BLUE HAIR BUSIA
by Larry Skaja
This story involves my grandmother (Busia) Agnes Tragarz Chmura, my grandfather(Pops) John Kotlarz Chmura, my mother(Mom) Helen Chmura Skaja and some of my aunts.
Busia was a dimintive old country lady who liked things the way they were. She lived a comfortable but basic lifestyle with disregard to modern convenience. Baseball and television were both a waste of time. Cooking, baking, and conversing with her friends occupied her days. Her eyes were dark and sparkled in an impish manner betraying the stern look she tried to portray. Her jet black hair was beginning to grey with passing years and was never subjected to the workngs of a hairdresser. No, never, because beauty shops were a luxury of the modern world and were even less important to her than baseball or television. Her comfort zone encompassed her Polish customs, friends and traditions. English was spoken in short phrases to her grandchildren and only when necessary.
Her husband,Pops, on the other hand embraced the twentieth century and all its wonders especially baseball(Chicago Cubs) and television(retirement pass time). He was tall and husky with blue eyes made even larger by his eye glasses. His beautiful white hair gave him a distinction of political official. He seemed to be the north pole and Busia was the south. Nevertheless they were a couple whose immigrant lives produced a life long relationship and a loving family. They were settling into the "golden years". Busia doing her thing and Pops doing his.
Now comes the instigator. My mother was close to both Busia and Pops. She had the knack of bringing both of their worlds together. At times, Busia and Mom seemed to share the same ideals and at others Mom connected to Pop's world. My mother gave Busia a mother's respect but also related in a sisterly fashion. In an attempt to bring Busia up to date, my mother and some of her sisters decided that Busia needed to visit the beauty shop. Now this was no small project. First, they had to convince Busia to do something she had never done in her seventy plus years. Second, they needed to decide what to do with that short, curly, greying crop of hair. And finally, they needed to show the transformation to Pops who would certainly enjoy the miracles of a twentieth century beauty shop.
The first two steps went easier than expected. Busia,with coaxing of Mom and her sisters, relented and made the trip to Verna's Beauty Parlor. There a team of beauticians and Busia's kibitzing daughters decided to put a blue rinse into Busia's salt and pepper curly crop. Busia must have be overwhelmed by the attention. One person washing her hair. Another applying a manicure to her beautiful little and crippled fingers. At last, the rinse is washed in and the excess out. Can you imagine her bewilderment when curlers were wound into her head. Then comes the hair drier. An enormous machine which is the equvalent of an upside down confection oven. The noise is deafening but Busia finds peace under its helmet like protection. She even begins to enjoy the environment. There are other ladies there and where there are other ladies conversation is plentiful. After the din of the drier has past she joins into the exchange of neighborhood news as they unwind, brush and spray her new steel blue grey coiffe. All about her are oohing and aahing. Her anticipation is quickening her pulse as she is being turned toward the mirror for her first glimpse at the emerging modern woman. Her expectation is rewarded as she admires herself as a new addition to the beautified blue haired ladies of the neighborhood.
Presentation to her husband of over fifty years would be the next step. He would surely be impressed with his twentieth century bride. Busia and her entourage find Pops perched on a dining room chair that he hauled into the living room where he was watching the Cubs on TV. Busia coyly calls his name ( In Polish-translation to English is perfect). " John. I am here." Pops intently watches the TV(must have been a close game). Busia repeats. " John. I am here. I was at Verna's." Still no response from her husband. Busia slides around him putting herself between the wasteful electric box and her loving husband. Pops cranes his head around to see if the umpires call was close. Busia backs up to cover the screen and runs her manicured fingers through her curly blue hair style and asks." John, what do you think of this color?" Pops now aggrevated that he missed the play blurts out. "At our age, I dont care if you paint your ass green." She reacts in anger and frustration dislodging him from his box seat dining room chair. Stunned he picks himself up and straightens his glasses. A moment of epoch silence paralyzes the room. Mom and her sisters are shocked and fearful of impending diaster. Then the mood of the room changes when Busia's laughter becomes contagious. Hugs, kisses and strained compliments abound.