Morning Thanks--. . .young men dreaming dreams"

Once upon a time, when I asked how he was doing, some old friend of mine told me he had arrived at that time in life when he had to rethink his visions, lower the reach of his dreams.

I know that time. In a certain way, I suppose, it's called growing up--or, more certainly, growing old.

Maybe that's why I like this little shot of my granddaughter, who at eight months doesn't yet dream in the English language and may well believe that the world is no bigger than what she can see around her.

I don't care. When she's sitting on my lap, her grandpa thinks she has every right to believe she has the world at her fingertips. Because when she's sitting there, I become as much a child as she is.

It's just dang hard to be a cynic with a baby in your lap. And for that fact--and, of course, for him--this morning, I'm greatly thankful.