SHELL HOMES by Dorothy Graham Gast         During the years after World War II  many rural families in the South were still living in substandard housing. Some homes were no more than two room shacks with leanto areas that had served as tenant houses without running water or electricity. Many people had no hope of better conditions at the existing cost of building.         In the 1950's brochures began arriving in country mailboxes showing one, two, and three bedroom homes completely finished on the outside, partially finished on the inside giving the buyer a choice of completing the work themselves. The best known of these was Jim Walter Homes. The company would sell most of the inside building material, including sheetrock, insulation, doors and carpet. Anyone who had a deed to an acre of land could sign a contract, make payments for twenty years and be debt free.         A starter house with two bedrooms sold for $2400 and could be financed, finished, and added on to, and still be paid in full before the first child finished high school.          A lumber truck would drive up to the site, unload framing, doors, and windows, sheetrock, nails flooring, paint, and linoleum. Workers covered supplies with tarps and left. The next day or so a framing crew laid concrete blocks for foundations, built subflooring, and framed walls, while the new owners watched in amazement as the structure they had chosen developed before their eyes. The frame of an 800 square house could be ready for ceiling joists by the end of the first day. The oak floors were the last things finished by the company. A drilling truck could drill a well and place a water pump into place and connect it to the house plumbing as the plumbing crew joined the pipes and as electricians wired the lights, base plugs, and laundry connections to the fuse box .Sometimes three different crews worked on varying tasks. Our three bedroom house was built by a Walter competitor. It was 34 by 22 feet with a living room-kitchen at one end and tiny bedrooms around the even smaller bath. The girls' bedroom was papered with state maps obtained free from service stations. They could lie in their bunk beds and trace trips on their travel wish lists. The shell home division of Jim Walter Homes was closed in 2009. All over the South these homes still shelter families though most have been improved and changed enough to be unrecognizable. For some families it was the first inkling that they could own their own home and aspire to a more comfortable life. Propane hot water heaters, stove and heating released the owner from the time consuming wood cutting and fireplaces. Sixty years ago an acre of land, a Jim Walter home and an affordable mortgage allowed even manual laborers the security of their own home with electricity and running water.

CHRISTMAS APRONS 1955

By Dorothy Graham Gast

As the holiday season approached in 1955 my less than a year old daughter and I lived with my parents and siblings in their two bedroom frame house on the family farm where I was raised. My husband and his girlfriend had left the state and us without any support.My pregnancy and baby prevented my getting a job to help with our support. Mama got a job working in the nearby school lunchroom and I took over the laundry, care of the house and cooking for the seven of us. My family was concerned that my grief over a failed marriage and deep emotional distress might harm the child I was carrying.

Other family members tried to help out. An aunt gave me a ride to my obstetrician's office as she went to do errands and I had a couple of hours free to walk around town looking at holiday displays. Another aunt who was working in a department store said, "I've been saving for a Christmas offering at church and I feel that the LORD wants me to give it to you instead." She handed me a $10 bill and gave me an encouraging hug. This was the first cash I'd had in my hands in three months.

Maybe I could take this money and buy fabric to make some new clothes for my fast growing baby. I went to the basement area where cloth was sold looking for something special.

 As I was feeling fabric and checking out baby dress patterns, the store manager came in and said, "I need these tables cleared for the new merchandise that came in this morning. Put a sign $2 for every brown paper bag the customer can fill with cloth. And those tail ends of tweeds and other wools sell for 10 cents each."

I hurried across the room and asked for some bags. I packed summer fabrics, ginghams and eyelets, calicoes and solids, tight as possible in the squared off brown grocery like bags she handed me. Three bags held the remnants that were from half a yard to five yards and cleared the tables for new displays. A nearby table had short lengths of winter materials, nubby tweeds, radiant plaids, and luxuriant solids. The saleslady, caught up in my enthusiasm, helped me squeeze the folded pieces into a bag. Another customer held the bad open while we packed. I had spent the full $10 and suddenly realized I Had no money for the sales tax. I began pulling out fabric and discovered that since the deal was by the bag I would have to give up a bag of my precious bounty. The sympathetic customer rummaged in the bottom of her purse for the necessary coins to pay tax. We were both crying with relief. She gave me a big hug and helped me carry the five overstuffed bags to the street corner where my aunt would pick me up.

That night my mother, sisters and I spread the contents of the bags on two beds. Out of the bags the piles grew much larger than I remembered from the store. A younger sister wrapped a 12 inch length around her neck. Its 54 inch width made a Christmasy scarf dressy enough for anyone. The inventory became festive as we sorted and matched to see what could be done with our treasure. We matched small pieces of calico and plain cloth for an apron. Past experience with feed sack sewing had taught ways to be resourceful in using every scrap.

In the weeks that followed, we made dozens of aprons, style and type determined by the amount of material available. Some woolen lengths had nearly a yard and made three scarves, neatly finished and fringed. Some were made into slippers or foldover purses. During the evenings after supper dishes, were washed up the women of the house matched, designed, and sewed. We made more than 200 gifts for our household, extended family, and friends.

Although we probably were the poorest family in both clans we had gifts for everyone. When we were looking for gifts for the men who wouldn't wear scarves, Daddy happened on a University student who was selling boxes of coconut oil shampoo for enough money to go home for Christmas. The elegantly shaped bottles completed our list.

My baby girl had her beautiful dresses for the holidays, we had gifts to share, and my parents rejoiced that my depression had disappeared. Forty years later when an aunt died, I found one of those aprons, faded from use, hanging on a hook by her kitchen door.  And I remembered.

