Longtime reader(s) (joke courtesy of Big Dot) — you will remember that I have tracked my wattle as far back as 2008.

Last week I glanced at my reflection in the Phone and thought, “Well, that isn’t too — Oh, Jesus!”

That bit at the end was when I caught sight of the Wattle.

The Wattle has changed. It isn’t as plump and fatty, so that’s good, only now it is a withered pelican pouch, no longer full of fish. Withered wattle.

Wattle through the years:

Wattle in real life with judicious cropping and chin elevated:

All I have to do is lift my chin up an inch every damn minute of every day.

Also, look at how wrinkled my fore-ear is. I had no idea THAT was going to happen.

First off, the weather is romantic. It’s my favorite type of day: soft and rainy. Rained all day, in fact, so I cannot do my gardening tasks. And what do you do on a rainy day but stay inside and sip tea? BUT YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU HAVE FOOLISHLY DECIDED TO STRAIGHTEN YOUR TEETH YOU VAIN THING, and you can’t possibly sip a cup of tea all day because the aligners have to be in your mouth 23 hours a day.

Second, last night we watched a romantic movie on Apple, Eternity, about a couple married 60-plus years. The premise allows the woman to choose between commitment and love. Some reviews said “predictable,” but I suspect those people had looked at the running time. Yoh can’t do that with a will-they-won’t-they premise.

Finally, Gary did something to make me love him: the neurologist sent a new prescription for a slow-release version of his medication and Gary has angrily and grudgingly consented to try it. Of course, not immediately, but probably next week. I anticipate he will drop it after the first nightmare or bellyache, but medical miracles happen every day.

Technology has come to my aid in the last few days.

My car was at a parking meter. I almost didn’t park there because I didn’t have any change. Because it’s the 1960s in my head, I suppose. Luckily I realized I could probably use a card.

Then, I walked two blocks and thought, “Did I lock my car?” Luckily I realized I could probably lock my car remotely with my Mini app. Never used it before but it worked.

Yesterday Gary wasn’t answering his phone at all while I was at work. Eventually I remembered I could get onto the Alex app and speak to him though the Alexa in his bedroom.

In all these cases, the tech was available to me, but it was hard to forget the fifty years of coin meters, and car keys, and phone calls, and remember the new ways.

I think I need to make a conscious effort to adopt new technology immediately so it has a chance to take root before I go senile. Next plane trip the boarding pass will be in my phone, I swear.

Friend #3 groused that I was skipping the impending music trivia night in favor of my previous engagement to watch The Magic Flute.

”Like you can’t watch Mozart on YouTube,” she complained. “You have to go to the opera.”

”Well actually,” I said, because all the most insufferable sentences start with that, “Opera season is over, so I’m watching the opera at the symphony.”

YES HOW INSUFFERABLE AM I?

Still not as bad as if I had seen an opera involving a ballet sequence at the symphony.

I always thought Mom was very against a divorce from Jerry. The narrative I heard was that she visited Saint Louis, then met up with my (step)Dad again, and henceforth was heartily pro-divorce.

Well, the new letters have revealed that Mom filed for divorce from my father Jerry six months before visiting Saint Louis. That surprised me.

Later letters revealed the true story.

1. Jerry started a new job FOR Lockheed, contracting AT NASA, encountered stepmother Susanne, realized he hadn’t loved my Mom the last three years, and saw this marriage had to end.
2. However, as a Catholic, he couldn’t just bone the new blonde Susanne while married, and also, as a Catholic, he couldn’t file for divorce. So Mom would have to file for divorce. (And, readers, I tell you, I have never felt such kinship with my father. That type of hair-splitting bullshit is the kind of nonsense my younger technical-virgin self would do.)
3. Mom almost immediately alerted Jerry’s doctor to say, “This man is spending money recklessly and accidentally setting fires and getting into car accidents and longing for blondes. I think he needs a psychiatrist because he’s losing his mind.” The doctor said, “No, I’ll just give him a stern talking-to.” (1968. Texas. How ill would someone have to be for a manic-depression diagnosis? I don’t know.)
4. Mom soon got disgusted enough to say, “Fine, Jerry, you can pay for a mortgage and an apartment, and I’ll file for a divorce, and we can make it official when I find a job.” Six months of job-hunting later she took a break to visit St. Louis with my little five-year-old cock-blocking self and the rest is history.

So the pieces are falling into place. I couldn’t find Jerry in the government NASA directory because technically he was a Lockheed contractor. Mom got divorced so fast after finding my Dad again because she’d already filed. Still don’t know who drove her back from Mizzou when Dolores died, but that will be revealed I am sure.