WE LIVE HERE NOW
Photo by Johnny McClung on Unsplash
“We live here now.” It’s our wry refrain in times of unforeseen limbo. A family joke, a coping mechanism, a “here we go” mantra to steel ourselves for long waits or entropy. Usually hilarious, occasionally hopeless, it helps set an expectation when we can’t know what to expect.
Stuck in Austin traffic? Seemingly-endless waits for a table/doctor/800# customer service? We live here now.
That time we spent 18 hours in the Istanbul airport when a freak blizzard grounded thousands of flights? We live here now.
CA to TX relocation stymied by a massive dust storm that closed I-10 in Western New Mexico and lined the streets with stranded big-rigs as we got the literal last motel room in town? We live here now.
57 hours from hospital check-in to baby’s arrival? WE. LIVE. HERE. NOW.
So: 2020. Pandemic. Quarantine. Stay at home. We live here now.
When we began sheltering-in-place, the familiar phrase initially felt apt… but rang hollow as reality set in. So, we marinated for a while. As ministers and performing artists, we both love community, laughter, people, and connection. We really do live here. Now what?
My top Gallop strength is INPUT. I, Amanda, like to research, gather information, weigh the options, find more options to weigh, make a spreadsheet, spin a bit, then second-guess my data and my instincts. I don’t seek structure, but I need it. So, you know, that’s fun for everyone. I also lead improvisation workshops for ministers and law students, extolling the virtues of being present, trusting yourself, and listening to the quiet guidance of the Spirit. (Do what I say, not what I do?)
Mark, on the other hand, likes systems. Don’t let the electric guitars and Dave Grohl hair fool you: this Germanic Eagle Scout craves order and routine. Plus, his top Gallop strength is ACTIVATOR. He wants to plan, and he wants to act. (Not always in that order. Ahem.)
As a team, these are usually complementary attributes. As a family in self-isolation, one of the adults is faring better. Hint: it’s the one who’s good at making a schedule. Mostly thanks to Mark, we hit a semi-stride in routine with work, house, and toddler. My lone contribution: a color-coded calendar on the whiteboard, tracking Abby’s classes, regular calls, and Zoom meetings—including happy hours! (It sounds so organized. Smoke and mirrors, people. I just like spreadsheets.)
After the Lentiest Lent that ever Lented, we’d been home about a month, attempting to adapt to (as some friends say) ALL THE THINGS. We’re a children’s minister and music director duo; our initial work was heavily front-loaded as we created new programming with ever-changing platforms, timelines, and circumstances. We continue to stumble through THIS UNPRECEDENTED TIME™, as individuals and as a family.
Our days are punctuated by meandering walks in our neighborhood. Abby has mastered her push bike, and we wander the streets, waving and nodding in solidarity, crossing when others are too close. We ordered Disney+ the second day of lockdown, undoubtedly one of our best decisions to date. We celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary with pizza and an early bedtime—too tired to open the champagne. We said goodbye to one of our canine pack on May 9th, sending him off with songs and cuddles. Abby gets it, as much as a toddler is able: “Abby miss Louie, too! Louie sick. Louie doctoh.” We live here now.
Ever the activator, Mark has baked, completed woodworking projects, and set up a temporary home studio. A musical project has evolved from a Lenten discipline into a fulfilling quarantine practice.
MARK:
Since the beginning of "shelter-in-place," I have been recording ambient meditations using hymns and chant melodies as inspiration and my electric guitar as the interface. These are wandering, out-of-time soundscapes designed to be background music. Erik Satie, the brilliant early 20th century composer, coined the term "Furniture Music" for music "to be heard but not to be listened to.” I like to say: if you can balance your checkbook well and without mistake to my pieces, I have done my job.
