Drifting Sands

About the Book

The following excerpts from the book will help you sense the diverse moments in the author´s life, as he takes you back almost 75 years, actually bringing his memories right into the new millennium. Drifting Sands will take you to many places and through many years-from Chicago in the twenties to World War II...from the dunes in Michigan, to Paris, the south of France, Venice and Tuscany.

PROLOGUE

When we were very little, my sister and I slept in the same bedroom. Our parents and our grandmother and grandfather-my father´s parents-we all lived in a three-story building on the West Side of Chicago. Our world was the boulevard outside where we could hear cars moving, especially when it was raining at night. During the day, other sounds came from the alley-from the shouts of the fruit-peddler or the knife-sharpener. But the best sound came at night from the long hallway outside of our bedroom door. It ran the length of the apartment, from the living room to the dining room, to the kitchen. When I walked down the hallway to the back of the house, the first thing I saw was the old samovar. It was brought by my grandparents from the old country and never used again.

After we had gone to bed, my sister and I could hear the voices of people walking down the hallway. We guessed which relative had stopped by for tea and maybe some of my mother´s cheesecake. Sometimes there were angry voices when someone left the living room, arguing about the card game they had just left.

One night, very late, we awoke to hear my mother crying. My father spoke up, "Shoosh, shoosh, you´ll wake the children!" My sister began to cry. I was about to. My mother opened the door just a little. "It´s O.K., children. Go back to sleep." My grandmother had died. It was our first encounter with death. Days later, I heard someone tell my father, "Life goes on." My father nodded.

Less than a year later my grandfather died. He had fallen and, I believe, had broken some bones. While in the hospital, he developed pneumonia. His death came in only a matter of days.

Looking back, it seemed husbands or wives often followed their mates to the grave. It was almost as though it was expected by family and friends. Even by the widowed person. My other grandfather (my mother´s father) was an exception. He lived on for many years after his wife died. He was the grandfather I really knew and came to love. He became a kind of patriarch in the family, especially around Jewish holidays. I still remember sitting next to him in our local library. He was reading "The Count of Monte Cristo" in Yiddish.

From my Jewish background I came to believe that life goes on only on earth, not in heaven. There is talk of a soul, but that was never too clear to me. Where did it go? Life, I learned, went on in the memories of those who loved you. Memory is life.

Perhaps that´s what this story is all about-life going on. And its journey.

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CHAPTER ONE

Moving forward, looking backward

My world has grown. And so have the memories-both old and new. In this book I expect to concentrate on the recent years. But my thoughts seem to have a life of their own. As I start these reflections, my intention is to share some of my travel experiences with you-encounters with pleasurable culinary happenings and emotional moments of being in the presence of great art or simple beauty. The story is meant to begin after the death of my first wife, Ruth, in 1991. She had fought her cancer for almost two years, during which she carried on a full life. I was sixty-six at that time. Ruth was sixty-one. When I married Ruth she was eighteen. I fell in love with her when I returned from service in World War II. She was a beautiful girl, only sixteen when we met. We were married for 42 years and had three children, all boys. First David, then Paul, and finally Marc-who Ruth was expecting to

About the Author

Benton Leibson has been writing (on and off) since he was discharged from the army after World War II. Frank O’Connor, the great Irish short story writer who taught briefly at the University of Chicago, urged Benton on. Eventually, with a background in art, Benton started his own advertising agency. He is now retired. Harry Borgman has been doing artwork for more years than he can remember. With his computer at home, he now works for agencies everywhere. He created the digital art of Benton’s travel photos. He has published books on commercial art.