Wagging Our Tongues?

          Today I’m blogging about a muscle we use all the time, but never sprain. It’s our tongue.

          Yes, I know I’m a bit chatty and use mine more often than is probably wise, but we take this weird muscle for granted, and I want you to know more about it.

          First, your tongue is the only muscle in your body that is attached at only one end. This loose connection seems rather risky, yes?  Maybe it’s why we tend to blabber on and on. If it were connected at the tip, I’m guessing we’d be very selective in what we choose to say.

          To be accurate, the tongue is more than one muscle—it’s made up of eight muscles. And on it we have 3,000 to 10,000 taste buds. It’s unique, like a fingerprint. Even identical twins have different tongue prints.

Flipping your tongue over or curling it into a clover are genetic abilities, however they pay nothing.

We can’t actually taste anything until saliva has moistened it, and since salt dissolves in water, this is what we usually taste first. The tongue keeps working while we sleep, too, pushing saliva into our throats to moisten them.

We should brush our tongue, just like we brush our teeth.

Fastest tongue in the west (or in any direction): The chameleon’s. It can go from zero to 50 in 1/100^th of a second. Sorry, sports car fans.

          Weirdest Tongue Award goes to the giraffe, whose prehensile tongue can look purple or black. Scientists think this extra pigment protects against UV rays (and is certainly more convenient than rubbing sunscreen on your tongue every hour).

And now you can use your talented tongue to tell all your friends to subscribe to this blog!

Death Knell Hotel

          St. Bob and I recently went to Salt Lake City to enjoy the General Conference of the LDS Church. That part went great. We also met up with dear friends and relatives. That part also went great. (You know what’s coming.)

          But we stayed in a terrible hotel. Unfortunately, we invited some friends to stay there as well, and their experience was equally dreadful.  We felt responsible because we were responsible.

          It’s fun to watch St. Bob’s irritation grow with each blunder, but then I’ve stayed in such awful hotel rooms that I find them funny now. He does not.

          First, the thermostat was wonky and unpredictable. The shower leaked onto the floor.  Then there were ultra noisy people above us. In the middle of the night. 

          Next, they turned the lights off in the breakfast room, while we were still in there. Then the microwave didn’t work. Then the refrigerator didn't work. Then the ice machine didn't work. Then the television didn’t include the channel they advertised, on which we were hoping to watch said Conference. Then the phone to the front desk didn’t work, on which we were hoping to report these problems. 

           We ended up watching two Conference sessions on an iphone. St. Bob was ready to pound the counter and possibly the managers. Luckily several Conference talks were about avoiding contention, a timely message that kept us from visiting something called a precinct. So it was a lovely time for all.

Hey, check out my Youtube Mom travel tips, mixed in with the indispensable life hacks I share!

My Gracie Allen Moment

           Does anyone remember The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show? It was before my time, but I’ve seen recorded episodes, which you can watch online for free.

 It ran a year longer than I Love Lucy, and you have to admire this married couple’s comedic timing. We even have a book about them:

Gracie played the part of an innocent, ditzy wife, but I suspect she was much smarter than she was playing.

I did not suspect that I would be copying her illogical lines by accident last week.

          I’ll give you an example of a Gracie line. An interviewer asked her about her childhood. “Were you the oldest one in the family?”

"No, no," she replies. "My mother and father were much older."

So last week we were driving through a hospital complex and I saw the word “DELIVERIES” on a door near some trash cans and rubble.

“Oh, that can’t be for deliveries!” I said. “Who would want to have a baby here?”

Fortunately St. Bob was adept at playing George Burns and simply reminded me that this is where vendors delivered their packages.

Oh. Nevermind. (And now I feel like Rosanne Roseanna Danna.)

Take a look at the life hacks I share on my youtube channel. I promise it will be better than a drive through a hospital parking lot.

Falling for Bob?

         Well, well, well. Much has happened since you tuned into the last episode of Joni Baloney.  

          Two nights ago St. Bob, who thinks he’s still 18, decided to join in a volleyball game with teenagers at our church. That evening after he got home, he said, “I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to say anything about it.”

          Oh, boy, is that ever a loaded request. I folded my arms. “What happened?” I asked.

