's specific to my experience this week and perhaps yours and buoys. So, yes, I'm glad you're here. Hey, JC. It's so good to speak in community. You know, I've been rehearsing and polishing, and I'm finding that going live and having a conversation is the best way to do this. One of the reasons I love Cadre. Hey, you see my hummingbird feeder in the background? I don't have any visitors yet, but I'm hoping so. I have a visual. Isn't that cute? I like visuals. And so that's my harbor pilot visual.

Specifically, as I described in more detail last week, is a harbor pilot is someone who is an actual job. Motors out in a smaller boat goes up to the bigger vessel that has come into unknown waters in the harbor, shimmies up the rope ladder and assists the pilot in being safely docked through waters that they don't know. And that's what our friends, our harbor pilots do for us. They come alongside, they help us navigate unknown waters. And that happened to me in real time this morning with both Shannon and Colleen.

As a matter of fact, their lives this morning on caregiver day kind of dovetailed each other. Both women talking so beautifully and with personal experience, excuse me, on how we need each other. We need to see each other. We need to express what we need. And I invite you to do the replay on both of those. Colleen today was talking about managing her own feelings while accommodating her mama's feelings. And her topic was caring for them when they forget. It's hard stuff, but we can do this together.

Hey, JC. You guys are my hummingbirds right now. You're fluttering around, you're taking the nectar and flying away. I hope I can deliver some nectar for you. Guys are great. Thank you for making me feel so at home in the quadrosphere. So let's get to it. Slow, no wake. I've seen people put those signs on the side of their house. Not sure why. Probably because they're like me and they're nuts about water and boating and marinas and maritime. Where you're likely to see it is on a dock. It says, slow, no wake.

Or it might be positioned right in the water on a buoy. Slow, no wake. Okay, this one I love. Slow, no wake. Now, awake is what happens when you produce too many waves in waters that need to be still and quiet. Specifically harbor waters, so that swimmers don't get tangled up or, you know, marine life or smaller boats, kayakers. Whatever's happening in that harbor, be it a harbor of commerce or a place for pleasure boating, you need to have slow craft coming in, producing no wake, no waves. It's like 5.

As slow as a boat can go. Putzing along. Alrighty. So the person in your life who is kind of exhibiting that sign, so to speak, symbolically is saying, slow your roll, cut the engine, drift on in. It's time to come into harbor for some respite. Quit making waves. Can do that again tomorrow. Slow, no wake. That's one of your harbor pilots and your comrades. The other one I want to mention is the buoyant. Now, there's something irresistible about a buoy floating in the water. It bobs and it pivots and it turns around.

It's comical. Matter of fact, we have our comedy person, Shannon Paul, coming up later on in the Cadre. Humor and comic relief. Not only fun, but it's fundamental to our survival. In the caregiving picture, do you have someone who makes you laugh? That's your bowie. That's the one who's bobbing around and being comical, but with purpose, giving you a lighter moment in your sometimes heavy day. Slow, no wake. Who is that person? The buoy who makes you laugh. Who is that person? Harbor pilots in our lives.

They're wonderful. Now, I mentioned the harbor seal, and I would like to tell you why it's meaningful to me. Especially recently, I talked to my mom, who's 93 years of age and in, I would probably say, early stages of dementia. And so she's forgetting some things, and she's having a hard time tracking dates and times and when I last visited. And since she's in the beginning of losing her grip with reality, it's also unknown waters for me and very difficult and breaks my heart. So even though I had visited her two days prior, when I called her last night, basically to brag about my sweet new grandbaby, who's not even quite a week old yet, a little boy named Oliver.

But I digress. He's wonderful. So I'm rattling on about my grandson, and mom says, there's a big pause, and she says, you have other relatives? You know. When are you going to come see me? It didn't matter in that moment that she had just seen me two days prior for most of the day. And then I shared a meal with her. None of that is helpful. I didn't point that out. She's losing track of time. It troubled me because it came to me like a harbor seal. Now, I invite you to go online and type in harbor seal barking.

It is raucous, loud, invasive. I mean, all of the ambient sounds of the harbor, right? You've got the rigging, you've got the ropes. You can hear the blending of people's voices. You can hear the waves lapping, the sounds at the dock, maybe a bell somewhere. But if you hear a harbor seal, you know you've heard one. They sound downright grumpy. As a matter of fact, mama, harbor seals bark to defend their territory. That's exactly what my mama seal was doing. She was defending the little she seems to have in the way of reality locking in on her life.

And it was ruckus, and it could have hurt my heart, but I was able to balance that I was able to accommodate her big feelings and her harbor seal barking and not bark back. So my message to you today, Cadre family, is when the harbor seals cut through the ambient sounds of your harbor visit and something raucous comes across, your awareness, something that hurts your heart. Just let it. Because you know why? You have buoys who are going to give you comic relief. And you have those gatekeepers holding up a sign in the harbor that is your life that says, slow, no wake, cut the engine.

Let it idle. Float on in for some respite. You're in safe harbor now. Yes, JC. The heart can hurt while the seal barks. And you can share it here, friend. Guys are so great. You just bring sunshine and encouragement. I promised you last week that I'd give you a poem. Do we have time for a poem? My clock says we do. So as we talk about the texture of the sounds in the harbor and then the cutting in texture of the harbor seal barking. And perhaps that phone call you didn't want to get, or the phone call that's coming today, or the text or the email.

Some good, some bad, some challenging. I wrote a poem a while back, and I figured today it fits in well with my harbor pilot talk because it's about the texture of my voice. And when I see you all, I can hear your comments in a texture, so to speak. I'm a poet, so let me go ahead and read this and it will explain itself. All right? Okay. Of course. My printer's down, so I'm having to read it from my laptop. You with me? The texture of my voice by speak wonder. I want my voice to sound like the thrum thrum thrum of a distant tribal drum, so the listening ear can lean in with intention, wanting to hear lessons from the past.

I want my voice to sound like the trill and timbre of a thousand flutes, so the listening ear can be thrilled and tickled and know the power, the unfathomable beauty of my voice. I want my voice to sound like my grandmother's. My grandmother who taught me to thread a needle, to hunt for freya diddles in the woods, to roll the dough just so and watch it rise on baking day. Yes. I want to sound like my grandmother so the listening ear can be still in the quiet authority of her voice. I want the listening ear to know that voices silenced by death never really go silent.

They simply become echoes. I want my voice to sound like the whisper of a breeze in a canopy of trees, so the listening ear will know a whisper is just as important as a shout, and that a thousand whispers combined can sing them sweetly to the deepest slumber. I want my voice to sound like the elk bugling, so the listening ear can know the sounds of grief, the discordant, impossible textures of a wordless, guttural loss. I want my voice to sound like violins as they are tuning up the hush before the overture, so the listening ear can know the nuanced sounds of possibility.

I want my voice to sound like the roll and thunder of the sea, so my listeners will hear the cadence of a voice that is never monotone, always colorful, infused with all the moods, all the emotions. I want my voice to have all the parts, mostly the alto and a splash of soprano, the tenor and occasionally the bass, so my listeners will know the benefit of a trained and disciplined voice. I want my voice to sail into waving hands like the texture of milk chocolate, so my listeners will know the rich and thick and creamy sounds of a life dipped in pure joy.

Thank you Cadre family. Thank you for listening to my words and my poem. I'm speak wonder signing out and I do invite you to replay what's been on Cadre today and join the lives. Shannon Paul is later and JC, my friend, is later as well. Your hummingbuoys are buzzing here. Thank you. Next week we'll talk about some more things that we see in the harbor, in the picture of harbor pilots in the caregiving atmosphere of the Cadre. Cheers.