Wyatt Allen Horne

Six weeks ago, another new addition arrived on my mother's side of the family, and I just got to meet him yesterday. His name is Wyatt (as in Earp) Allen (after my grandfather) Horne. New life just never ceases to amaze me, and what is more amazing to me is that this newborn baby is going to be alive to see most of the 21st century, if we don't blow up planet Earth in the process, that is. He's going to see 15 or so presidents of the United States, and be able to hop on a space shuttle to visit his kid's new condo on the Moon. He's going to see things that people now have only dreamed of.

Right now, I do have to admit, he looks like he jumped out of an episode of the Simpsons. He's got wide eyes, no teeth, and even has a protruding upper lip. I told my Aunt Deb (Wyatt's grandmother) today that kids his age only come with a few settings: I'm sleepy; I'm hungy; I've just made a number in my pants; and I'm gassy. That's about it. Right now, he's mostly on one of the first two settings.

I would love to have a look into his brain. There are millions upon billions of connections being made. His little mind is taking everything in from the environment. His arms and feet are moving, paving the way towards rolling over and crawling. His ears are listening to every word we say, and the language centers of his brain are pieceing together the intricacies of the English language.

Wouldn't it be nice if they were babies, and then poof! they wake up one morning and are ready to go off to college? I wouldn't mind having kids if that happened.

Speaking of college, my cousin Garren (a.k.a. 'G-Spot,' and 'The Pope') left Belfast this afternoon to go off to college in Kansas. I can remember when my aunt Cathy was pregnant with him, and thinking to myself what a strange name Garren is. And then, when he was in his babbling phase, I would pretend to speak baby, and act like his interpreter. And then in my mind I see the video of one Christmas that my uncle videotaped of Garren by the stairs, obviously gift-wrapping a little homemade brown surprise for his parents. Now he's off to college, and the next chapter of his life. It hardly seems possible.

Had a pretty good time at Rollies this evening with most of the Horne cousins. It's weird, because I had a really good time with everybody, but I have a really hard time talking to them. Apart from the obvious, Neally and Sara are talking about the cute pants they bought at some store, and Colby and Jake talking about how many touchdown passes Peyton Manning threw last season, I'm just having a hard time connecting with people. Maybe it's that I have a lot on my mind right now, with my degree looming over my head, or maybe it's that I've had too sheltered a life, and haven't really had the chance of really living on my own (really), and being my own person. Or maybe I'm just simply the black sheep of that side of the family. Who knows.

It's just that lately I'm finding myself at parties, or social situations, and not really having a lot to add to conversations. And sometimes when I do have something to say, my statements kill whatever conversation I'm having quicker than Raid to a spider. (For all of you guys on the other side of the pond, Raid is a household insect [and arachnid] poison.) And I get people looking at me like, that's a strange thing to say, and then they sigh and walk away. But other times, I am the life of the party, and always know what to say, and could talk all night to anyone about anything. I think I may have just diagnosed my own bi-polar disorder. Oh well. If after finishing my degree, I'm still that way, I'll see the doctor about Lithium, but I think I'll wait on that awhile...

It might as well be 12:30, and I still have to print off some business cards for my mother, who is now experiencing an influx of real estate activity, so I will leave you guys with just one thought:

Spammers are evil people, who should save their product plugs for e-mail, and not the comment section of personal blogs. May Beelzebub himself scoop out your eyes with a dull plastic spoon and feed them to you, you naughty naughty spammers.

Okay, that's it!

à + !

Thanks goes to my Uncle Blaine for sending me this photo.