It began as a lark. I had read somewhere that colouring was the new 'thing' for adults and I thought it was a good 'joke' present. And every time I walked into a bookshop I would see displays of various complex looking colouring books for grown ups. So I gave my sister in law T and friend H each this book, the Secret Garden, as a parting-from-Singapore gift. As it was a buy 2 get something off the 3rd free I gifted myself a copy as well. And promptly forgot about it.
Then my friend M came to visit in the early days of having moved into our Hong Kong apartment. I remember her talking about this book on Facebook and so I pulled it off the bookshop and gave it to her. I hadn't had a moment to colour and I didn't see myself colouring so it was my pleasure to do so. But as soon as it was gone and I could see that gap in my bookshelf I DESPERATELY WANTED the book. I DESPERATELY WANTED to colour. Talk about juvenile. I thought I could shake it.
Last week I went to a bookshop to buy the last two books for December Pie and saw a display of the colouring books - they seems to be procreating. Anyway, after a quick internal battle in which my juvenile side won, I got myself another copy of The Secret Garden. Ever since that evening Kid and I have spent 15 minutes before dinner colouring (with a timer as it's easy to get carried away). It's slow going (for one of us!) but we are having some great conversations over it.
I'm not sure about therapeutic but I am certainly enjoying it more than I thought I would. I think I need new pens/ pencils. Also a steadier hand and a bit more imagination in my use of colours. Kid thinks he is a famous artist - no crisis of confidence there. I need patience. I guess that's a lesson I am likely to learn page by page.