Birkenstock

Nine months ago, in a post titled Chocolate, I told you about my friend Marcel from Frankfurt, Germany.  To spare you the time and effort of going back to that post, I will just say that Marcel and I share a last name, although we do not know if we are related.  We found each other on Facebook about six years ago, and have been online friends for all that time.  Marcel is now 25.

Finally, today, I got to meet Marcel and his girlfriend Juliane.  They arrived in Miami on Saturday and are spending a couple of days with me before they continue their Florida adventure.  I took them to the beach this afternoon and out to dinner tonight.  Tomorrow they will go off for an afternoon of shopping, and tomorrow night, my Florida cousins (also likely related to Marcel) will come over for pizza, a strange but fun pre-Thanksgiving gathering.

A few years ago, in exchange for some Tommy Hilfiger shirts that I purchased here and sent over to Germany, Marcel bought me a pair of Birkenstocks and sent them over here.  I have been wearing Birkenstocks (as all tree-hugging hippies do) since 1983, and one can never have too many pair.

So imagine my delight this morning when Marcel proudly presented me with a pair of navy blue Birkies from Germany!

The very fact that he was able to recall my size endears him to me even more.  You can believe that I am wearing these Birkies as I type this.  I can't wait for someone to comment on them so I can tell the story of how they came to be mine.

Yes, I love my Birkenstocks.  But I am in love with much more than that.  I am in love with an unlikely friendship that has spanned generations and continents, and I am in love with the thoughtfulness of a young man whom I am proud to call my cousin . . . whether or not he actually is.