She noted with tenderness all the makeshifts: the darned chair-arms, the patent rocker covered with sleazy cretonne, the pasted strips of paper mending the birch-bark napkin-rings labeled Papa and Mama.

A lady loses her muff, her fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster.

Playing a “gig” in Toronto at the time, Lombardo and his boys arrived at RB to do a live line feed to New York for their regular dance-band series on CBS, just at a mement when Baker's one and only amplifier was in full use on CFRB's own air, broadcasting a lucrative locally-sponsored program of recorded music.

If Nonna had seen them, she would do the same as Dad, but I looked back to see her focused full throttle on whatever it was George was saying.