She was born to a farmer and his wife. The sixth of what was to be seven kids. She was the first one birthed in a hospital.

Trailing nine years behind number five, her arrival meant another pair of dirty feet in a wrought iron bed. Another body to share the bath water.

Living on the farm for only her first seven years, the chores seemed like games to her. Running barefoot down the gravel road she'd chase her daddy into the barn.

She fetched eggs and trailed behind her older sisters singing songs and pleading with them to join her. They waved her away. Told her to go play with the chickens. The sisters rode tractors with scarves over their hair to hold the pin curls in place. Praying for a chance to go into town.

She's the eldest of what Josepehine calls her second family. The two daughters she had later in life. The two girls whose childhoods consisted of new shoes and their own bedrooms.

A pretty, sweet cheerleader her high school life was like a movie. Letter jackets and ponytails. Football games and '57 Chevys. Boyfriends who'd later go to war, where they'd write her letters of undying devotion. Tucked away in a shoebox to be later found by an overly curious daughter. Declarations of love. Proposals of marriage.

Holding tight to her beauty. Deluded into thinking it was her only asset.

A freshman at Ohio State. Overwhelmed by the size of it. She dreamed of being like the girl on the cover of Seventeen magazine. The one with the perfect ribbons in her hair. The one who took French and read big books. But she saw herself as just a farm girl. One with a predictable future.

Three quarters in, she gave up. Took a job downtown at an investment firm. In a short skirt and mod heels she'd write the ticker numbers on a big board. She had to ride the bus.

She and her roommates had parties. The fraternity boys would come.

One of them followed her into the hall, where he kissed her before asking her name.

Invited her to a party. A social out by the lake.

Years later, out on her fire escape, he'd ask her to marry him. To this one, she'd say yes.

They wed after only a three month engagement. The ceremony held in the Presbyterian church she grew up in. Cake, punch and a garter toss in the church basement. The Ladies made casseroles. The photographs were taken down South Street, at her home. Two gold bands. One new family.

With only one college degree and a VW bug they set for the West. Her young husband went to Utah, so he could study rocks. She played house in a basement apartment.

The Oil Company called and to the Big Easy they went. An apartment to a duplex to a house. She quit her little job and they had a son.

The Oil Company called again and they went to Houston. They had a baby girl.

Girl Scouts and sleep-overs. Room mother and Junior Forum. Summer reading lists and vocab quizzes. Swim team and ballet. Soccer and softball. Sunday School and block parties. Summers at the lake.

A cheating husband. Separation and ultimately divorce. Left to raise two teenagers in the home she'd built with the first man who ever got her to say Yes.

Back to Ohio they went. The middle aged woman and her wild-eyed 18 year old girl.

To a new life with an unpredictable future. Courted by an older gentleman, who'd known of her for decades. A Greenfield girl who moved away. The popular cheerleader who'd come home.

Another wedding in an unfamiliar Presbyterian church. No garter tosses or stolen kisses. Just a singing daughter and proud son.

She lost her father and became her mother's almost constant companion. Full circle she says, eyes brimming.

God always brings you full circle.

Happy Birthday, Mother. I love you. To the moon and back.