This morning, my thoughts are just moseying here and there, and going a far piece back into memory. Not sure what moseying means? Well, I’ve heard it all my life. It’s an old term that means to amble or to walk at a slow pace.
That word, moseying, got me started thinking about other words I don’t hear much any more. A piece down the road, is another term. It just means a distance–could be a block, could be a mile or more. It all depends.
I think much of this really wonderful language went out with my grandparents’ generation. If it hung on until my parents’ time, it is almost certainly gone now. I remember my grandmother saying someone was feeling poorly, or right pert, describing their state of health.
At times I’d dash into Mom and Dad’s house in a hurry and not stay long, Dad would ask if I’d come after a coal of fire.
To my grandfather, a taxi was a jitney. When it was bedtime, they’d say it was time to blow out the lamp.
In southern Arkansas, a toboggan isn’t a sled, it’s a warm, knitted or crocheted wintertime cap. A mixer used to be an egg beater.
The meanings of words get lost with changing times. The same word we use for one thing can mean something entirely different in another country. I got an interesting and welcome comment on my blog from a reader in Australia. She wanted to know about the biscuits I’d mentioned in my post. You see, in Australia, biscuits are sweet, like cookies.
I love different words. I’m glad we don’t all talk the same or think the same or act the same. Words can identify the part of the country we’re from, or even the country. We don’t need to change words and their meanings so that they are all homogenized. What a dull world it would be if there were no differences. However you talk or look or whatever you hold to be important, hang onto it, especially if it connects you to your ancestors. There! I’ve said my piece. Now, I’ll just be moseying along.
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