Hey, Y'all,(Tawkin' in East Tennessee-speak today) Didja ever think about Boogers? Ewwwww, you say? Well, now they is all kinds of boogers. The first time I ever heard of boogers was when my Ant Daisy was stayin' with us when we uz livin' in Possum Valley. They was two kinds that she mentioned regular to us. When we would be pickin' the boogers out of our nose, she would ask, "Are ye cleanin' the halls? Are ye 'spectin' comp'ney?" Our Ant Daisy had all kinds of sayin's, don't che know? And then there was the other kind uh boogers that make noises durin' the night er day, even. We had a loft in the little cabin that we lived in down there in Possum Valley, where my bruthers slept, and our Ant Daisy would say right before the boys went up to go tuh bed, "I hear old Raw Hide n' Bloody Bones (the Devil) up there and he's waitin' for ye boys." She loved to skeer us. She thought that was really funny. She was my mom's sister, and quite often, she'd come and "stay" with us, when she was down on her luck (out a work, havin' problems with her husband at the time, etc.) I don't know at the number a times we took her in. She certainly brought her own kind of entertainment with her. We would be outside n' she'd look up and see a buzzard flyin' overhead and say, "Looky thare, they're a comin' after ya."
Now, about the boogers, my mom could tell us some awful skeery stories about them, too, and about ghosts n' all kinds of spooky stuff. We grew up on them stories, cause we delighted in bein' skeered. We'd sit around the fireplace at night with the wind a whistlin' outside and mama would tell us about a house out in Texas whur at a certin' time ever ev'nin' the windus' 'ud shut down, and the doors 'ud shut, and the plates 'ud slide out frum the cab'net onto the table, and the chandelier would play music. We listen'd and wonder'd at how that cud be.
All the stories we herd growin' up must be why we all loved ta read. One of the first poems I remember hearin' started off with "There is no Frigate Like a Book" . I wondered what in thuh world is a frigate? Then I found out it was a ship that moves out on the high seas. The poem is by Emily Dickinson, who wuz fasanated by thuh fact thet readin' kin take us far away in our imaginashins like nuthin' else can. Hurray fer books and fer boogers too.
My mama's mama was half Cherokee 'n I'm sure she grew up listenin' to stories told to her, and musta pass'd 'em on to Mama. In fact, I know she heard stories growing up, because l've herd some uv 'em.
Do you know any stories about boogers? I'll betcha do. If you have any trubble understandin' any a these words taday, jist read 'em outloud and they'll cum to ya.
This is Blabbin' Grammy signin' off fer taday. Much luv ta each uv ya, and I'll be seein' ya agin'. Bye fer now. More later.