Meant to Be

I haven’t told many yet, but my wife and I are expecting a child next April.  Our first doctor’s appointment is Monday (9/29).  We suspect she is about 9 weeks pregnant to the best of our recollection.  This is great news, but I am finding it difficulty getting excited this time around.  No, I don’t have any children yet.  But we were already expecting this November.  That’s right, she had a miscarriage.  It was devastating to us both.  We haven’t been planning for a child, or even really trying; but when we discovered she was pregnant, we were ecstatic.  We’ve talked a lot about having kids but were not going to try until I was done with school, but things happen—and they happen for a reason, I believe.

A quick aside, Natalie (my wife) and I put our lives on hold while attempting to purchase a well-established local business over the past few months—since shortly after her miscarriage, actually.  Difficulty in finding the financing necessary due to the current owners bookkeeping methods forced us to back out of the deal.  This business was a shared dream of ours and we worked very hard to put together a deal to make it work, but we just couldn’t make it happen.

Having two major disappointments in a row—the miscarriage and the loss of the business deal—we were finding it difficult to make sense of things.  Family members offered their support and all proclaimed “it wasn’t meant to be.”  Neither of us wanted to hear this.

Nevertheless, here we are again with another life-changing event.  I hate to admit it, but it makes sense.  We learned a lot about ourselves through these trying times.  Dealing with the grief of losing an unborn child and the vulnerability of exposing yourself to the business world only to be rejected can crush your spirit a bit.  But the truth is, had we acquired the business, we would be in dire straights as it would have taken both of us to make it work, and she is in no condition to give that kind of effort.  So far, the pregnancy has been difficult for her.  She is very fatigued and nauseous most of the day; and being the bread-winner in the family means she can’t take any time off work right now.  

We are anxiously awaiting the doctors appointment on Monday to make sure everything is alright.  In the meantime, I’ll continue my going to school during the day, working at night, and keeping things up at home in my spare time.  Wish us luck!

SHARK!!!

SHARK!!! Okay, now that I’ve scared Grant away, I can tell you the truth about our fears—his and mine.

Cows:
While adored by many for their colorful markings, complacent demeanor, and grass-grazing laziness, there is a darker side—a side not seen by all but by a select few of us who have the keen sense to see past those big brown eyes. What we see is a vast, cavernous void—vacant of thought, contention, and scrutiny. They have no soul; they are the devil’s children. Mindless automatons without a notion of what it is to be alive. Arguably, this can be said for many animals; but how many animals can you recognize to take no joy in life? Dogs and cats will frolic and show pleasure and pain, vermin too (yes, I’ve seen calves being playful; but only to do battle like Klingons). I think you would see a pleasuring mean-streak in a snake if you could see the smirk on their pointing faces. But cows have no joy. Why? Because a long time ago, they sold their souls for some cud to chew on—I don’t know.

Sharks:
Sharks are scary. Living on the Central Coast of California, I’m aware of the threat they pose. But in most cases, if you leave them alone, they will do the same. (I said ‘most’). They are unpredictable, and territorial; but do they have a soul? Grant’s fear is of violence and the threat of being eaten alive. That is a valid fear as much as the fear of a plain crash or being buried alive. However, his fear prevents him from sticking one little toe in the ocean, panic stricken that a shark will beach itself to take his leg.

So what am I afraid of? A cow isn’t going to eat me, right? I’m afraid of the hollowness below. I’m afraid of what they lack and what they represent. Anyone can be afraid of death, I’m afraid of what’s beyond; and cows represent that for me. I’m not so much afraid for myself, but for the large number of people in the world who have not yet discovered their soul and those who have chosen to disregard it. I’m not alone in my fears, either. The creators of South Park would have you believe that cows are evil aliens.

Mooooo….

Welcome to Rooney Ville

Welcome, welcome, welcome. And thank you for coming by Rooney Ville, home of my first blog. hehe... blog... I feel alien saying it... blog. Okay, that's enough. -blog-

First off, should anyone actually come across this blog, they shall wonder, what is a Rooney? I can't answer that. Oh, maybe I can... it is a name given to me by a long-time friend of mine, Gary Grant Morris, about fifteen years ago. (Yes, Grant, fifteen years) It started as Jickaroon (derived from my real name--Jack); it then stretched into Jickarooney; and as you can guess, I lost the Jick somewhere and never went back to find it. Granted, Grant is the only one to call me Rooney since he granted it to me, but I grant grant when grant the grant..... Uhhh.... what happened there? I think I lost conciousness, er somethin'. Better move on...

Now, why did I start this little spewage? Oh yeah, I was jealeous of you-know-who (the previously mentioned person I won't mention again) being able to express his opinion whenever he felt like it. I have an opinion, too. Albeit similar to his in most cases, it is still mine. I taught him everything he's forgotten. Wait, that didn't come out right. Am I obsessing? This must be what they meant by neurosis. I gotta quite drinking before I get on the internet. Better move on...

If you are still reading this I've either intrigued you, or you're one of those who watch bad movies all the way through hoping it will get better. Hopefully, it will. Better move on...

Too much to say in this first posting, so I can only ask that you try me another day. I may not have given you any reason to, but if you know me... you're scared not to.