Dear Summer Place,

Beau painted you today.  He may not remember too much anymore, but he sure remembers you. Seems you are an amalgamation of all the places he loves: the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Rivanna River in Virginia, along with Steamboat Springs, Colorado, with maybe a dash of the Rheine thrown in for good measure.

Oh Summer Place—-and your  water, in particular—-my father was so happy in you. And it makes me joyful to see that he is still very much connected to that happiness. These paintings, which look like windows to the outside world  also provide windows into the increasingly mysterious mind of Beauregard Lee Bercaw.

A wonderful new window to water opened to me today, too. I haven’t been able to use my left shoulder for swimming for a long time. In fact, about as long as Beau has been in Memory Care. Whenever I get in the pool these days, I just kick. But this afternoon, while Beau was working on Summer Place, my left shoulder loosened up and I was able to use my arms for a few laps.

Through you, Summer Place, Beau is telling us to look anew at the world. Memories. Shoulders. Life. What seems broken may not be. It’s just the window that’s changed.

Love,

Nancy