CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: SIXTY-FOUR DIFFERENT, BRILLIANT SHADES OF THERAPY

My friend Jana, who has a pierced navel, a new old house in Bonne Terre and a penchant for spiritual exploration, is redecorating.

She asked me to help, adding, "You're so normal." I think that was a compliment, but every now and then a niggling doubt surfaces.

The other day, Jana supplied the graph paper and I brought the crayons and we sat down and got to work plotting out the new rooms.

Actually, I had a brand new box of 64 crayons. The old box had disappeared somewhere, probably during my last move.

Or the cat ate them. She loves wax.

With 64 colors to choose from, including my personal favorites, raw and burnt sienna, even Jana can find a shade just right for her spare bedroom.

Jana decided to paint her meditation room, which doubles as her office, a soft green.

I knew crayons had become politically correct. There's no longer a shade known as Flesh. Now that color is Peach, I believe, or maybe Apricot. That's fair. People come in all colors, so should crayons.

I hadn't realized crayons had become trendy. Obviously, I need to get out more. Or start hanging out with second-graders.

Just color me completely out of the loop.

I spotted what I thought was the perfect shade and started scribbling.

Then I noticed the label. Asparagus, it read.

When I was really paying attention to crayons (as school supplies, not therapy) green was green. Or forest green, yellow-green, blue-green, etc.

Not Asparagus. Most 7-year-olds won't even eat asparagus; I can't imagine them coloring with it.

I guess calling a crayon Arugula or Radiccio or Raspberry Vinaigrette would be going too far.

I don't have the neon crayons, or the multi-cultural crayon pack. I'm a simple woman with simple needs.

But I did notice Wild Strawberry, Dandelion, Granny Smith green, Purple Mountains Majesty, Tumbleweed (kind of a dusty, tannish-beige), Wisteria and Timberwolf, which is a silvery sort of gray, lurking in the box.

Jana was thrilled to death with Asparagus, incidentally, and the living room will be cream with accents of Wild Strawberry, or the paint store equivalent. I can't see her actually scribbling on the walls.

I like playing with crayons a lot more now than I did when I was a kid. I'm not being graded, for one thing, so I don't have to stay inside any lines.

My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Griffin, used to just shake her head when I turned in my art assignments. "How can you be so messy?" she'd sigh.

She should see my desk now.

Coloring isn't Art, if you're an adult (legally, at least). It's catharsis. It's relaxing. It's stress-reduction therapy.

If you're a grownup and you want to create Art with crayons, you have to melt them and do batik.

If you're really enterprising and you know a friendly art critic, you could color lollipop trees (don't forget the Asparagus) and stick figures and call it Modern Primitivism.

Just don't invite Mrs. Griffin to the gallery opening.

~Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.