Stokes Purple

Day Eight.

I’m constantly amazed. I’m rinsing cabbage, thinking, ‘how amazing that each leaf has its own separate piece but so tightly wound up in a pretty green ball.’ Or how herbs are so fragrant and distinct in nature and can alter a dish so drastically. How many uses for salt? How many things can you make from just eggs! And so I enjoy chopping up fresh, pretty green dill, and grinding black pepper in my little grinder Peter gifted to me, thinking how amazing everything is that God has created. (Even if some things are genetically engineered.)

So now, Borsht is done. Borsht makes me think of my mother and how I, as a little girl, would be around her while she chopped and prepared, and I’d eat the centers of the cabbage. 

***

I had bought some purple sweet potato to try for the first time. When I make something with sweet potato, I think of Peter. He introduced me to them when I was pregnant with Jemma, wanting me to eat healthy. He had prepared some and had them ready for me when I had come home from work one day. And I was in love. Potatoes, but even better! My man knows the way to my heart! *wink* Well, I still like all varieties of potatoes! And now I know of a gorgeous purple one to enjoy as well! I was curious so I read a little about what they are. That’s what I do. I look up everything. They even have their own name, Stokes Purple. (It could be the name of a hair color;)) Well Jemma loved them. “Poopy,” she say when she’d want the next piece.

Side note:  I love baby accents! 

***

Lately:

I’m into deep, deep blue, purple, and burgundy. It reminds me of when I had long, long hair, with purple or blue undertones way back in 2009. Which by the way, I’m really pleased my hair is on that side of lengths.

Jemma counts. In her little toddler voice and accent, “один, два, три,” whenever there are multiples. She sees a baby and then another, at the store: “baby. один, два…” Her words, stretched and not quite perfected.

She makes me write the words that come to mind first. And so I write what she tells me in Russian: man (always first), woman, points to herself,  mama, papa, baby, kids, boy, girl, 1, 2, 3.

Almost every morning I make coffee and Jemma makes the sniff sniff sound with her little nose, and I bring the freshly ground beans up to her, to smell. We only brought the French Press with us to the apartment so that is what I make.

Well, Peter has arrived home after working a bit at our house so I will say,

Cheerio!

 

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