the 'Aroma of Tacoma'

First of all, I love Tacoma, Washington - 'The City of Destiny'.

I was born in Tacoma; my two brothers were born in Tacoma, my Mom graduated from Lincoln High School (class of '33), Tacoma.

I recognize many of the names on the graves at the old 'Tacoma Cemetery' on South Tacoma Ave, as 'family'.

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Downtown Tacoma has gone through a virtual renaissance in the last few years; where not only historic buildings are being renovated, but it's now being reoccupied with, PEOPLE.

I mean, you just can't get better than that!!

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I know the closing of the pulp mills down in the tide-flats put a lot of people out of work, and that's never a good thing.

But the last line in 'Aroma of Tacoma' is no longer true, because the infamous aromas are gone, and GONE FOREVER MORE!

(sung to the tune of "Wabash Cannonball")

"The Aroma of Tacoma takes your breath away.
You can tell it, you can smell it, when you're fourteen miles away!
From the great Olympic Mountains to the tide flats by the shore,
that aroma will be with us for now and ever more!"

My Cousin Forrest

'62 - son of a shoemaker, becomes a shoemaker

My Dad was my HERO.

Because I wanted to be like him, I also became a construction engineer.

I know my Dad was proud of his 'shoemaker son', but he unfortunately died a few months after I got into the biz.

Not only did he inspire me to do the job I love, but he instilled the LOVE of travel, and for both, I will be forever grateful.

I honestly don't know if there is an 'after-life', but I know if he and I can 'hook-up', we’ll first talk of family, and then do a whole lotta 'shop-talk', and then we'll talk travel.

Our '55 Christmas Card, was taken at ...

'touristy' Volendam.

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After Rome it was on to The Hauge.

Most of my Dad's coworkers elected to live in 'Americanish' suburban Wassenaar; but my folks wanted to live in a more typical 50's style Dutch neighborhood, and chose nearby Schevenigen.

Schevenigen is very nice community, and worth a visit. But fifty years ago, it was truly a wonderful place for a young American kid to live because there were so many cool places to ride our bikes including a very active 'working' fishing port just two blocks away, and the dunes and North Sea another block beyond.

The opposite direction was a little shopping street, where my Mom would go in one store for milk & eggs, and another for fruit & vegetables, and the best for last, the bakery. The Dutch to this day, make wonderful pastries.

Is it worth a trip to the Netherlands for the pastries?

Well, if you throw in some chocolates, absolutely!!

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After returning to the States, a copy of this photo was on our wall, and my buddies would often ask if I REALLY wore these clothes to school?

C'mon now, how would you answer that?

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Vrolijk Kerstfeest!!!

The back of this photo ...

has in My Dad’s writing, "Rome - New Years' Eve - '54"

I know how my Mom could cook, so this had to be 'only one of many' tables laid out in preparation for the party.

Prior to Rome, if any us had broken a glass, plate, or whatever; it wouldn't of been a good thing, right?

Well when this happened during 1953, it was met with a 'no problem'.

I was SO CONFUSED!!

Well it turns out, my Mom had heard of an Italian tradition, possibly no longer followed; where the broken glass would be saved during the year, and be discarded at the sound of the New Year church bells. This of course would signify out with the old, in with the new, with hopes for even a better New Year.

And when I'm talking about discarding, I'm not talking about discarding into a dumpster, but 'out the window'/ 'off the balcony'!!

By this time, I was already (still am for that matter) in love with the Italians, but to see glass being thrown out of four and five story windows to the streets below. WOW!!!

note: a few hours later, the streets were all clean, and you would never have known it had happened. That is, if you hadn’t seen it, or for that matter, heard it.

blog'52 - It was back to the Pacific Northwest

After several years in Brazil, we returned to Tacoma, and of course would use this opportunity to visit with my Grandparents.

By this time I was truly bilingual, and would switch between English and Portuguese with ease, often in mid-sentence. I would speak to my family in English, but for some goofy-four-year-old-kid reasoning, I would speak to my Grandma ONLY in Portuguese, and it drove her CRAZY!!

She would scold my folks, "Oh you took little Jonnie away, and now look!!"

Apparently I would laugh with delight when this happened, and my dumb trick ended as soon as they figured out what I was doing and stopped reacting/over-reacting.

Over the next few years before I lost my second language, I would make my Grandma laugh by answering her in Portuguese.

I was extraordinarily blessed to have had such a wonderful Grandma!!

'49 - Front Row (Left)

This 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.