Tag: love

Resolutions are so overrated

“Tonight’s December thirty-first,
Something is about to burst …
Hark, it’s midnight, children dear.
Duck! Here comes another year!”

—Ogden Nash, (1902 – 1971) American poet declared by The New York Times as the country’s best-known producer of humorous poetry.

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“Well, I’ve completed my New Year’s resolutions,” a buddy bragged last week.

“Resolutions are so overrated,” I reacted. “They just go in one ‘year’ and out the other.”

I laughed. I thought it was funny. Popping off, however, compelled me to start thinking about some sort of, let’s say, focus, for the new year.

Resolving to make it through another year with a smile and being here this time next year for a progress report is a fantastic focus for any year. Iconic comedian Groucho Marx said it best when he was reportedly asked in an interview what he hoped people would say about him a hundred years from now.

He responded, “I hope they say, ‘Boy, doesn’t he look good for his age?’”

It was also Groucho who said in possibly one of the very few serious quotes he was credited with, “I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.”

Honestly, who does not want to live a long and happy life? Probably no one … except maybe for one of my relatives that comes to mind. Just ask him how he is doing, and he will likely growl, “Well, I was in a good mood this morning, but I am about to get over it.”

Some say he’s not grumpy, just being funny. Really? You should meet him.

A few years ago, I sent said relative a book I enjoyed. Written by UCLA postdoctoral researcher Alex Korb, “The Upward Spiral” validates my thoughts on the rewards of happiness. Korb says that listening to music from the happiest times of our past becomes our happiness in the present because we embrace music associated with intense emotional life experiences.

A happiness seeker as long as I can remember, my happiest memories have always been moments in music. Listening to it, studying it, making it, thinking about it. I can’t be involved with music and be unhappy.

My Uncle Bill, my mom’s baby brother, personified that musical theory long before Kolb’s book appeared in print. And, no, Uncle Bill is not the grumpy relative. He’s the life and humor of every family reunion. He’s also the one who taught me a fun music game many years ago.

Get a bunch of people together and start playing music from your younger years. Encourage every person to share the memories each song evokes. The city where they first heard the tune. The car they were driving at the time. The girl or guy they were dating. Smiles and laughter will be spontaneous.

Uncle Bill’s music game supports another of Korb’s happiness theories. Smile. Smile when you are happy. Smile when you’re not happy. Smile all the time.

“Why would I want to do that,” my aforementioned grumpy relative once asked.

Mom had the answer for that. “Smile! It makes everyone wonder what you’ve been up to.”

According to Korb,“ The brain isn’t always very smart.” The author contends that it responds to the world around us, sorting through random information and looking for clues on how to react. Therefore, when you smile, even when you aren’t happy, smiling fools the brain into thinking you must, in fact, be happy after all. Causing it to send happy signals, even though you really feel otherwise.

So, for 2026, I resolve to keep on enjoying my favorite music, beckoning to those intense emotional memories that keep me smiling, convincing my brain that I’m happy all the time, and keeping everyone wondering … “What is he up to.”

Then what remains, to quote Groucho one last time, “Getting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough.”

So, “Duck, here comes another year!” With it comes my wish for us all. For a happy, blessed, and prosperous year.

Especially for my aforementioned crabby relative.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

It all boils down to one thing

“I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them.”
— Edward Parker Helms, actor, comedian, writer, and producer.

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“I miss the good ol’ days,” someone said to kick off the coffee klatch last week.

“Yeah? What do you miss the most,” another queried?

Answers from those who had gathered to solve the world’s problems over strong, hot coffee were many. “Drivers who actually understand the concept of turn signals and stop signs.“ “How about people who let you finish a sentence without interrupting?” “Manners. Where did the good old day’s of being a decent person go?” “Courtesy — I remember my mother telling me that if you can’t say something nice about someone, just smile and don’t say anything at all.” “I miss how people could talk about their differences without calling each other names.”

“Yeah,” one of the problem solving coffee sippers agreed, ‘”My grandaddy said when slinging slurs and vulgar names start, be kind and understand that it’s folks who can’t help it. They just never learned an educated vocabulary to have a civil discussion with.”

Thoughts and opinions bounced around before silence fell on my side of the table. Just as I had a story to share.

Imagine that.

“It all boils down to one thing,” I began my two cents and change. “Respect. Years ago, as a young editor, I wrote what I believed was a balanced editorial. Carefully presenting both sides of a controversial local issue before supporting my position with facts. After committing my points to posterity, I sent the piece to press for the next edition.”

In those days, I arrived at the office by 6 a.m. at the latest to get a head start in the morning’s quietness before unlocking the door right before 8. The next morning, a visitor walked up as I was turning the key in the lock. A local attorney, a well-known and respected community leader. He was twice my age, tall and broad-shouldered, and his deep wisdom was matched by his deeper voice.

In his hand was a rolled-up copy of that day’s edition. The one bearing my carefully crafted editorial opinion.

“You got a minute for me,” he asked politely.

I returned his civility with a smile and, “Yes sir — always. Come in. The coffee is on.”

We sat down in my office, and he began, “I’ve read your editorial in today’s paper, and I disagree with your opinion. I think your argument is flawed.”

“OK,” I replied politely. “I did my research, and feel confident in having published it. But that said, with your experience and wisdom, I am eager to hear your viewpoints.”

I listened to him with respect and without interrupting. Respect for my elders, respect for authority, and courtesy in hearing out the opinions of others were virtues my parents instilled in me at an early age. My father summed it up by reminding me that a wise man learns more by listening than he does by talking.

When my morning visitor concluded, I expressed my gratitude to him for taking the time to share his thoughts and views with me. I also told him that I fully respected his opinions and would research them further, but for the moment, I still felt strongly that I was on the right track with mine.

