Bridges

If I say "Minneapolis" and "bridge" in the same sentence, chances are you'll think of last summer's tragedy. The collapse cut a deep wound in the city, and it seems everyone who lives here has a story about how the lives of friends and loved ones were changed (or almost changed) by that horrific day.

My niece's husband and infant daughter were delayed a few minutes at daycare that day. Their normal routine would have put them in the vicinity right when it happened.

An acquaintance of my sister receives dialysis treatments once a year at the University Hospitals. He was on the bridge when it fell, and his car dropped 30 feet onto another layer of cars. Miraculously, everyone on his part of the bridge survived..

The bad luck of the draw determined who lived and who died that day.

Crews are working day and night to finish rebuilding before the Republican National Convention arrives in September. I wish they'd slow down and take their time.

Minneapolis has other bridges, too. Some are breathtaking, like the Stone Arch bridge. It's particularly stunning when you see it at night from the outdoor balcony at the Guthrie Theatre:




















This next one is the Washington Avenue bridge at the University.


















The top deck is for pedestrians and speedy bicycle riders only. I trudged across it today, and It felt familiar and good, although the vibrations from the cars below are more frightening now, in light of all that's happened.

In 1974, Hare Krishnas would hand out books and burn pungent incense inside the covered area of the pedestrian level. This presented a dilemma in the wintertime. Walk outside and freeze your feet off, or walk inside and be overcome by incense fumes and the proselytizing of tambourine-shaking dancers.

But I digress. I spend a lot of time worrying about bridges. My first panic attack occurred on a bridge, when I realized how much trust is required every time I drive across a river on a hunk of concrete and steel.

I trust the bridge to support me, just as it's supported the millions of people who've trusted it before me. I trust that its engineers, designers, and builders have made it sturdy. I trust the government to inspect it and keep it safe. I trust the earth not to quake. I trust myself not to swerve, and I trust other drivers not to sabotage my safe passage.

When I start going down this neurotic road, I become aware that it's not just bridges that require a leap of faith.

Have you ever considered the amount of trust we all extend in the course of a day?

We trust the cars to stop for the red light. We trust our computers to boot up. I trust you to read this without judging or mocking. You trust me not to waste your blog-reading time.

We trust the sun to come up. And go down. And come up again.

We trust that our loved ones will return safely from their big and small sojourns into the world.

There's a Lou Reed song that goes "You Need a Busload of Faith To Get By."

It's true. And it's ironic. Because when faith and trust betray us, as they did last August on the I-35 bridge, it's faith and trust that get us through.