I have always loved beach towns, with their atmosphere of sun tan lotion and ice cream and indolence. Now that the summer weather has arrived, we have been going to our Beach Club to loll around and be healed of all our ills -- physical, emotional, spiritual, etc. -- by the sunshine and the lunch. This plan is working better than you might have thought. By September, I will probably be practically perfect in every way. Something to look forward to.

Having decided to move our belongings from Colorado Springs to Pietrasanta (the complexities of getting it all the way to Capriglia are completely beyond us), we have unleashed upon ourselves a whole fresh document hell. The customs people, for instance, want a complete itemized list of everything we are bringing with valuations and, if possible, receipts. The receipts for a lifetime of treasures. The drawing of a sunflower that Tris made in second grade and that hung on the wall in our kitchen for almost two decades? I have no receipt and no rational valuation. Zero dollars? Priceless.

More lemons have come our way -- it seems that all of Tuscany is inundated at this time of year. Fabio and Luciana, our neighbors, gave us a big bag and Barbara and Sara gave us even more. I made lavender-lemon marmalade and now we have begun the process of making Moroccan Salt-Cured Lemons. I have never tasted Moroccan Salt-Cured Lemons and have no idea what we will do with them once they are ready, but it is comforting to know that we will never die of scurvy.