It started off simple enough. Eager students, we came to class at the local community college armed with paper and pen. But this was cake class and standard supplies didn’t cut it. Chris, the instructor, passed out several decorating tips, a small angled spatula, two containers of buttercream frosting, and some parchment paper. Our first challenge was turning the flat triangular-shaped parchment into a three-dimensional cone-shaped pastry bag—a technique I still haven’t mastered.

Chris patiently taught us how to make the basic shells and whatnots that we see on most bakery cakes. We practiced on boards covered with waxed paper. She made it look so easy, but ours never quite came out as uniformly as hers did. This was just the beginning, however, and for the next five weeks, we each had to bring a naked cake to class. Chris taught us the finer points of baking a moist, light cake. She also showed us how to smoothly frost a crumb-free cake, but to my disappointment, we didn’t learn how to make roses. Instead, we made vines and leaves and tiny flowers—mine looked more like Cingular men.

My cakes had a common theme. My son’s 21st birthday was quickly approaching so every cake I made carried the words: “Happy Birthday, Jonathon!” I even offered to write it on other people’s cakes when they weren’t sure what to do. We made round cakes and square cakes and even a princess cake complete with ruffles and bows and hearts. Last, but not least, we made a birds’ nest cake. I tried my best, but my little bluebirds looked more like hungry hawks. Worst of all, we still hadn’t made a rose.

Cake class ended, but Chris invited us all to attend the next session—Novelty Cakes Part One, which she taught at her mother’s cake shop. The three of us figured, ‘what the heck?!’ and signed up. Maybe those elusive roses would finally bloom. We made hamburger cakes, pizza cakes, clown cakes, pink elephant cakes and Easter cakes. We even created a bag of money right down to the dollar bills, but alas, no roses.

“What does a girl have to do around here to learn how to make a rose?” I demanded to know.

“Sign up for the next class,” Chris assured me. “All we’ll make is flowers. You’ll learn how to do ‘em all.”

Well, it was about darn time! So back we went for more.

But Chris didn’t tell us about the royal icing—gooey, sticky and not so tasty, it hardens the moment it connects with air. You have to work fast and have plenty of muscle. We started off making sweet peas and forget-me-nots. From there, it was apple blossoms and daisies. Next, we created pansies and asters. Somehow, Carol’s turned into porcupines. It didn’t seem to faze her when we laughed. She had her own solution—if they looked too bad, she ate them.

Session after session, we persevered despite our sore arms and shoulders. Finally, one evening, Chris announced that we were ready for roses. I could hardly contain my excitement. Holding the rose nail, Chris gave it a spin. As we all watched in fascination, a delicate rose appeared—each graceful petal rounding out the flower to perfection. We all diligently practiced our roses, except Therese who got into trouble. She neglected to close the shop door while she ran to her car for some forgotten item. Chris’ mother was not a happy camper and in her deep sergeant’s voice she bellowed: “Who left the *&($^#%*#( door open? We don’t want night critters in here!”

I’m sure Therese’s mom got a phone call that night.

We stored all of our handmade flowers in a box and brought them, along with a frosted half-sheet cake, to the very last class. That night, Chris showed us the fine art of placing the flowers on the cake. We were amazed at our own handiwork. I still can’t make the roses quite like Chris does, but my flowers definitely pass muster.

By the time my daughter, Rachel,celebrated her birthday in May, I had honed my skills. She was delighted with her cake—tipsy pink elephants holding miniature beer mugs and lying in a pool of spilled beer. She couldn’t believe that her mom had actually gotten creative in her old age. Kids!

Now I have a problem. When birthdays or other special occasions roll around, everyone expects a fancy cake. They want pansies, pizzas, pink elephants and, yes, roses. I’ve even made a Marguerita cake. So what’s next? Novelty Cakes Part Deux. I’ll keep you posted.