I've been exploring ambient music - furniture music - for about a year and a half now. My interest in making a type of music that Brian Eno described "as interesting as it is ignorable" has led to creating quiet preludes for alternative services, making live background music for labyrinth walks and meditation classes, and planning a concert of psalms and hymns presented in this style. When the world changed rather suddenly and we found ourselves adrift, attempting to parent, teach, work, and still make dinner all at once, I knew I needed something to keep me grounded. Writing and recording one of these pieces takes long enough to focus me and give me purpose to my day, but not so long I can't do everything else that needs to be done. In fact, making one piece takes, on average, the length of time of a toddler's nap. The rhythm of picking up the instrument, playing it, and making new sounds with the intention of putting something out into the world, allows me to listen for that still small voice when everything around is trying to drown it out.
The electric guitar may seem like an odd choice, but in fact it's perfect: a simple, electrical signal, picked up via magnets and sent through a cable, can be easily and wildly manipulated via effects applied directly to the signal. It is, in many ways and separated by generations, a modern-day organ, which at the time of its creation was considered the peak of musical ingenuity. Air, pumped by the player, was forced through pipes also chosen by the player. Each pipe had a distinct pitch and voice; by combining them in different ways through the use of stops, startling new sounds were created. Similarly, through the use of various effects in different combinations, I attempt to create sounds which will get out of your way, and allow you to relax, or focus, or pray, or meditate, or eat with your family. (I personally find them very useful in bathing our two and a half year old.)
All of my music is available to listen for free on several platforms as “The Lighted Hilltop”; if you search on Spotify, iTunes, or other music-streaming platform, you'll find me! You can also download for free from my Soundcloud account. I wanted to put something beautiful, prayerful, and hopefully helpful into the world during this time.
AMANDA:
In this strange Eastertide, it feels like the purple has lingered. The tomb is empty, the cross is flowered….yet the reflective prayer and waiting of Lent persists. What do we do when the “alleluia” still feels buried? For some of us—myself included—this may be an existential or rhetorical question. Short answer? We do the best we can.
I do not make sourdough. I don’t sew. I’ve made no headway in my bedside stack of books. I’m not planting a summer garden. I haven’t binged a new series.
I have inhaled the comfort food of Parks & Recreation for the 37teenth time. I have repeatedly watched the entire Frozen canon with my daughter, and I legitimately like it. I have occasionally changed out of my pajamas. I have taken a perverse joy in compiling evidence for our property tax dispute. I’ve enjoyed ridiculous, rich, and soul-filling happy hours online with friends from every chapter of my life, Zoom fatigue be damned.
To my relief, I have found some “alleluia” in my work amid the lingering purple. I had never filmed worship or formation before March 15, 2020. To my bemused—sometimes fatigued—delight, I love it. I may only know what day it is because of my streaming schedule, and there are days I make decisions on the fly, minutes before going live. In this unfamiliar medium, I have experienced a calm and serenity as I read, preach, and sing to my phone’s little camera. There are moments of presence and grace. I don’t always follow the improv ethos of living in a moment, but in this work and this time, it’s true.
Brene Brown reminds us that “the World does not ready itself for our plans.”
So we do our best. We are loved. We live here now.
This article is by:
Amanda and Mark Wischkaemper
Amanda and Mark Wischkaemper both grew up in the San Diego area, eventually returning home after years in New York and Los Angeles (respectively). In 2007, both landed at St. James by-the-Sea Episcopal Church in La Jolla, CA, where they later met and married. They’ve called Austin, Texas home since 2013. Team Wischkaemper includes several silly dogs; daughter Abby joined the pack in 2017.
Mark is a Director of Music at St. David’s Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas. He is an advocate, woodworker, gamer, singer, friend, storyteller, and guitarist. He makes ambient guitar meditations based on chant and hymns, and hopes they may help others find some peace, clarity, and focus in the craziness of this life. Mark holds a degree in Music Theory from the Meadows School of Music at Southern Methodist University.
Amanda is Director of Children’s Ministry at St. David’s Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas. She is a professional actor, dialect coach, and theatre educator. She is devoted to telling and hearing stories, and finding reasons to laugh. A fan of cheap humor, she particularly enjoys puns, song parodies, and making deliberately awful MS Paint memes. Amanda holds an AB in Theatre from Davidson College, an MA in Theatre Arts from San Diego State University, and an MFA in Acting from Brooklyn College.