As I child whenever I was stressed or very anxious I turned to drawing. My brother would say that I could spend hours in one position entranced by the task at hand. Only after I was done with a sketch or painting would I realize that I had sat in the same position for hours. Drawing calmed me in a way that nothing else could. I am by no means a great artist; and in fact these days the closest I get to painting is perhaps helping my kids with their projects. Once a year though, I do try to enter an open call a local art museum has for any artist who cares to submit their work. I diligently work and sometimes stay up nights trying to perfect whatever painting I am working on. Every year I walk into those wondrous halls with high hopes only to call a few days later and have my hopes dashed. I have quite a collection growing frankly, and the works lean against a wall in my guest room. I wish I could say that my husband loves them and wants me to display them in our home but as nicely as he tries to encourage me I know he does not want them up. At times it makes me sad but I can't force others to love my work right? can I? no. Today was one of those stressful days. I walked around with a knot in my stomach and a migraine that could kill a horse. I walked into a store and there in the corner coloring books were for sale. Memories of me in the living room coloring while I lay on my stomach on the floor flooded my mind. Instantly I could smell the crayons and could almost see those smooth colorful lines starting to fill the white spaces. It was a Christmas coloring book and yes I bought it home. I colored the first page and instantly I was there in that wonderful place where nothing wrong happens and time seems to stand still. I graduated to a plain sheet of paper and a scene started to appear. When the phone rang a few minutes later the mojo was gone and I was yet again distracted by the happenings of the day, but for ten minutes or so....I was in the zone and it felt great.