We will be in Minneapolis in just over a week. Normally, we would drive over that bridge on our way from my mom's house in Duluth to our friends' place in the south suburbs. Not this time. I can't believe it's gone.
Life is such a dangerous game. It seems that there are perils lurking around every corner, and yet the vast majority of us manage to keep ourselves alive somehow. It seems silly to worry about things like bridge collapses and airplane crashes which happen so rarely. Why is it that it's so easy to become obsessively fearful about these kinds of things, when it's so much more likely that you'll die in a car crash, or of heart disease or something equally unsensational? I, for one, can't shake my fear of flying and will often spend the entire flight telling myself "well, there are hundreds of other planes in the air right at this minute - why would it be THIS one that would crash? If you believe that, then you should start buying lottery tickets, because that's just as likely..." Sometimes it works, other times I just need to flag down the flight attendant and buy one of those little bottles of wine to calm myself down.
Living in the city of bridges (or "bridgetown", as Portland is often called), it's difficult to get anywhere without crossing some sort of chasm at some point during the day. There's an urban legend about one of the big double-decker bridges in Portland that the engineer who designed it won't drive over it because he doesn't think it's safe. I drive over this bridge at least once a week. I hold my breath every time.