In June of 2002 Marga’s son Anton, who was working on his post-doc in Germany, decided to come back to Canada with a Ulrike and a friend. As is usually the case, visitors want to see “Canada” and there is only so much to see between Toronto and Orillia. A plan was hatched to do a driving tour from Toronto, to Montreal, to Ottawa, and then back home. For reasons I do not recall, Marga came along…. because what mother would not want to go on a driving trip with her son, future daughter-in-law, (contd)

high-school friends, high school friend's girlfriend and an otherwise unknown and rather stolid German fellow . I don’t mind saying that the 30 year old me was wondering if it was going to work, but the trip ended up being a riot and I have so many great memories from it. It was weird how well Marga blended in…. well, as much as Marga ever “blended” in. However there was one moment that I will always remember. As I recall, we had borrowed Tom’s mini-van, and were driving through a rainy busy street in downtown Montreal.

I had pulled the lucky straw and was driving the group that day, looking for a raclette restaurant or some such, with the entire group seated in the rows behind me. Marga was sitting in the middle of the seat behind me “on the hump” between two others. All of a sudden, another driver veered in front of me, and I had to slam on the brakes and turn the wheel. The mini-van lurched, missing the offending car by a hair. There was only the briefest moment of silence before Marga let loose some rather choice words that up until

that point in time, I had never heard anyone’s mother say, let alone little Marga. Of course, the car broke into laughter, and we carried on all the merrier. And to me, that was Marga. Through all of the high-school and university years, visiting and seeing Marga. Eating at her table. Sitting in the back yard. Never shy with opinions, engaging, barrier free and always open and loving. I’ll miss her.