Hanging On

Winter in Chicago can be cold and or snowy and or dreary.  Maybe thanks to climate change, this January has skipped the first two and doubled down on the third; day may as well be night.  If the TV schedule suddenly switched from Monday night to Saturday morning, I doubt anyone would catch it.

How to cope?  I try looking at the wall in front of my computer; it’s adorned with baseball memorabilia I’ve collected since before Clare was born.  There’s the White Sox score book from 1952 (year of my birth); two phantom tickets for the 1964 World Series, the one not played in Comiskey Park; a postcard from John Updike on the merits of a new ballpark for Bosotn (didn’t happen, thank God); pictures and trading cards.  For close to three decades, I’ve been staring at Ted Williams in mid-swing; Monty Stratton smiling; and Smead Jolley at least trying to.  Did I mention the pennants?

I bought a whole bunch before they got too expensive, and some more even when they cost too much.  There are “scroll” pennants with the names of players listed (not always spelled correctly, by the way) and pennants with team mascots, e.g., the ever-traveling white elephant of the ever-moving Athletics along with that sublime Cardinal from St. Louis.  And let’s not forget the picture pennants.

Among my favorites are the 1961 Angels (Ted Kluszewski and Steve Bilko, Eli Grba) and 1962 Yankees (the dynasty winning its last World Series).  And my favorite, of the 1964 White Sox, the arches of Comiskey Park showing behind seats painted a long-forgotten red and blue.

The wall is all about color and memory, enough together to feed hope of the sun's return come spring.