Margaret was not only our neighbour, she was our sister-in-law, the widow of Ken's brother, Reg Stofer.
After her husband's death, Margaret took a night school course in cake decorating. She began slowly with birthday cakes for family and friends
and then graduated to very elaborate wedding cakes featuring dainty roses, intricate lattice work, delicate bells and loops.
Many of these cakes had stories to tell, like the wedding cake of a cousin, which Ken and I delivered by car to San Francisco. It arrived in mint condition, only requiring a couple of dabs of icing to replace a tiny broken rose.
Then there was the cake that travelled to Duncan. It was topped with a miniature airplane crafted in icing, as the bridegroom flew a plane as a hobby. (The only wedding I attended where the bride flew off on her honeymoon in a tiny plane piloted by her new husband. The groom manfully scooped up his bride, still wearing her wedding gown, and deposited her into the cockpit. Quite a sight witnessing that take-off).
I think the most memorable wedding cake, however, was the one for my daughter. Fortunately she wanted a white cake, as opposed to the traditional fruit cake. The decoration was to be extremely simple, just pale peach icing with an overlay of white lace-work to match her peach/lace wedding dress.
The day before the wedding, I sauntered next door to Margaret's to see how things were progressing with the cake. There was no answer at the door, so, thinking she was in another room, I just let myself in.
Kim, her large white Samoyd, greeted me, but not with his usual enthusiasm, in fact he looked rather well-fed and guilty. I called out for Margaret but there was no answer. I thought I would take a look in the dining room (scene of most of Margaret's cake decorating) and just check on the progress of the cake. The door was ajar, which I thought was ominous as Margaret always kept that door tightly closed. (I learned later she had been called next door in a hurry).
I pushed the door open and was greeted by a floor covered in cake crumbs. Kim had been hard at work. Over the years, this intelligent dog had been taught many tricks, one of which was to retrieve a piece of toast which had been placed at the edge of the kitchen table as a reward. I guess the tantalizing aroma of fresh vanilla-flavoured cake had been too much for him to resist.
I could just picture Kim all by himself, doing a quick roll-over to allay his guilt and then sitting on his haunches and helping himself (alas, Kim is no longer with us - not because of the cake, just old age).
I hastily wrote a note to Margaret, explaining what had happened and telling her not to worry - I was rushing home to make another cake.
The new cake was duly decorated and the finished product was a delight to behold. Surrounded by tulle and topped with a tiny vase of sweetheart roses, it was the picture of innocence. Little did the guests know of the turmoil behind the scene.
Margaret left us a number of years ago. We really miss her as she was so much a part of our lives as well as our family.
The neighbourhood is not the same without Margaret at the very top of the hill.
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