Donald Trump’s hair and other random thoughts

No major theme or story this week—instead, a collection of random observations and thoughts on topics from the ridiculous to the…well, somewhat less so:

  • At this age, we grow ever more conscious of the passage of time—and how much more quickly the months—heck, years—seem to zoom by. But I’m reminded of how tempus fugits it in smaller ways every time I stand at the microwave. Waiting for the timer to count down the two minutes to heat my soup, or the six seconds to warm up the cat’s food, I realize that those little pieces of my life are simply gone, never to be experienced again. I try to make them meaningful by thinking of something I’m grateful for, or simply trying to be present and in the moment, however fleeting. Or I just stare into space wondering what I’m going to make for dinner, or if I have time to go pee before the timer dings.
  • Amid all the hullabaloo about Donald Trump and his supporters, all I can think of is this: How could anyone trust the judgment of someone who thinks that hair looks good?
  • I was talking to a neighbor whose 50th high school reunion was coming up, and her husband recalled his last reunion when someone said to him, “Gee, I remember you as being taller.” Then we had some fun coming up with snarky retorts he could have made, like, “Gee, I remember you as being thinner” or “Well, I remember you as having more hair.” As more of us hit these milestone reunion years (my 45th is in 2016), I guess we need to be prepared for some tactless interesting comments from our classmates, huh?
  • I don’t get sports talk shows. I’m not a sports fan to begin with, but I can appreciate how folks who are fans enjoy watching their favorite teams play the game. What I don’t understand, though, is how guys (and it is mostly guys) can then spend hours rehashing said game—individual plays, players’ performances, the coach’s strategy, ad nauseam—often with tremendous animation and engagement. Yet these often are the same guys who sport that deer-in-the-headlights look and clam up when their partner wants to talk about their relationship. Go figure.
  • I saw a recent Buzzfeed post about “grandmas who have zero f***ing filters.” It reminded me of my own grandmother and the first time I brought then Hubs-to-be to meet her. He’s walking around her apartment, looking at family photos, and spies one of me when I was about five. Nana sees him looking at it and says, “Yeah, that’s when she was still a virgin.” May she rest in peace.
  • As a writer, I spend the lion’s share of most days in solitude, inside my head, pulling together words into sentences, organizing them into paragraphs, etc. I have the luxury of thinking things though, choosing the just-right word, and editing until my writing is as well-honed as possible. Lately, however, I’m noticing that when I interact with people in real time, I sometimes default to edit mode before I speak, causing a few seconds’ lag until I reply to someone. When I do it around Hubs, it drives him crazy because he thinks I’m not listening to him (at least not listening fast enough). I think I need to get out more. P.S. If you meet me in person and I seem a little slow on the uptake, now you’ll know why.
  • More often than not, every time I go to type “meditation,” it comes out as “medication.” While it’s likely a result of years of medical writing, I can’t help but wonder if the universe (or my subconscious) is trying to tell me something.
  • Finally, here’s a way to look at one happy coincidence of being a boomer of a certain age:

Medicare kicks in just when
you need a new hip.

So what do you think? I welcome your comments on these topics—or anything else that you may be ruminating on.





Roxanne Jones

About Roxanne Jones

By day, Roxanne Jones is an award-winning freelance copywriter specializing in health and medicine. She launched Boomer Haiku, a humorous blog about life as a baby boomer, in 2015, and a Boomer Haiku greeting card line in 2016 (available at 6 Maine stores; visit to learn more). Born and raised in Brunswick, she left Maine after high school (Class of 1971) and, after living in Massachusetts and California, came screaming back to her home state in 2006. She enjoys chardonnay, laughing at the foibles and frustrations of getting older, and contemplates plastic surgery to get rid of the wattle on her neck.