his grandfather was standing coatless in a blizzard that was not late snow but early apple blossoms in a high warm wind ; grandpa was wearing his biballs with a collared shirt beneath , a shirt that looked as if it had once been green but was now faded to a noaccount olive by dozens or hundreds of washings , and beneath the collared shirt was the round of a cotton undershirt ( the kind with the straps , of course ; in those days they made the other kind , but a man like grandpa would be a strap-undershirt man to the end ) , and this shirt was clean but the color of old ivory instead of its original white because gramma 's motto , often spoken and stitched into a living-room sampler as well ( presumably for those rare times when the woman herself was not there to dispense what wisdom needed dispensing ) , was this : use it , use it , and do n't , for heaven 's sake , ever dare to lose it !