2 april 2004
O Positano is very, very, very beautiful and full of lemons. I had a lot of revelations--cliffs, lights, turquoise water, the rollercoaster excitement of riding an enormous bus at full tilt along narrow, winding roads at a vertiginous height above the water, standing in the cold water in a hot sun, tiled terraces, yellow flowers, Moorish, sherbet-colored duomos, the idea of life forever in a resort town, gleaming with lotion and beaming up at my husband as I scoop up an accessory baby or something. Are people in warm weather happier than the rest of us? Getting an e-mail from my friend Luther while I was in this gorgeous red-tiled, white-chaired, terraced and unterraced cafe eating strawberry trifle and drinking tea, and his e-mail reveals that his book of little nonfiction sketches of Midwestern life (the soda jerk who listens to Korn, the kids growing pot among their mom's tomato plants) has been awarded this really prestigious prize, and I was just pleased & not at all jealous! even though I sometimes am pretty jealous of people. Because the sun, the terrace, the tea settle into your skin & blood and make you happy and hopeful and eager for the future to come rolling in honey-slow with the sun, and the future just seems like you'd be having beer after beer on porches or boats or in parks with everyone you can think of, dressed in resort wear, the benevolent sun beaming down.