Winter's Grind

Rebels Against the Frost

A cold winter’s blast ushered Pappy through the back door of our little gray-shingled house on Delaware Street. With his arms full of firewood and his mustache encrusted with ice-cycles, he looked like the lead husky for Nanook of the North as he shook off the snow. Normally clean-shaven with a straightedge razor, this was a new look for Dad. Mom gave him a guarded smile but was careful not to laugh out loud.

The Lucky Strike smoke he blew through his nostrils had discolored Pappy's proud facial hair. His Wally Walrus mustache now resembled a fuzzy striped wooly-worm that crawled onto his lip and froze to death.

Hoosier winters can be harsh. The most diabolical torture of the polar vortex is not the ice and snow nor the slip-sliding and shoveling. The cruelest infliction on kids and adults alike is confinement. Think about it. Spring, Summer, and Fall, we frolic in the freedom of the great outdoors. The seasons build to a frenzy of gift-giving in December. The crescendo of Christmas is followed by the silent drifting snow of January. Three months of "quality time" with the whole family indoors in the "cozy" little house—what could go wrong? Let's ask Jack Nicholson in The Shining. "Here's Johnny!"

Ward off the evil spirits of cabin fever. Employ every means we can afford. Jigsaw puzzles were a good diversion until, almost completed, we discovered that the last two pieces were missing. Gretchen, our nefarious calico cat, chewed them up. I wonder, whatever happened to Gretchen?

We wiled away a few hours with Monopoly. Aggravation was fun until someone lost all their marbles. Yahtzee was our favorite dice game. The adults played poker with great enthusiasm. Rumor has it I was born under a penny-anti table because they didn’t want to stop the poker game. Chess presented the most challenging diversion. Pappy would whirl and twirl the handlebars of his multi-color mustache as he contemplated his next three moves.

Liberation from winter’s cruel monotony? Our hobbies were our deliverance. Specifically, the collections we had amassed during the reasonable weather saved our sanity during winter’s grind. A blessing in disguise, winter can be a respite for the collector. It is a time to organize.

Chapter and verse, my dad, Austin Clore could quote passages from the latest edition of The Shooter’s Bible. Through the winter months, he honed his knowledge and developed his skills as a gunsmith. Ithaca, Browning, Winchester, and Remington, he could assemble them all blindfolded. A wheeler/dealer, he eventually opened his own sporting goods store on Grace Avenue. As a kid, I would accompany him to the gun shows. In Paris, Martinsville, and Crawfordsville armories I displayed my meager knife collection alongside his massive gun collections. The pride of my collection was a World War II German officer dagger.

Georgia Clore, my mother, was the most industrious in her assault on the winter doldrums. The fastest needles in Montgomery Country flew through skein after colorful skein of yarn. Knit and purl, “You go girl!” Her vibrant afghan throws scared away the winter gray. They still warm the hearts of the whole family.

Besides the traditional collection of Hoosier recipes, Mom assembled two cabinets filled with depression glassware. She was a master at distinguishing original from reproduction pieces. An iridescent two-piece carnival glass punch bowl was her proudest acquisition. ?

The gathering that required everyone’s attention and focus was Mom’s coin collection. She armed each family member with a bright light and a magnifying glass. We were assigned reconnaissance. Search out mintmarks and special dates like the 1918-D Mercury-Head dime. Fine and extra fine pennies, the rarest was 1909-S Lincoln Penny with VDB (Victor David Brenner) designer's initials stamped on the back. Maybe, our treasure hunt would yield a double-die stamped 1955 Penny. There was magical expectation. As we searched through artfully sculpted metal discs the bitter winter chill seemed to melt away.

Thanks, Mom, for the diversion.

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