When I was a young child during the late '30s and early '40s,
my mother and I spent many happy hours making up stories about the magnificent
clouds we saw floating in the sky. The two of us watched an ever-changing
theater show from a wonderful vantage point, our house on "the hill." In
the summer we sat on the back steps and in the winter we had a lovely view
from our living room window. Looking back now, I see that Mother used the
clouds as what is is now known as a "learning tool." I wonder if she thought
of it as learning, or was she merely trying to cultivate in me a bit of
the poetic ability that is so natural to her? Whatever her motives, I thoroughly enjoyed Clouds.
We moved from "the hill" to a house in a subdivion when I was 6. This
coincided with the war years, a new school for me, and a defense job for
Mother. We didn't have as much time for our favorite game and eventually
it ended.
When my children were young I tried to interest them in what was once
my fondest activity. I think my children humored me and played occasionally
because they knew how much fun it was for me. Now, they too are grown and
have put away their special games. But, every now and again when Mother
and I are together and one of says, "look at the clouds," flashes of my
childhood return. Although we gave up telling stories long ago, Mother
and I usually pass a few comments on the shapes and configurations we see.
When this happens, my thoughts always wander back to those pleasant days
when we played Clouds on "the hill."