She was an older woman, gray-haired and distinguished, one of those Canadian imports who had never forgotten her British roots. They were as close by as her slight English accent. I had known many people in Canada just like her, who would say “I’m just an old Brit” because that is what they felt like, in the “melting pot” America was alleged at one time to be, or in rich ethnic salad of Canada.

We knew her from her singing. We sang in a “showcase” of sorts in the San Diego region. My husband’s rich and jazzy baritone, my humorous songs or French songs long before my post-menopausal “croak” set in. Read more on Back To The Blitz…