Memory is manna.
I had a red play book that my mother had bought for me many years ago when I was a child. In it were all manner of things to do. It showed me how to fold paper boats, make a telephone with two cups and string, create my own puzzles and many other things. My favorite thing to do from that play book was stringing up my room. I would run string from bed posts to door knobs, to dresser drawer handles, to chair legs, to curtain rods, until the entire room was covered in string. Then I’d throw a blanket over it and sit underneath alone or with friends. At night, we’d turn of the lights and flick on a flashlight under our room tent. We’d bring juice and sandwiches and talk about everything and nothing at all, with laughter vibrating the strings and the love of play vibrating in our hearts.