7 Or 70

Days like yesterday it becomes difficult to determine if President Donald Trump is 7 or 70 years of age. After his childish tweet on Twitter, it is not easy to imagine it was sent by the Leader of the Free World.

Compounding the confusion is the National Press Corps acting like a bunch of second graders circling on the play ground screaming, ”Fight! Fight! Fight!”

While the folk in the Cornfield and throughout the Heartland sit back snickering and ignoring the lunacy.

We are more concerned with jobs, putting food on the table, having summer fun and our own health and concerns than the shenanigans of the Political Alter verse inside the Beltway.

Give us a break and focus on what really matters.

While I do not agree with the President in often what he tweets and the words he chooses to use, I do have an understanding of his mindset and the cultural setting for what most of us consider uncouth and un-called-for wording.

I discussed this nearly a year ago: Grandpa and Trump.

Grandpa and Trump

The White House Press Corps and others of the National Press are rightly criticized by those of us in the Heartland.

The bent of the journalists and their connection with life outside of the Coasts and the Beltway is far different from those of us in the Cornfield and the rest of the Heartland.

What matters to them, we find “too much ado about nothing.”

Time for the press to get out into the hustlings. Time for the President to put down his phone and focus on what is of importance to “we, the people.”

From the Cornfield, for a second day, we are being beset with talk about the President’s tweets and the National Press reaction and condemnation.

Time for both sides to give it a rest.

Both the President and the National Press are too defensive, too quick to throw bombs at each other and generally ready to step outside too often.

There will always be a certain amount of distrust and dislike between whoever is in the Oval Office and reporters who cover the White House, but at least the two should be able to act civilly with one another.

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Mark

I am Mark Ivy, a born and bred Hoosier.
I am father to two wonderful sons, Dave and Kev, of whom I am very proud;
two terrific daughters-in-law, Anna and Hailey; three beautiful granddaughters, Dylan, Alaina and Amelia.

On May 9, 2017, my lung specialist hit me with the news I had maybe six months to live if the chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), the damage caused by the histoplasmosis described below, ran its normal course. I am now on hospice at home. Content and ready to cross over the river to the other side.

On September 2, 2014, I was diagnosed with disseminated histoplasmosis, a fungal infection, discovered by a biopsy of my larynx.
The infection is fatal if left untreated. For 2 1/2 years I lived under a death sentence being misdiagnosed
with a non-specific bacterial infection which left my right lung a “dried up sponge” and non-functioning.
I was aggressively treated for the infection with antifungals.
The treatment ended October of 2015 and fortunately did not take two years.

I suffer from chronic Horton’s Syndrome. The effects vary widely causing various problems.
Statistically, Horton’s affects only 0.1% of the population. Major depression also attacks me regularly.

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