My fraternal twins were born 2 months early. The staff had already stopped premature labor at six months gestation but it proceeded too quickly this time. Total labor 2.5 hours. Needless to say, they were tiny - female 2 lbs. 3 oz, male 3 lbs. 10 oz. Female was born dark blue - luckily, I was at the finest maternity hospital in this half of the State (McGee Women's). They brought the female around to breathing, while I cried, thinking that she was dead. The twins were rushed to the NICU, too tiny to breast feed except with pumped milk through a feeding tube. Both were watched closely by doctors and nurses as they were not passing waste properly. The day it was decided that the male needed surgery, the female was discharged to home. The male was transferred to another very good hospital for surgery for a temporary colostomy. He was discharged to home after a week. What broke my heart was that I was allowed to visit him in the hospital but his older brother and twin sister were not allowed. Prior to his discharge, the staff instructed me in changing and maintaining his colostomy bag on a daily basis. He kept the colostomy bag until he was about 5 months old; back into the hospital for the colostomy reversal. The sign that I hung above their shared playpen said "Whatever doesn't kill me, makes me stronger". How did I cope with it? Mostly alone. The hospital offered group sessions for parents of severely premature infants. During the very first session, I had a zen realization that, once I realized that the circumstances were out of my control, I GAINED control of myself and my life. A bit like the Serenity Prayer. I shared that epiphany with the group and they looked at me like I had two heads. I had never heard of the Serenity Prayer and I'd been an atheist since age 13, so religion was not my go-to then, nor is it now. That realization helped. The twins are 37 now. How long were the group sessions? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - one half day - all weekend - one hour
one hour

Kurt Vonnegut, writer and famous speech giver at US university graduation ceremonies, made this point to one group of soon-to-be-non-students: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. It is the end of a story about his grandpa who, on a summer's afternoon, would find the shade of a tree under which he could rest with a glass of homemade lemonade. The family didn't have a lot of cash, the grandpa worked hard every day of his life, but no matter how relentless the day-to-day was, he would always repeat this phrase as a reminder to those around him that, at the end of the day, this is all still amazing to be part of. This kind of optimism, as you might call it, can often disappear in a flash in the busy-ness of business or school. Things become impossible, hardgoing, relentless(ly difficult). And the reasons we give for that busyness nearly always involve someone or something else - the system, the job, the weather... For many years, people would ask the salutary "how are you?" and my answer was a stock one: "I'm tired." It was my wife who pointed it out to me, presumably because everyone else was too polite to express their boredom with my reply. The fact is, most people feel tired most of the time, until they make a switch in their life. That switch is deciding that the only person who can turn that frown upside down, who can make crazy stuff happen (or attempt to, and enjoy the process), is you. And in Vonnegut's case, that switch came from saying out loud the one phrase that brings us back to the good elements in what we or our team or our family is doing at any given moment: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. Who probably didn't have a lot of cash besides Vonnegut's grandpa? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - probably Vonnegut's other grandpa - probably Vonnegut's children - not enough information - probably Vonnegut's parents
not enough information

(Question)
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal. The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine. "Hello?" "Hey, Luna." "Dingo! Are you there yet?" "No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?" "Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables." "Yeah, good for him. He has the box?" I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm." "He hasn't opened it, has he?" She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos." Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you." I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth. "This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?" Who rest his chin after pulling his head in the car? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - Denny - The dog - animal spirit guide
(Answer)
The dog