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“I am my mother.” Most of us have spoken these words somewhere in our forties, when we are at the age that our skin begins to wrinkle and our memory starts to wane. Perhaps it is a fleeting, unexpected glimpse of ourselves in the mirror that is our own reflection, but yet one that seems like someone else we knew from years’ past. I think it is because when our mothers were in their forties they misplaced keys or purses and repeated the phrase to us about their mother, and so this natural occurrence of becoming your mother has been repeated generation after generation.

My mother’s name is Katy, but when I was a child she was simply Mom. My mother was a work-horse of a woman, always laboring, always in motion. She knew how to do everything well, from entertaining to making our house a home. She generally did not have an 8 to 5 job, although at times my father asked her to work as a receptionist in his dentist’s office, a job she never really liked. She filled her days with keeping house, doing laundry, ironing and working in the yard. But when my sisters and I came home from school, she was always waiting for us with a snack, asking about our day and ready to supervise homework. I don’t remember ever asking her about her day, but instead babbled endlessly about mine.

Most of what I remember about my mother is that she loved to cook and do crafts. She usually had an apron tied around her waist and a wooden spoon in her hand as she was cooking our evening meal. In the 1960s, people didn’t really go out to eat that often. Maybe they hadn’t invented fast food yet, or if they had, at least there didn’t seem to be a fast food place on every corner like there is now. Most families seemed to have the time to sit around the table and talk and eat together. My mom would usually make typical Southern Louisiana food, but she would occasionally pull out a cookbook and experiment. If she announced that we were having something “weird,” I usually tried to get invited to a friend’s house for supper. I suppose that I was like most kids in that I was fearful of trying new things.

Katy loved being a mother to my sisters and I. She taught all three of us to sew, cook and clean. Those were probably some of the most important skills that women used to pass on to their children. She also taught us to take care of each other and those around us. When my mother saw someone who had fallen on hard times, she immediately took action. If my mom knew of someone who needed clothes, toys, furniture or food, she summoned her resources and those families got what they needed. She demonstrated to us that life was not just about us or fulfilling our own desires.

By the time I was in high school, my mom was managing some apartments we owned and had traded her craft paintbrush for a real one. She became the official painter for the complex, keeping everything coated in a fresh coat of white paint. My sisters and I were the painter’s helpers, and thus my mother added “painting” to the list of what girls needed to know how to do when they were out in the world. While my mother instructed us about everything a girl needed to know, my father taught us other things such as cleaning fish, heading shrimp, and backing up boat trailers, which are important life skills if you live in Louisiana. It didn’t take long for me to realize what a good job my parents had done training me to do things for myself when I went off to college and saw how ill prepared other girls were.

Most importantly, my mom taught me to live graciously, and show patience and understanding toward others. I have not perfected it as she has. She has spent a lifetime looking for the good in folks, and sometimes she probably had to look pretty hard. She taught me the things necessary to raise my own family, such as discipline and hard work. She had to spank me occasionally, until I knew what behavior was acceptable, but she was always gentle to wipe away my tears.

I don’t mind being like my mother, having a few wrinkles around my eyes or age spots on my hands. It’s a little aggravating to forget where I placed my keys five minutes after I put them down. It doesn’t bother me that I look for my glasses, and then figure out they have been on my head the whole time. It concerns me a little that I forget a person’s name, but can remember the names of their children. I don’t mind saying things like “I am going to cloud up and rain all over you” to my kids when I am mad because I remember that my mom used to say it to me. I don’t mind becoming my mother, because she passed all the good things down to me, and gave me the best of who she is. I love you, Mom.

Prepare a special meal for your mom this Mother’s Day. This crab salad recipe is taken from Susan Spicer’s new book, “Crescent City Cooking.” The salad may be served in a pedestal glass such as one used for a margarita or martini. You can place a romaine lettuce leaf in the glass, then add the salad on top for a more beautiful presentation. The crab salad is simple enough for a brunch but can be served with a soup or sandwich for a delightful meal. Your mom deserves a delicious dessert such as a mango sorbet topped with coconut ice cream on a puree of dewberries. You can use store bought ice cream and sorbets if you need to take a short cut on this recipe, and purchased blackberries can take the place of having to pick your own dewberries.

Myra Starkey lives in Victoria. Write her in care of the Advocate, P.O. Box 1518, Victoria, Texas 77901, or e-mail myra@vicad.com.