Outside the 10^th floor windows of my office, a hawk soars in circles. Carving wide curves in the air, its wings catch the currents and it floats high above downtown Albany. It doesn’t seem to be looking for anything to eat – no scurrying rodent down below, no nest to raid a little higher – it simply glides through the sky.

Without getting too anthropomorphic, it appears to be exulting in the freedom that being a bird entails.

Behind the glass, behind the blinds, I am not the only one who envies that freedom.

That Virginia Woolf moment when all you want to do is throw a party, but your whole inner-world is in turmoil, so you go out and buy flowers because it’s the last thing that might save your sanity – this is not a picture of that. Instead, it’s a portrait of the last big party I had in Boston – for JoAnn’s 40^th birthday. This year we’re reconvening on a smaller and more intimate scale, and Kira will once again help out for the festivities. (At least, I hope she will…)

Spring gatherings always remind me of Gatsby, of nights when the perfume of unseen blossoms fills the air, and the world seems filled with the unfurling hope and promise of summer. In the hours before the guests arrive, we pause and take in the moment. All the preparation and cleaning, all the assembly and finishing – it comes together and there is an hour or two of quiet and peace. Sometimes that’s the best part of a party.

In order to have the best of both worlds, this upcoming gathering is designed to be on the cozier side of things. Very rarely do I get to talk to everyone at a party because there is too much going on and too many people involved. I’m looking forward to breaking that spell.

The dull and the mundane are often overlooked, but they have their stories too. Most of the time they never get told – too unexceptional, too uninteresting, too commonplace to be worthy of a tale. I’m not going to say anything on their behalf, however, as it would be conjecture and half-hearted guessing at best. Weave your own back-stories and make up your own fantasies on how these objects came to be discarded. It is a world of the lost.

Pull me off of my knees! On a Monday morning, my favorite thing to do is lament the passing of another weekend. I think back to those precious moments on Friday, when it all began, when it felt like we had all the time in the world to do all the things we wanted, and the possibility of excitement and merriment and fun was all we needed. I think of a key – the key to a car and the start of an adventure. The key to a hotel room, and the anticipation of seeing what’s on the other side. The key to our Boston condo, and the beginning of a few days away. The key to a heart…

As of this writing, and a full three days of working outside in the yard, my body is about to give out, so forgive me if this recap is lazy as a clam. (Are clams even lazy?) Anyway, we began the week with a few changes. Nothing too major, just a couple of differences you may or may not have noticed, starting with a revamped posting schedule that goes back to a more energetic time. That’s right – the third post has returned.

That makes these recaps slightly more involved, so we may have to jumble the Hunks together, or in nifty little snatch batches, like this one: Tommy Didario, Tom Daley, Kevin Stea, Aaron Valenzuela & Adam Von Rothfelder.

We also have a semi-regular mid-week feature – the Wacky Wednesday post – in which some silliness relieves the drama and seriousness of most of the intent around here.

Attention has shifted to the garden, thanks to some decent weather at long last. It’s catch-up time now, but there’s always a moment for a good gardening lesson.

The birthday of a good friend is a good thing indeed.

Chris Pratt was already a Hunk of the Day, but he gets a special post for taking his shirt off. Same goes for these guys. And Daniel Macedo.

Adam Levine paid tribute to Prince in this amazing way.

I am now a proud member of the Beyhive.

Something about pearls never quite sat right with me.

I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s their overused ubiquity.

Or the fact that they’re all too easily faked.

Or maybe they’re just boring.

Classic, yes, but boring.

I own one real set, and they’re precious to me because they came from Andy.

I’m just never going to be a girl in pearls.

We partied like it was 1999, because it was, well, 1999.

Today is my dear friend JoAnn’s birthday, and when the world around us seems to crumble, she is a bright spot of hope and love. We have a grand history together. A friendship that has sustained itself for almost two decades is something rare and special, and I think we hold each other a little tighter as our journey twists and turns its way along its destined trajectory.

She was there for me when I had my first serious boyfriend.

She was there to help me pick out a basenji on a cold January day.

She was there to help me pick up the pieces when my first boyfriend and I broke up.

She shared wild and crazy nights (and days) in Boston, when we were young and foolish and just trying to find love and happiness. (And in a different way, we did.)

She made a welcoming home for everyone, no matter where she lived, and she brought us all together without expecting anything in return for it.

Most importantly for me, she opened her world to a guy who wasn’t always sure of himself, widening his circle of friends and enriching his life. For that, I am forever indebted and grateful for her presence in my life.

She continues to bring a passion to everything she does. She loves – and she loves hard. I can respect that. It hurts a little more to be in the world when you love like that, but she wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would I.

Happy birthday to my dear friend.