A House Divided

Why is everybody so angry?


Over 150 years ago, Abraham Lincoln used the words, “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” from the gospel of Mark to prophesize what could happen to our country, already splitting apart over the issue of slavery.

And it strikes me how well those words still apply today.

Where so many in our country seem to be so angry, so divided. So ready to jump down each other’s throats, if not actually choke them.

From religion to politics to backup referees, and everything in between, we all seem to pick a side and hold on for dear life, gritting our teeth and our minds against moving.

Then we vent on radio talk shows, post scathing posts, and write Letters to the Editor in all caps.

And I wonder how we got this way.

And why we’re all so angry. So strident. So sure we’re right and the other side is not only wrong, but almost evil.

And I wonder when we’ll remember that we’re all in this together.

That this country is ours. Not yours. Not mine. Not theirs.

Ours.

And I wonder if there’s something in the water. Or if something that was in the water is gone.

Or something that was in our hearts.

So that’s it. No easy wrap-up. Nothing resolved yet.

Just an observation.

We’re angry.

But if this “Great Experiment,” these United States, are going to work, it’s in our hands.

So that, as President Lincoln offered in his later Gettysburg Address, “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”




@Copyright 2013, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

An Open Letter to the Departing Iron Monopoly Token

Dear Iron Monopoly Token,

I owe you an apology. Since I was a kid, I’ve played Monopoly hundreds of times. And, all those times, I could have chosen you.

But I hardly ever did.

As a boy, I would typically go for the racecar or dog. Then, as I got older, I'd pick something more eclectic, like the hat, wheelbarrow or cannon.

And when I was really feeling like pushing the envelope, I'd select the thimble, smirking inwardly, knowing my selection would momentarily knock my competition off-balance.

But, in all those times, on all those days, throughout all those years, I rarely chose you.

Looking back, I'm not quite sure why. After all, you tried to be accommodating. You were light, flat and thin on the bottom, and also had a handle that made it easy to move you around the board.

Yet, somehow, I believe that lightness kept me away.

Because how could I hope you'd hold your own against the solidity of the other tokens?

But now that you're going away, replaced by a cat, I'm feeling regret.

How could I have treated you so poorly?

As if you didn’t matter.

And now it's too late. I can write you letters, send flowers, even fill up your voicemail, but I know you won't return my calls. Instead you'll just move on. Probably to another game. In fact, I've already heard rumors that the Candyland people are in negotiations with your agent.

So, I guess I'll just wish you well. And say that, once again, I'm sorry.

And that I've learned my lesson. I'll never take another token for granted. Even those non-descript plastic Trouble pieces.

I wish you well, Mr. Iron.

Press on...

Take care,

James Warda

Writing is Running is Life

Waiting to run the Chicago Soldier Field 10-Miler

I write. I run. And I’m alive – at least I am after I’ve hit the snooze button a few times.

And each of these has something in common.

The blank.

With writing, it’s the blank page. Sitting there. Waiting. Sometimes the words crash through you upon it like a wild artist throwing paint. And sometimes it simply mocks you.

With running, it’s the open road ahead. It also waits. Sometimes it’s easier to start. You feel good. The air is cool. Your muscles quickly find their groove. Other days, there’s a bulldozer on your back.

With life, it’s waking up to the new day. Sometimes you quickly focus in, remember your purpose and get at it. Other days, you’re worn down and don’t even remember where you put the car keys.

And each blank asks.

   

Are you willing to do what it takes?

  

It asks, knowing though that, at some point, probably many points along the way, it will get hard.

Moments in which you’ll want to give up. When you’ve failed and tried and failed again.

You’ll sit at your computer, staring at that blinding whiteness.

Or you’ll get to that fourth mile and feel your hamstrings screaming.

Or you’ll try to start you own company, and still not know how to get from here to there without benefits and bi-weekly paychecks.

But when you make it through that wall of pain or doubt or fear, or possibly all three, you will learn the truth – that you are indeed someone who can make it through.

Which is the true prize.

So, if you’re ready, let’s go, my friend.

We’ll do it together.

    

And it will be glorious.




Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

9-1/2 Things I Love About Disney World

1. It truly is the “Happiest Place on Earth.” Whether it’s because Orlando sits in some weird dimensional time shift or the laws of physics are suspended there, it is physically impossible to be somber at Disney World. In fact, even frowning is frowned upon.

2. The minute you arrive, you become part of a fairy tale. Unfortunately, when you get home, it’s hard to come back to reality. In fact, I’m still trying to convince my boss that I’m King James and have a Princess Daughter. Though it’s not as hard to convince my daughter.

3. Walt used to love walking through Disneyland in the morning before anyone else had arrived. When we take advantage of Extra Magic Hours and walk down Main Street in the Magic Kingdom, before the park has officially opened, we know why he did, and what he was probably feeling.

4. Watching old B-movies with our kids at the Sci-Fi Dine-In Theater. After all, where else can you be harassed by carhops, dunk French fries in your shake, and tell your kids to stop poking each other in the back seat, all while enjoying the nuanced storyline of “The Giant Gila Monster”?

5. The Kitchen Sink dessert at Beaches and Cream in the Beach Club Resort. Eight scoops of ice cream covered with fudge, fruit, caramel, nuts and candy bars – with an entire can of Whipped Cream on top. But don’t worry; I always ask for a diet drink.

