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It's a lovely view of the neighborhood from a bench near the field, though too dark for a focused, handheld photo.

We stopped for gas on the way to the next and last hotel. Sitting in the car, waiting for Dad to fill up the tank, I saw a damaged sign and the inescapable volcano through the window. I was compelled to put the one within the other.

A man sits alone on a curb.

As I'm walking through this thing with my famiy, I am not exactly sure what's being celebrated here. None of us are. A later search online reveals that this is Art of the Ave. It's brought out an interesting crowd.

This is where Uncle Phil made his knives.

Aunt Sue has been taking us around Tacoma's parks today. I think we've been to three or four parks today so far.

It's typically overcast and gray in Tacoma, so I've been told. Today it's sunny and cool, so I can see myself. Given the reason we're here, this weather is appreciated.

It was easy to see over the fences around the hotel that a group of derelict houses were on the other side. I ventured from this side to that one to take a look.

Having driven only briefly around Tacoma, it appears these sorts of run down properties are not uncommon.

This is where Uncle Phil lived and Aunt Sue lives. She is not sure she'll be staying here in the future.

Uncle Phil has been interred at Mountain View Cemetary in Lakewood, Washington. The name of the place is accurate. You definitely can view the mountain.

In addition to wandering around the abandoned houses, I walked the street in front of the hotel. The modest, low-rise storefronts said things about this area, I thought.