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I remember the first time I laid eyes on Adam Isacson like it was approximately 41 days ago. We had arranged to meet at a breakfast hot spot along one of Boston’s historic, quiet side streets. I was running late, but he’d saved me a seat at the table. The café windows were flung open, and a gentle breeze was blowing through the parted chintz curtains, the intoxicating smell of fresh cut flowers wafting by. He was such a gentleman.

I can’t believe today is Adam’s birthday. I don’t know where the time went, or how that lovely August weekend in Boston slipped so quickly into the past.

But enough of my sentimental monkeyshines! There’s a birthday to celebrate!