Having finally delivered the coup de grace to my elderly hiking sandals–four years of faithful service and multiple states, some of the best shoes I’ve had, slain at last by wading through Jordan Lake as I struggled along the lakeshore in 100+ degree weather, to identify the enormous bird I had seen from a distance. It was an immature bald eagle. I am from the Pacific Northwest originally, so I confess, I’m pretty jaded to bald eagles. Sure, they’re magnificent the first dozen times, but when you pass a couple a day on the drive to school, you get a lot more excited about spotting an osprey. Still neat to see, mind you, they’re massive birds. Unfortunately, in order to see it, my shoes and I had to cross a couple of inlets, and since they were already breathing their last, they did not survive the experience.
So today I went out and got a pair of Birkenstocks. James has been raving about his, how his posture has improved, and the wonderous arch support, and the durability. They supposedly take a week or two to break in (or break your feet in, as the case may be) so I will refrain from passing judgement until the time has passed. At the moment, however, it feels like there’s a tennis ball under each foot. But we’ll see.