I live about eight blocks away from where the tanker exploded in Sioux Center on Tuesday.

I was still in Le Mars when it blew, but friends were nearby. One guy, his cart full of groceries at Fareway just across the street from the blast, said he thought a car crashed into the grocery store.

Grown men and women stood watching with their mouth wide open.

The town of Sioux Center made national news that night, but not the kind of news any town wants to have.

Several weeks ago, a worker was killed in the construction at the future Super Wal-Mart in Sioux Center.

And today, Minnesota's Twin Cities are reeling from the collapse of an Interstate bridge and the death of at least four people.

The quiet Midwest is not immune to tragedy. And we know that. But it's still a shock when it hits. The fragility of life comes into keen focus. One minute you're driving along, sipping your black coffee from your AmPride travel mug, and the next minute . . . well, there is no next minute.

Now, for the record, I don't believe that this death is the end for us. But I do believe that our lives here on earth aren't just given to us to toss out the window. I guess I always subconsciously imagine myself having plenty of time to make this life count -- living well into the years of grandchildren, support stockings and weekly hairdresser stops for my gray curls. But there's no guarantee.

Kind of makes this day more important.

This moment.

This conversation.

I think I'll get dessert at lunch today and split it with a friend.

What are you going to do today?