          Turns out Bob’s shoe tripped him (yeah, right) and he fell. His palms were bruised, his neck was wrenched, and he landed on his unwilling hiney.  Which, I might add, is connected to his unwilling spine. 

          Oh—and he also hit his head but he’s sure he doesn’t have a concussion because he looked it up.

          “So, what were you worried that I would say?” I asked.

          “That I’m too old to be acting like an idiot and risking my health and maybe breaking something in a younger man’s game.”

          I smiled. “As long as you’ve heard the words, I don’t care who says them.” Just so we understand each other.

A much safer endeavor is to sit right where you are and click here for all kinds of life hacks on my Youtube channel.

Raven Lunatic

         The other day I saw an online post that said, “The Difference Between Ravens and Cows.” 

          WHAT?  If you can’t tell the difference between a raven and a cow, you have more problems than not knowing the difference.
     

          And then, of course, I looked closer.  Yes, it had said ravens and crows. Oops.  I blame my eyesight. But, just in case I have piqued your interest, here is some information about these two birds.

          They’re hard to tell apart. Websites will tell you ravens have longer bristles atop their beaks.  I assume you need to gather both kinds, pull out a tape measure, and hope they hold still for your analysis.

          But ravens are also larger, the size of hawks. They travel in pairs, while crows prefer groups.

          Both are smarter than any cat, and than most children. Their IQs are about that of a 7-year-old. They make tools, they play, they communicate, and they can deliberately deceive you. They can do abstract reasoning, problem-solving, and group decision-making.  Hey, I know plenty of humans who can’t do that.

         So next time you need to solve a problem or an equation, look outside and hope you see one of these feathered friends, and hope they take pity on you. Meanwhile, check out my Youtube Mom videos for other invaluable life hacks.

Peeling Back the Layers of a Writer's Brain

         I must not have enough to worry about. My latest concern is that I will die, someone will look up my internet search history, and everyone will think  I’m a deranged killer. Was a deranged killer. (Are there other kinds of killers?)

          Here’s the thing. When you’re a writer, you look up ways people can die. Involuntarily, that is. You explore the methods of bringing about such a fate for your characters.

You also look up how many roaches are in chocolate bars, how to melt a penny, the wasp count in figs, disgusting fertilizer options, and exploding weeds.

You research food poisoning, burglarizing, snake bites, bear attacks, outright lying, rare diseases, and blackmail. You look into mummies, embezzlement, falling into volcanoes, getting covered in ink, and how to make hair stand on end.

Your interests appear bizarre. Your husband kindly mentions that you change topics like a TV remote control. You stare off into space like a cat does, and then you research why they do that.

A recent glance at my “history” online would be enough to convict many a suspect, although I stay mostly indoors, which is a wonderful alibi.

You can find some of this research in my books and this blog, but only life hacks at my Youtube Mom channel.

Four Eggs on My Face

          Well, you’ve got to hand it to me: When I embarrass myself it’s in front of hundreds of people.

          The other night St. Bob—wait, make that Just Bob, and I were co- emcees of a large banquet for the Freedoms Foundation. It grants scholarships to student leaders and even sends some of them to Valley Forge. They also award local charities for helping the community.

          It was time to bring four teenage boys up to the stage for their award. After, I said into the microphone, “We have four boys--”

          At which point Bob said, “WHAT?  FOUR BOYS?”

          Okay, this is not true. What possessed me to fumble the family facts I do not know. “Oh, yeah,” I said, like someone muttering in a padded cell. “We have three boys and a daughter.”

          Bob was laughing so hard he was giggling. The audience was laughing as well.  Roaring, maybe?  “Name them,” Bob said, to keep the challenge going.

          “I am not going to name them,” I said, bristling at the idea that he would quiz me. (Here's a shot including our daughter-in-law, Tiffany):

          Well, the audience loved my embarrassment. Imagine their glee if they simply followed me around all day and witnessed multiple blunders like this.

          I explained that we had just invited four boys up to the stage, but really, can you explain a mistake like this? It’s like the time I called Cassidy’s school and was told “Cassidy doesn’t go here anymore.” In my defense I had just moved him to a different school and had three children in yet three other schools. But I suspect that school's office personnel laughed for a very long time at that one.

          There’s really no getting out of these kinds of whopper flubs, so all I can do is plead with you to watch my Youtube Mom videos and buy my books. Thank you.