My daughter and her family live in a rambling, 140-year old house in rural Pennsylvania. The house sits on the grounds of a private school, where my son-in-law is employed. The place is as peaceful and as quiet as you can imagine.
Recently, my daughter’s friend, Lisa, came for a week’s visit. Lisa is a nurse in Milwaukee and lives in the middle of that city. Because her apartment lacks air-conditioning, she leaves the windows open. In the week prior to her visit, she slept little at night because of the protests and looting taking place in the nearby streets: the shouts, the chants, the screams, the sound of breaking glass.
