Here's something strange, and I need to remember to tell Sweeney.

Last night I finished reading The Road. I was hoping I wouldn't have apocalyptic dreams, and I didn't, but this morning, Kate and I went for a walk to get the newspaper. Once we got downstairs, she decided she needed to push her teddy bear in a stroller.

So we're walking along. The sky overcast. Remnants of storm on the ground and in the sky. Gray sky. And I can't help but think, as we cross the grassy divider that separates the northbound and southbound lanes of North Street, that the cart moves really slow off the road.

Toward the end of the walk, Kate asks me, Will the Earth last for ever?
As far as our ever.
Will I know it's heaven when I get there.
I think they'll tell you.
How old is Jesus?
We started counting years when Jesus was born.
Oh, 2009.
Yup.
Does he look old or does he look like when he was killed?
He looks like when he was killed.
Will I look like when I'm killed?
I don't think you'll be killed.

On a separate but possibly related note, how old are kids when they no longer feel the need to exclaim, "Train!" every time they spot a train?