COVID

Ports of Call on an Unforgettable Journey

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos
This miniature suitcase adorned my bookshelf during the pandemic

I retired from my dream job a few weeks ago. Because the past decade has been like a non-stop vacation, my favorite attire for going to work was an aloha shirt. Those ten trips around the sun have left me with precious memories in the photo album of my mind. 

While cleaning out my office, I came across a miniature suitcase on a bookshelf.  That tiny piece of luggage was scaled to the American Girl dolls my kids used to play with. It was covered with decals and stickers denoting various ports-of-call. I purchased it in a local thrift store as an object lesson for one of my sermons during the coronavirus outbreak. I glued another decal on the suitcase that simply said COVID-19. It was my less-than-subtle way of illustrating that the global pandemic had taken us on a cruise we’d not soon (if ever) forget. 

Although memorable, COVID was a far cry from any tropical trip to the “land of aloha.” It resembled more of a non-stop nightmare than a dream vacation. It was like a cruise on the open sea fraught with rogue waves and gale-force winds.  Still, that journey we traveled together provided us with a few ports-of-call worthy of remembering.

The first port-of-call was called sheltering-in-place. It was a place we’d not visited previously. We were forced to stay home and stay put. Initially, it felt like being imprisoned. But mandated lockdowns found us taking stock of the value of what we’d previously taken for granted. We realized how very precious our family members were to us. Having extended time with our spouse and children allowed us the means to focus on their hopes and fears and make note of how the pandemic was impacting them. 

Staying at home also caused us to realize how much we enjoyed those with whom we work each day from whom we were temporarily separated. We also acknowledged how much we appreciated the freedom to come and go to our jobs and to the grocery store and to the mall. And even though working from home had its challenges, the flexibility proved meaningful. 

Another port-of-call was called the mask mandate. Wearing a cloth or paper mask served as a badge of belonging. It was a means by which we were reminded we were in this fight together. The face mask was a visual aid calling to mind our common humanity. Each of us was affected by an invisible enemy. Each of us was vulnerable. And the mask served to remind us of our need to take precautions for our personal hygiene. Putting on a mask was a prompt to use hand sanitizer as well as to wash our hands (for the length of time it took to sing the Happy Birthday song or the Doxology). 

Even though wearing a mask was a nuisance and although we grew weary of staying six feet apart from one another in a public setting, the imposed requirements kept us from becoming apathetic in the face of a virus that took an incalculable toll on people we loved. Masks encouraged us to be alert and take preventative measures for our well-being.

A third port-of-call was called virtual communication. We went ashore with laptops and smart phones in hand. We were tourists in a totally new territory “zooming” here and there and everywhere. We learned how to “do church” while sipping coffee at home in our recliners. We helped our children go to school while sitting at the kitchen table. We Facetimed with family members we couldn’t see because of travel restrictions. Microsoft Teams allowed us to both work and worship from home. Virtual meetings became the norm. We did book clubs and prayer groups and choir practice navigating those little squares on our computer screen. Participation from those around-the-world became a possibility unlike any previous time. 

Yes, it’s true. The ports-of-call on cruise for which we didn’t sign up proved to be blessings in disguise. And looking back on that unforgettable journey we call COVID, I think we can honestly say we are grateful for having been there and are better off because of it.

The Paper Bag Poet Rhymes Again

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos
An example of the paper bag poet’s creativity is seen in a park on Mercer Island

April is National Poetry Month. However, I celebrate poetry every month of the year. I have a rhyme for most every reason. I’ve written four books of poetry. I have a syndicated poetry blog for which I publish verses weekly. And truth be told, I write a rhyme of some kind most every day. Someone once suggested that my mind thinks in iambic pentameter.

The first poem I remember composing was for Mrs. Hendricks’ second grade class at Liberty Elementary School in Marysville. But my fascination with poetry really took off in high school and college. I wrote romantic lyrics for the girls I was dating. And I wrote parodies of classic poems in an attempt to impress my literature professor. Prior to Dr. Erickson’s lectures, I would arrive early to write a poem on the blackboard that would greet my classmates when they arrived. I gained a reputation for my wit and creativity. While escorting tours to Alaska and the Canadian Rockies during summer vacations, my penchant for writing humorous lyrics served me well. I wrote poetry for our farewell dinners.

Fast-forward 50 years. When COVID altered our lifestyles, new phrases like “sheltering in place” and “socially distancing” became incorporated into our daily parlance. We masked up before going out in addition to learning the importance of applying hand-sanitizing gel throughout the day. Lockdowns limited our normal activities. But gratefully, walking outside was never forbidden. As a result, my wife and I walked several times a week. In addition to being good for our hearts, it was good for our minds.

Enter Pioneer Park. Near to where Wendy and I live is an expansive forest of evergreen trees and well-maintained trails. When COVID first invaded, I would discover beautifully hand-painted rocks hidden on our walking path. It was like going on an Easter egg hunt. The stones were barely visible in the hollow of a decaying tree, at the base of a tree trunk or perched on a bench.

These commemorative stones typically included slogans like “Keep calm and socially distance!” “Breathe!” “You are loved!” and “Hope!” They were brief sentiments that invited passersby to walk on and look up. Sometimes the rocks offered a miniature portrait of a sunset or happy face.

And then it hit me. Even though I am not artistic with a brush, I love to paint word pictures. Why not pen a brief rhyme or an upbeat slogan on a brown paper bag and tack it to a tree on the trail? Hearing no objections, that’s exactly what I started to do. That was three years ago. And I am still doing it.

My most recent paper bag poem looks back on the pandemic in past tense. It simply says “What COVID stole left us sick but didn’t leave us poor.” Like many of my lunch bag offerings, it doesn’t actually rhyme. So, I guess you’d call them blank verse. All the same they are portraits on what is known as the poet tree.

Although I have attempted to keep my contributions anonymous, I’ve been caught a few times tacking a new poem to the tree. And now I’ve decided to publish the past three years of poems in a volume. Since my name will be on the cover, the bard of the forest won’t be anonymous any longer. The book’s rather unimaginative title is “Paper Bag Poems in Pioneer Park.” But the subtitle offers a clue to its practical use: “An Interactive Walking Journal.”

My hope is that the photos of the poems will inspire personal contemplation about how the message is applicable to those who read them. A blank page adjacent to each photo will provide space for the intended purpose of journaling ideas, resolutions, goals or tracking miles walked on any given day. Copies will be available at Island Books this summer as well as online.