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’51 – The back of this photo …

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Has in my Dad’s writing:

“Our Mountain Perch – Home Sweet Home”

The reason we went to Brazil, was because my Dad was a construction engineer. The project was a dam, somewhere in the hills above Rio.

As you can see, our company supplied housing wasn’t exactly palatial, but based on the family stories, we had a wonderful time. My parents loved the Brazilians and their enjoyment of life: music, dance, food, …

I understand the conditions at the camp were pretty basic, but the ‘grown-ups’ spare time was filled with pot-luck dinners, bridge games, dances, etc. As far as the kids, well ‘kids are kids’, so we had no trouble finding fun things to do.

I’m not sure how often it happened, but I know we’d drive into ‘town’ to shop and eat, and do all the touristy things: Ipanema, Corcovado & Pao de Acurcar, and Carnaval.

I don’t know when, but someday I would like to go back ‘home’, and I hope it’s during Carnaval.


’49 – Front Row (Left)

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The photo was taken on the day we (my Mom, five-year and ten-year old brothers, and I) departed Tacoma, Washington, to meet my Dad who was already in Rio de Janeiro. It was my Mom’s FIRST flight, and for her to take two bratty-kids, and one very sweet baby, on a trip like this by HERSELF, speaks volumes about the fortitude of my Mother.

I of course don’t remember the flights, but I heard the story enough times to know the route went roughly: Seattle, Denver, Chicago, New York, Miami, Havana, Caracas, Recifie, and finally Rio. I also know the story had us laying over in Havana for a full day because of a hurricane.

My Mom said she was met with a kiss from my Dad, and the question, “How was the trip?”

Her answer was apparently, “Here, YOU take THEM!!”

She then proceeded to walk into the terminal, leaving my Dad trying to hold me, and keep an eye on two ‘very happy to be finally off the plane’ little boys.

They both laughed at my Mom’s telling of the story, but I knew from my Dad’s discomfort, there had to modicum of truth to the story.

Years and years later as age caught up to her, I could always make her ‘feel good’, by asking her to tell me the story of our trip to Brazil.

She always told it like it was the very first time, and as the years went on, the bratty kids were no longer so bratty, and the sweet baby, although hard to believe, became even sweeter.