Maintaining Circumspection

Out my front door this January 12, 2018 as the snow continues to fall

Certain recent events have resulted in the need for an introspection in retrospect and come to the realization that more circumspection is needed in my dialogue, primarily in messaging and texts.

Circumspection is a new task I must come to bear with as much competence and energy I can muster.

All my life I have enjoyed the written word, my own attempts at swaying or impacting in some way others on any given issue, but primarily in the realm of politics. That passion for writing has yet to abate even as I near the end of my personal journey.

Alas, my target audience does not seem to have read or in any way been influenced by my Cornfield perspective, which often is at odds with others living on the coasts. Yet even within my own, what should be, sphere-of-influence there has not even been a ripple.

How right Jesus was when He said that a prophet is not without honor except in his hometown.

With my current condition, facing the dark night with Chooey at my side, but not another human soul, I tend to message and text the only sources I have with whom to vent, to talk, to attempt to pop the pressure valve and remain stable.

Unfortunately, in doing so, facing an unexpected dilemma of a child facing the Great Beyond before the parents, my words have too often been the fodder, the kindling for unnecessary anxiety and uproar, causing undue stress and pain.

Therefore, be it resolved (how’s that for moving to a New Year’s resolution?) I will maintain circumspection in my texts and messages which do not convey a warped signal of alarm and emergency rather than simply speaking for the therapeutic effect resulting for me personally.

Yesterday I was noting what a day it was. I was not wrong!

Thursday this time, the temperature was around 60 degrees, shrouded in dreariness, fog and rain. This morning, the mercury is at 20 degrees, blowing snow coming down over an tenth to two-tenths of an inch of ice. Before all is said and done, up to eight inches of white stuff may fall.

The snow is currently coming down heavy. There is a grayness to the day, but without the dreariness of yesterday.

That’s the way it is in Mark’s Den this wintry Friday.

And how is your start to the holiday weekend going?

After finally being diagnosed with histoplasmosis, this little bear and especially the words meant and mean the world to me.

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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.