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From the Diary of a Ukrainian Housewife LESIA'S BEAUTY SHOP by DMZ Lesia had a beauty shop in Logan, a neighborhood in the northern section of Philadelphia where many Ukrainians lived. Most of her patrons were Ukrainian and that made her shop an institution of some interest. She had good hands for hair and her coiffures held their own when compared to those of the expensive downtown salons. This, of course, was a bonanza for many Ukrainian ladies who appreciated a good hairdo yet were frugal about their spending. It was the era of "wash 'n set" and the "great tease". Each hairdo required a substantial amount of time to reach its ultimate grandeur. Lesia often worked alone while the shop hosted several patrons in various stages of hair preparation before the great "bouffant" was achieved. There was always someone who had her hair just washed sitting patiently while the conditioner did its work. A couple of ladies would be sitting under the large domes of the electric dryers, while one or two helped Lesia by removing from their heads the large plastic rollers. These ladies would then sit around, with their hair rolled into stiff shapes, waiting for Lesia's magic touch - the comb out. Of course, Lesia's primary attention was directed at the client sitting in the high hairdresser chair. This lady would sit proud, full of anticipation as she observed herself in the large wall mirror. Lesia's skilled hands were about to transform her from an ordinary daisy into a magnificent American Beauty Rose. As the other clients awaited their turn for the magic transformation, they socialized. The chatty ladies had a satisfying audience while the shy and quiet ones got their fill of an enormous amount of social data. To say that the ladies gossiped would be unfair and quite base. Their conversations concerned their lives and experiences, their interests and their work, the least of which, in all sincerity, involved cooking recipes. I was, at the time, a young wife and mother, who having dropped my children off at Saturday Ukrainian school, would savor the two hours at Lesia's beauty shop just to enjoy some female company varying in age and status. Just getting to know my way around the Ukrainian Philadelphia community, I was beginning to lose my naivete, learning to put two and two together, and I watched and listened attentively to the easy talk. What I missed overhearing during the talks my mother shared with my grandmother, I picked up in Lesia's shop. It was like reading a classic novel over and over again. There would always be one or two clients who had an inexhaustible supply of good anecdotes and jokes, whose style and flavor were familiar and comfortable for me. I knew quite well that line of merriment from my own family background. It was the wit of Lviv — a cosmopolitan satire touched with Polish and Jewish seasoning as encountered in the fantastic western Ukrainian city. The memory of that wonderful humor remained with me, giving me an "at home" feeling many years later when I visited Lviv or when I met visitors from western Ukraine. The stories heard at Lesia's beauty shop were of delightfully humorous experiences that vividly described our diaspora lifestyle. They included vignettes of early visits to Ukraine when the Soviet government was quite severe. One of my favorites was a story about Oksana, as told by her dearest friend between the wash and set. Oksana, her dear friend related, had constructed a turban of woolen kerchiefs, six or seven of the them, which she planned to smuggle into Ukraine for her relatives. Oksana was of small stature and the giant turban on her head overpowered her. As she approached the customs official, he caught on immediately. To Oksana's amazement and chagrin, the communist official pulled at one part of the turban, undoing a string of kerchiefs like a magician on a stage. The ladies at Lesia's shop listened to the story in amazement, laughing at the humor and yet admiringly visualizing the courageous little lady who had dared not only to go to Ukraine, then behind the iron curtain, but who had tried to outwit a communist official. Another story which the ladies heard as they sat around with their wet hair was that of the bargain shopper. Bargains were vital to all of the ladies in Lesia's shop because in those days many had champagne taste and beer pocketbooks. They were women whose prime years had been ravaged by war and many things which they once expected to have, like furs and jewels, were cost prohibited at the onset of their lives in America. So when one of these ladies found a real Persian lamb coat for two hundred dollars, it was quite a bargain. But as the story unfolded, right there between 20 “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЛЮТИЙ 2000 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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