Falaroop!

When I was but a wee wisp of a girl, and when my mother's depression was a constant, my little sister and I would occasionally hear strange sounds coming from the kitchen. We'd race down and there, at the table, was my mother, laughing on the phone. Laughing, giggling, making jokes! It always meant one thing:

Aunt Sira is on the phone!!!

"Can we talk to Aunt Sira?" we'd plead and whine, and our mother would say okay, and we'd pick up another phone and talk to our fancy Aunt who lived in Los Angeles, who only was able to visit occasionally, but she always came with a new hairstyle and bottled water. Yes, bottled water. She was fancy! She was cosmopolitan, wearing high heels, makeup, and always bringing presents for us every time she came. "Okay, say goodbye now," my mother would always say way too soon, and we'd have to replace the phone to its cradle. 

 

Just how cool is Aunt Sira? Born and raised in New York City, she went to Woodstock, moved to San Francisco, changed her name to fit her better, became a photographer, did stand up comedy, moved to Los Angeles, and offered to house me if I was interested in studying at UCLA. Rad, right? And that's just 2% of her story. 

And she's always been so incredibly supportive of my acting. She and my uncle would travel to come see me in my school plays, and for my 18th birthday, flew me out to LA to get my first headshots and even got me my first agent. 

She's also been an incredible help, filling in as my mother, for the Backyard Party the Love of My Life and I will have in October to get hitched. She toured venues with us,  helped pick out dresses, and has offered so much advice and suggestions. 

She doesn't always comment, but she reads every blog post. Celebrating my triumphs, understanding all too well the avail releases and other setbacks. She is, after all, married to an actor herself. She understands the years of needing to save, and the years of plenty and celebrating. 

If I had to choose someone in my family to come to Burning Man, I'd bring her, and know she would be able to have a good time, make friends, see the art, and participate. 

My cosmopolitan Aunt Sira who could guarantee giggling from my mother every time she called us.

She emailed me this story and I asked if I could share it with you.

 

When I was a little girl, my grandmother Becky (Claire's mother, your great-grandmother) used to tell me a story about a large trunk filled with money waiting to fall down into my lap.  

Apparently all you have to say is "Falaroop, falaroop," and the money will fall.  The only catch is you don't know when the money is going to fall.  So you chant "Falaroop, falaroop," -- if you're going to fall, fall now.  

Claire used to get angry with Becky for telling me such silly stories -  Claire said she was telling me bubamince  Yiddish loosely translated as grandmother fantasy stories; fairy tales. 

But I was always fascinated with my grandmother and believed in her stories.  Throughout my life, (particularly when I was close to being broke when I was in my 30's) I have chanted  "Falaroop, falaroop."  

For me the trunk full of money fell a few years ago.  For you,  I know the money will fall to you and Anthony, too. You don't have to chant, because others are chanting for you. 

Love,

Aunt Sira

Everyone should be lucky enough to have an Aunt Sira in their life. What a lovely story, and what a lovely thing to say.

Falaroop, falaroop! 

And happy Memorial Day Weekend!