The Wall

The  early morning sunlight burned through my swollen eyelids as I struggled to hold on to the last remnants of sleep.The funeral had been Saturday, and family members were home and back to their normal pursuits.  O. J. was gone. The long months  fighting all the different complications of his illness had ended and it would never be us again. Tears began to form. Then in my mind I could hear what O. J. would say, "Quit your bawling and get out and do some of the things you've wanted to do before you became my nurse. Get busy with your own life."

 

A shower and a cup of coffee later, I thought of all the jobs long put off. That dark paneled  hallway was so depressing. There was some pale yellow paint left over from a touch up. Just take down all the pictures, put out the nails and paint. By 7:00 am, paint, rollers, a short ladder, and a tube of toothpaste were sitting on the strewn newspapers that covered the hall carpet. I'd read that you could stop up the nail holes with toothpaste if you had no spackling.

 

If I had company for supper I wouldn't have time to start crying. I called my mother, a widower, and two couples  that often came for dinner  in other years and invited them over for a home cooked meal at 7:00 pm.

 

What could I cook that didn't require watching? There was that frozen turkey bought to cook for Christmas, before we spent December and January in the hospital. There were canned green beans, a uncut pound cake someone  had bought, plenty of salad makings from a raw veggie tray left from the wake. I thawed the turkey in the microwave, rubbed it down with seasonings and oil, placed it in the oven at 275. I mixed a Jello salad and placed it in the frig. Supper was on it's way.

 

A no longer valid credit card smoothed the toothpaste into the nail holes and left an even finish for painting. The 12 foot hallway was covered in under an hour, but the light color showed dents and shadows of the patched nailholes. The water based paint was drying fast.

   Camouflage! That's what I could do. I could make flowers the way a late night decorating show illustrated. Random flowers. There was a can of blue paint just the color of delphiniums that had hardly been used in the shed. With a one inch paint brush  I painted  blossoms 12 inches apart at my eye level all the way down the hall. Not bad.   18 inches below that row I repeated with blossoms alternating halfway between those in the first row. The design was repeated down the hall on both sides.from floor to ceiling.

  As I ate leftovers for lunch I surveyed my project.  There were still rough spots under the yellow paint.  Green stems and leaves.  I could make green Y  shapes for stems and a leaf for each blossom. Just a dash of green  connected to each flower. Still needs a highlight. Butterflies!  Semiabstract. Two brush flips of orange  randomly placed. They harmonized nicely.

 The school bus roared down the road. It's 3:30, and I've got company at 7:00. Paint dripped newspapers were tucked away in the trash. Paint cans disposed off. Brushes washed for another project. Yellow, green, blue, and orange drops, spots, and smudges were on my hands, my face, my glasses, and my clothes. After I bundled the clothes in the trash, I ran a hot bubble bath and scraped  paint off me  until I was presentable.

The good dishes that had not been used for years went on the Damask tablecloth with matching cloth napkins and silver while I listened to the 5:00 o'clock news. Turkey smells filled the house. I stirred up a pan of cornbread dressing and poured it in around the turkey.

 A touch test proved all the paint dry except the butterflies. By the time guests arrived there would be no problem.  A flicker of guilt about writing thank you cards for funeral flowers was dismissed with "I'll think of that tomorrow". A spray of air freshener before a quick run with the vacuum cleaner lightened the mood of the house.

  Just 15 minutes with my feet propped up can get me going again. Why not a dressy dress for a party feel? A little makeup and hairspray and I was ready when the doorbell rang at 5 minutes until 7:00. Guests helped me take up the turkey, dressing, and green beans. One tossed the salad and brought out the Jello. Another put ice in glasses and poured the tea. As we bowed for the blessing I could almost hear O. J. say, "That's more like it. It's time for you to build a new life."

Fwd: Never go to Walmart go see if you are having a heart attack

True story of my recent medical adventure.  Dorothy Gast

Subj: Never go to Walmart go see if you are having a heart attack

Early morning on April 6  after a delightful evening with friends, I felt activity in my chest. No real pain, but the feeling that a couple of large mice might be fighting under my breastbone. My pulse rang in my  ears; not the normal regular 4/4 rhythm,  but a wild and crazy erratic beat.I woke my sister and asked her to take my blood pressure. Both her machines were as undependable as the noise in my head. We decidedto get dressed and go to Walmart to check  the bp on their equipment. I stiill had no pain.

When we tried the Walmart machine something was wrong with it, too. 256/136; then 85/50. No pulse reading.  Ridiculous!!!!  I could hear the  sound in my head  . ... ...  .. ... . . ... .

So after some deliberation we went to DCH Northport ER.

When they heard the word heart, i was rushed intoan exam room,

Instant service- ,BP(not gasolene), IV, EKG,

"Give her a shot in  the IV.......Shoot her again......Another one!!!"

Now I was getting nervous. Their faces did not reassure me.  No real pain, just the stupid non rhythm roaring in my head.

"OK, that's better."  Everyone breathed, even me.

When they spoke of electric shock to get the heart back in rhythm I wasn't happy. They put the shock pads in place in the center of my chest and under my left arm. A mask came down over my face.------

Hours later I woke up with a brand new pacemaker. Two days in the ICU and I was released to the care of my sister with instructions for my confinement  and restrictions on my behavior. My visitors from Scotland helped enforce the recovery guidelines. A week later I'm home after promising to behave and call someone to drive me if I need to travel.

Praise the LORD for his Goodness and thanks to all of you who prayed for me. I felt the prayers and have had little pain or difficulty. I will be resting and following doctor's orders.  No driving for 2 weeks may be the hardest part.

Now is a good time to get serious about losing weight, walking a mile a day, and slowing down.

I'm lucky!  If something is happenng in your chest, have a doctor check it out. No pain does not  mean no danger.

Don't go to Walmart,,,,