Would You Bet on the Stylist, the Plumber or the Doc?

A plumber, a hairdresser and a doctor walk into a bar. When the server returns, in addition to handing over their drinks, he issues each an identical box of 100 facial photos and a challenge: Sort the box’s contents into two piles–smokers and non-smokers–and whomever achieves the highest degree of accuracy will drink free for the rest of the night.

Assuming each person is representative of their occupation, who is most likely to win? Who is most likely to go home perfectly sober?

Does this sound like a joke to you, Zesties? In fact, it’s connected to a medical study I read years ago, and to the theme of today’s post, which is that of games connected to people’s occupations.*

Back to the study for a moment and the results. If you played along, did you place the participants in this order of ascending accuracy?

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Bee Situation: Resolved (+ Writer Unboxed Redirect)

In most circles it would be considered rude to begin a suspenseful story one week, follow with a suspenseful update the next, then, having hooked your audience, fail to deliver the conclusion in a timely matter. I’m sorry, Zesties. As I’ve been gently reminded this week, I am a story-tease. If there were a story-court I’d be story-guilty in the first degree.

Hence, this post which aims to commute my sentence. blinks eyelashes appealingly

To what am I referring? If you follow me on Facebook, you might have read about our bee situation when I appealed for help from apiarists of the amateur or professional variety. Specifically, we found a bee hive in our yard this summer and wanted to know how to handle it. (We actually found two. One nest was under our front sidewalk, accessed by a tiny crack. But it was a nest full of friendly bumbles. You could stamp on the sidewalk for a full minute before a single bee would appear, look around half-heartedly, then head to a nearby blossom with all the aggressiveness and agility of a Boeing 787. In other words, we had no objection to letting them stay.)

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Two Graduations and a Funeral (Plus Writer Unboxed Redirect)

To paraphrase Elmer Fudd, it’s been vewy vewy quiet around here, Zesties, though that peacefulness has not extended to my real life.

Change #1:

First, we lost our nearly twelve-year-old black lab mix, Maya. She developed a mass on her right rear leg about six weeks before this picture was taken. It grew quickly, to the size of an orange, and a needle biopsy confirmed a mast cell tumor.  Apparently this form of cancer is common to large breeds. At the time of diagnosis, the vet couldn’t believe how active she remained and sent us home with instructions about what to watch for, when to return, etc. She thought we might have as much as six months.

However, within six days, Maya went from a dog who’d gladly walk ten miles to one who struggled to get to her feet. She didn’t complain once, but she took to panting on occasion. We knew that keeping her any longer would be an act of selfishness on our part.


This is Maya just before we said goodbye. I’d been able to give her a dose of a left-over narcotic, so she’d taken an off-leash walk in the forest. She’d gorged herself on cooked chicken, been petted endlessly. And then we loaded her into the van for one last, beloved car ride to the vet. The whole family was present when she sank into her final slumber.

We’ve lost several pets over the years, but Maya was special. The gentlest of creatures, I never had to be concerned about bringing a baby into the house or that she’d get carried away in her greeting and bowl over an elderly visitor.  The neighbor’s grandchildren often took her out to play, where she’d tolerate a series of four or five baths in a row. I am not a patient person and often wished I had half her grace.

In the midst of this going on, we had two graduations to celebrate.

Perhaps you’re adept at shifting between the highs and lows of life, but this is not my strength. All the same, our kids worked hard for their respective days and we knew Maya wouldn’t want us to hold back.

Change #2:

“Frank” likes his privacy, so I don’t have any photos to share of him in his gown, but he finished grade twelve! We’re so proud of him, and are eager to see where he’s headed in the future.

Change #3:

As for Molly, she graduated from nursing. Here she is after the commencement ceremony. (Speaking of which, I have a question for you. Of the three speakers at the event, two chose to use their podium time to fund-raise for the university, didn’t address anything to the class. I’ve pondered writing a letter of complaint, it was so inappropriate and tone-deaf. Would you bother? If you would, to whom would you address it?)

From left to right, here’s me, my girl and The ToolMaster:

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