i used to color on a low mosaic table , which had the verdant scene of a mission across a lake on the tiles and which was purchased by my father in guaymas , mexico , and at this table i sat cross-legged in front of the large glassy eye of our black and white television ; for hours every saturday night while the snowy images of the prior sundays bullfights from various arenas across mexico appeared in that strange aquarium glass of the tv , i impassively stroked coloring pages with thick crayons ; the sublime woody aroma of a fresh coloring page reminds me of hemingways passionate sport , though it translated to me as a stagy soap opera as overly theatric as mexican telenovelas but due to the language barrier these bullfights were a sufficiently dull backdrop for the much more exciting work of coloring .