I picked a morning trip for tomorrow, assuming I hit the road in time to drive 90 minutes before the morning heat rises. I admit that what clinched the choice for me was the realization that the town in question is very small. I love when towns of 2,000 to 5,000 do low-budget tourism promotion.
When we lived in Los Angeles, we experienced the 1992 Rodney King riots. I remember staying up into the wee hours, seeing if the burning blocks along Manchester would reach as far as our very western airport-adjacent apartment building.
The next day, work had been called off. I took our late and lovely lhasa Scout out for a walk. When we faced west, we saw a coastal Spring day, with an elderly couple walking under a gentle Spring sun. When I looked to the east, I saw half a sky of thick, dark smoke.
That weekend, we left LA and drove to the Santa Clarita Valley, a valley or two over. That valley featured no smoke, no curfews and no tension. We looked at new homes and went to a Disney movie. I feel a little like I need to go back to the valley, or at least to a small town.
My wife is in Kansas City this weekend, so Beatrice and I will make the best of things.
Huge swaths of downtown Dallas will be closed until Wednesday as parts of downtown are being treated as a giant crime scene. I found myself moved by the morning press conference by the mayor and in particular the chief of police. I found myself moved by thinking of the families of the police and also of the woes facing the family of the shooter.