6. Every time you go to Disney World, something will happen that you’ll remember the rest of your life. On our most recent trip, my nine-year-old daughter forgot her purse – with her cell phone inside – on the monorail, which meant that life as we knew it stopped. After sharing our story with Security, they radioed the train we’d been on, and asked the conductor to drop it off at the next station, so another train could pick it up on the way back. Within half an hour, I was giving Alexandra’s purse back to her. While Disney had given her something even more important – the belief that magic does exist.

7. Watching my family’s faces as they try the different Coca-Cola products at Club Cool, especially the ones they don’t like. As for me, when I drink “Beverly” from Italy, I end up looking like Yoda. Or Ernest Borgnine.

8. The Friendship boats that take you between the parks and resorts. In fact, just saying “Friendship” makes you feel good. It’s definitely better than “Acquaintance Flotilla.”

9. The miniature village and trains in the Germany Pavilion at the World Showcase. I don’t care how old the man, the minute he sees those trains, he becomes seven again. And he doesn’t even want a refund on his adult ticket.

9-1/2. Why a half? To remember that you can’t do anything halfway at Disney. You have to commit, like Walt did. After all, he’s the same man who bought a first class train ticket for Hollywood, to try to become a director, after his Laugh-O-Gram company in Kansas City failed. When his wife Lillian was asked later why Walt would buy such an expensive ticket when he had almost no money, she said it was because “he always liked the best way.”* And, all you have to do is ride “Peter Pan’s Flight,” watch “Illuminations,” listen to the detailed “backstory” behind the Tower of Terror, or sit wide-eyed on the Kilimanjaro safari, to realize that Walt’s commitment to perfection endures.

What are your reasons?







*“Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination” by Neal Gabler, pp. 77. (2006, Vintage Books)

Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

You're Going to Change the World Today

You’re going to change the world today.

No, don’t try to deny it. And you know, I understand that it can be a little overwhelming, to have the entire world depending on you. But I know that you can do it.

Actually, I knew you could do it when I first met you. When I first saw the hunger in your fingertips and the fire in your eyes.

When you spoke in just that way, with just those words, in just that rhythm that said, “I’m going to change the world. Gonna make it a little better, a little sweeter, a bit more true.”

And I remember the way you said that nothing on this or any other planet was going to stop you. Then you turned and walked away, confident and clear.

And I remember thinking to myself that you were amazing, that I’d never met anyone quite like you, and I was sure that, if you put your mind and hands to it, there was nothing that could break you.

So there you sit, knowing that today’s the day. Because I see the way you’re shifting nervously in your chair, the way your body crackles and zaps, the way your grin says that you’ve decided that there is no time like now to move.

You’re going to change the world today.

I’m just glad I was here to see it.

*Excerpted from "Where Are We Going So Fast?" by James. R. Warda (2001, Rowman & Littlefield)

Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

I Met a Man I Hadn't Seen in a Long Time

I met a man I hadn’t seen in a long time. He had a purpose.

And you knew it the minute you saw him. It was in his eyes, the way they looked right at you.

It was in what he said. And didn’t.

Not wasting words for trivialities or trifles. In what he did. He had a point of view, and a purpose. Because he knew that, in the great and grand scheme of things, our time is short.

So we’d better get on with waking up. To treat our moments like they won’t come again.

I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He’d lost his way awhile back, amongst the bramble and brush of taking trains and making meetings and checking his carry-on bags. And, yet, here he was again.

To share his simple truth. That we were born to be awake. To notice our hands.

But if, instead, we choose to sleep. To let it all go by, with distant horns honking and children faintly laughing in the playground outside our closed window, while we turn off the alarm and lay our heads back down into the pocket of our pillow. Then we have also chosen not to care.

I met a man today who reminded me of this. He spoke with passion, and compassion. As if he’d recently faced his own failure. And somehow found the will to start again. His words were water to my parched lips. Funny thing was, after awhile, I realized that I’d seen him somewhere before. And then, after a long and careful breath, I realized something else.

I realized that man was me.


Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

My Christmas Wish

I wish I could see my Mom and Dad this Christmas.

My father died in 2000. My mother in 2004.

And I was just thinking how nice it would be to see them again.

To come into their house on Christmas Eve, out of the cold into the warm. With my wife and kids beside me.

My Mom would come up in her apron and jingle bell necklace, glasses pushed up on her head, and kiss me. Well, to be honest, she’d probably kiss the kids and my wife first. After all, when you get married, you automatically get second billing. Then, when you have kids, all bets are off. You may not get that hello kiss until it’s time to say goodbye.

Then my Mom would bring us into the family room, with the fire going and the Christmas tree bursting with presents. The whole house would be filled with color and conversation, and music and light.

As my Mom would go off to get us punch, my Dad would wake from his nap.

He’d rise slowly from the couch, and give me a quick, rough kiss on the cheek.

Yes, I might just get that first kiss from my Dad.

The whole family would be there, too. My sister and brothers and their husband and wives. And my parents’ grandchildren and great grandchildren. Also some good friends.

We would eat, laugh, sing, play games, and open presents, and probably eat some more. Until later, when we’d walk the sugared up, almost sleeping, kids to the vans.

But just before we left, I’d stop to kiss my Mom and Dad, and hug them, a little longer.

Yes, it would be nice to see them again.

Actually, I just did.

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Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.