mind

My veiw of mind is that it is an odd word to be given such differing meanings. As a young girl I was amazed when my granny would say to me, »Now mind you not to spill that juice since if you spill it you will have a stain on your waist and everyone will wonder where your mind could have been.« She was, of course, most worried about the garment that she referred to as my waist since it was hand-made by herself and was made of lovely silk which I very much liked even if I did call it a blouse.