One of my fondest memories as a little girl was watching the Olympics with my family. We would all pile onto the couches in the living room for two weeks every two years and watch in awe as fellow humans in the peak of fitness and finesse compete with the world watching. I remember the utterances of astonishment my dad would make, the incredulous laughter of my amazed mom and the relentless questioning of my sister and I "How's they do that?". Being the first Olympic experience away from my parents, Jake and I decided to have a little dinner with friends, Lisa and Mike. We made some kabobs on the grilled and finished with some chocolate dipped strawberries while conversing and watching the stunning opening ceremony. It was wonderful to have guests over! In that I have a romanticized view of the 50's style entertaining housewife, I love to having people over and serve dinner.
Morning: bought honey from a bee-keeper in Rittenhouse Square. It's Locust Honey and I can't wait to try it!
Evening: Date night - Jake and I rode bicycles into Olde City for dinner and a movie. After some menu browsing, we decided to be adventurous - Afghan Cuisine. It was delicious, interesting but flavour-wise paled in comparison to Ethiopian and Indian, which we have become strong fans of lately. Man on a Wire, a documentary on Phillipe Petit - the urban tightroping Frenchman that strung a wire between the twin towers in the 1970's opened at the Ritz Five art theater. Visually stunning and a little tense, the movie is a beautiful tribute to the event. Interesting though, it left me with a sadness afterward - not to do with the ultimate fate of the towers. I found phillipe's life a little tragic. In my opinion, he traded acheiving his goals for friendships. To be fair, he was less than shy about his driving desire to wire the towers and these people befriended him knowing his fiery passion for it. It was touching to see the friends mourn their friendships with him and him hardly notice the loss.
Sunday: Ever since meeting Dan Webber and mopeds, I have loved vintage cycles. Particularly small engined, ones - the more unique or obscure the better. Which has it's problems - namely, I am not particularly obsessed with the work involved in restoring a vintage bike - and the parts are hard to comeby. I am particularly obsessed with their unequalled beauty. I have a dream for a Honda Dream 305. in white. Maybe not for a first motorcycle experience however, so Jake and I are off this afternoon to take a look at a 1971 Honda 350. Check for an update!