He was quiet for a moment. I likewise sat silently. I had no idea what he might say next. That’s when he smiled and said, “Well, I thank you for hearing me out. I wish I could have persuaded you otherwise about your views, but I respect your right to your opinions, and I support your right to express them. Even if we can’t agree.”

Then he said something that I have come to understand more fully as the years have passed. “If we ever fail to respect each other’s freedom to express an opinion, I fear, we will have lost our country.”

With a hearty handshake and a smile, he rolled up the newspaper, put it under his arm and said, “Feel free to stop my office anytime for coffee.” Then he walked out the door.

“I recall that conversation often,” I started to wrap up my story. “Usually when I consider lifelong friends who might hold views on topics ranging from ‘politics to pole cats,’ as my grandmother used to say, very different from mine. And I value them knowing that our mutual respect exemplifies our belief that true friendship outweighs our differences in opinion. That hate and differences of opinion do not have to travel the same path.

I ended last week’s coffee shop commentary saying, “I had good parenting examples. My dad was a lifelong Democrat. My mother was an unrelenting Republican. Each voted their convictions, effectively canceling the other’s vote in every election. Yet, they were happily married for 63 years. Through love, they respected each other’s opinions, even when they disagreed.

“It worked then,” I said with a shoulder shrug. “And I believe it would work today. If more people just realized that with love and respect, we can salvage some of those good old days.

“Before they are completely gone.”

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

How do they possibly know

Sometimes I think we are alone in the universe, and sometimes I think we’re not. In either case the idea is quite staggering.
— Arthur C. Clark, (1917 – 2008) English science fiction writer.

– – – – – –

Mount Pleasant friend and MPHS classmate Dick Zachary noted on social media a couple of weeks ago, his struggle to comprehend how much “six trillion times several billion” might be.

I agree with him. We had great teachers. I mastered the slide rule that I never used outside of class and was able figure out the cost of a Frito pie and a Dr. Pepper at the Tiger Den across the street from the campus. But even Mount Pleasant High never equipped us with calculation capabilities involving billions and trillions.

Dick’s mathematics mystification was triggered by a newspaper article he shared with his post. I didn’t see a source on it, but a portion of what looked to be an Associated Press byline was visible. The headline read, “Sneaking a peek at distant galaxies — Data trove from European telescope previews areas of new six-year study.”

The text reported, “A European space telescope launched to explore the dark universe has released a trove of new data on distant galaxies.

“The images and other data released Wednesday by the European Space Agency’s Euclid observatory includes a preview of three cosmic areas that the mission will study in finer detail mapping the shapes and locations of galaxies billions of light years away. A light-year is nearly six trillion miles.”

And this is where Dick asked his first question, “How do they possibly know? It blows my mind. At the speed of light, it would take around 20 years just for a light beam to reach a billion miles.”

I bring up my friend’s curiosity not to imply that I have an answer. Oh no, far from it. I still get cross-eyed trying to figure out how the GPS app on my phone knows where I am, where I am going and that I missed the last three turns. And that’s just traveling a few miles in East Texas. Heaven forbid I should attempt six trillion miles into deep space.

Dick’s doubts about grasping distance in space, however, does remind me of my daughter Robin. And a conversation we shared on the back porch one night at our home in the Texas Hill Country near the Medina River. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away … about three decades ago.

My beautiful daughter inherited my gift of gab and thirst for questions that make one think, which led to some wonderful and often spirited conversations. That heritage, and the fact that she excelled in high school debate — a skill she practiced on me every day when she was a teenager — made for moments I remember as if they had happened just yesterday.

“Do you ever wonder how far the sky goes,” she quizzed me one night as we gazed at stars in the Hill Country sky and discussed her report card.

“That’s easy,” I replied. “The sky never ends. The heavens go on forever.”

Silence.

“W-w-what do you mean … it never ends,” she responded slowly.

“It never ends,” I repeated. “Some things are infinite, and space is one of them. It has no end.”

More silence. Silence indicated differing processes with my children. It made my son, Lee, smile. He was the quiet type who was always thinking about something. With Robin, the more you offered, the more freely she vocalized her thoughts while processing them.

“No wait,” she recovered sitting up on the edge of her chair. “That’s not possible. It has to end somewhere. Everything has to have a beginning and an end.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Space is one thing that has no beginning and no end.”

More silence.

‘Dad, there has to be an end. Nothing can go on forever without end.”

“OK,” I proposed. “Let’s say that you are right, that trillions and trillions of miles and light years out there is a stop sign that says, ‘The end. Space ends here. Please take an alternate route to wherever you were going or go back from where you came.’ Something has to be on the other side of that sign. A brick wall. A different kind of space. Something. With space and the universe, there cannot be just nothing.”

Longer silence.

Before she could arrive at a response, I added, “Let me give you something else to think about. Just as the heavens have no end, time also has no end.”

“Daaaddd!” Her falling tone of voice was filled with frustration. “I’m still working on this space thing.”

“Work on this while you are at it,” I added. “God has always existed. There never was a time when there was not God. He has always been and always will be. And He created ‘the heaven and the earth.’ It’s all in the Bible.” Just start at Genesis one and one.”

The silence by this time was deafening.

“Do you want to know something else,” I asked?

“No,” she replied sharply. “We’ve covered enough space and time for one night.” She got up, turned toward the door, and paused. “Good night, Dad. All of this makes my brain hurt. I’m going to bed.” Then added with a smile, “This conversation has an end … for tonight.”

So, how do modern space researchers really know? Maybe I can get my daughter and my friend together to figure this out. Then they can let me know. I’ll even loan them my slide rule.

Goodness knows I can’t help them, though. I can’t even follow a GPS out of the county without missing a turn.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.