Huh? What? Who's that?

Who's that in my casket?Man presumed dead in train accident calls daughter at own funeral MOST PECULIAR!

updated 2:40 p.m. MT, Fri., Sept. 17, 2004 TORONTO - Dane Squires was late for his own funeral. At least it seemed that way after people gathered Thursday at a Toronto funeral home to mourn the retired welder from Newfoundland, whom they believed had been hit by a train.Relatives of Squires were watching the casket being loaded into a hearse when his daughter Trina was told she had an important phone call.Story continues below ↓
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Her father was on the other end."She totally, totally lost it," Squires' brother Gilbert said."She said, `There's a ghost talking to me on the phone. Please somebody try to make sense out of this because I'm losing my mind.'"Squires was initially identified as the man who was hit by a commuter train last Friday night. The body was badly mutilated in the accident but still fit Squires' description, police said. Authorities haven't yet identified the victim."He went to my sister's house, and whoever answered the door fainted," said Gilbert Squires, noting his brother didn't become aware of the confusion until he read his own obituary in the newspaper.Squires' sister identified the dead man as her brother after viewing the body at the coroner's office this week, police said.

The Wait

Well friends,

After months of work to finish the challenge my Stake President gave me of reading the Book of Mormon, I am happy to announce that my mission papers are finally in! This doesn't seem real at all. I think part of that has to do with the fact that it's been three months since my first attempt to put the papers in. It also had taken three months to get those papers and to do the work. I'm starting to notice a pattern. So, I suppose anyone who actually reads my blog has three months to send me your guess as to where I will be serving. And then I suppose I will be out on a mission three months after that.

The Race

"Quit" "Give up, you're beaten!" they shout at me and plead,
"There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed."
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children's race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, "My dad will be so proud."
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And 'mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he'd disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win the race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that's all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face.
That steady look that said again, "Get up and win the race!"
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye,
"There's no sense running any more. Three strikes, I'm out... why try?"
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, closer all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought, "I'll live with my disgrace."

But the he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up," an echo sounded low, "Get up and take your place.
You weren't meant for failure here; get up and win the race."
With borrowed will, "Get up," it said, "You haven't lost at all,
For winning is no more than this - to rise each time you fall."
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place.
Head high and proud and happy, no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me you won," his father said, "you rose each time you fell."
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
"Quit!" "Give up, you're beaten!" They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!"
-D. H Groberg-

To Do List

I had heard about a To Do List for life a couple years ago and thought it was a good idea. To dream of endless possibilities to put on this list helps me to really get to know myself and what I would like in life.
Though I didn't care for the movie "A Walk To Remember" I did think the main characters to do list was pretty good and it was cute that the guy helped her to accomplish some of them. I hear all the time that Life is short. And yet, why does it seems to fly by? Here are some of the things I was remembering today is on my list:
I want to be on an animated film. Disney/Pixar/Dreamworks. Any of those will do! I want my voice to come out of one of those crazy characters! I don't want the graceful princess
I really would love to travel!!!
I want to visit someplace that is haunted. I have a fascination with the paranormal.
I have always wanted to be a mother. "Someday my prince will come". And to be sealed for Eternity in the House of my God.
PLAY THE GUITAR!!! I Suck at anything music. But I am always daydreaming about playing in a band. And when I'm a mom and being able to have my home be filled by music.
I want to be a hero!
To read the entire dictionary
I want to live to be at least 90 (But I want to look 50!)
I want to own something antique. There is something about touching something that someone so long ago touched, cherished, made, appreciated. I used to think a vintage diamond ring would be ideal for a wedding ring. That depends on the ring though...

Bwah-hahahahahaaaaa

[sarcasm] I just love it when I am feeling like I look all cool and then get into my car, turn on the music, and... what the? What gay song is this??? See, the music isn't just stupid, but it's on loud. Why would I have a stupid song on so loud? Because when I got out of the car the music was a freakin' awesome song! I had no idea what would be waiting for me when I was to get in. Had I know about that song being there when I got back, I would have put on NPR or church music to seem intelligent or spiritual.

I also love how in grocery stores they have those 20 items or less lines. And then of course there is someone who obviously has more than 20. (You all have had this experience at one point or another) Well, while I was counting everything as I put the products on the counter (I qualified for that line requirement) I was thinking "Maybe, grocery stores that have people who do that, should add a handling charge for people who have over 20 items!" BRILLIANT! (I have to add an embarrassing moment here. I found myself actually speaking aloud without intending to. My roommate is sitting across from me on her laptop. And as I wrote "brilliant" I said it like they do on those Guiness beer commercials. I don't usually talk to myself out loud. So I had to pretend like I was proof-reading. hehe Yes, I moving my lips as I read to give that allusion)

One more thing I just LOVE! This is the best. People who can't park inside those bold yellow lines. I accredit this ability of noting the disregard of space to the university girls at my apartment. Some are so horrible at parking that they are half in one space and half in the other. I won't bother with more details. However, this has become such an irritation that my only joy from it is to back into the space just so, as to make the supposed offender have a difficult time getting into their car. Yes, in simple terms, I park as close to the line on their side so that hopefully, they will make a note of their own parking skills as they get into their car. You may be thinking "But what if they hit your car?" Don't care. That Moveable Dumpster has dents and identifiable markings all over the car. But all the girls, here minus one, are such people that to get a scratch on the car would be like a bad hair cut. The World knows it shouldn't look like that. So as I see it, I have nothing to loose.

To be continued...

So which am I? A Wussy or a Hussy?

For some reason "Alisha" is a hard name for kids to say. Last night I was trying, with the help of some friends, to teach the adorable two year old Trey to say "Aaaa- Lee - Sha". He did well when it came to saying it in syllables. But when asked "Trey, what's her name?" It came out "Wussy!" and even "Hussy!"

I have a cousin who when he was that age had a difficult time saying my name as well. I was known to him as "Weesha!"

Hmmm, maybe I should come up with an easier name for him to say. Although, when he says "Wussy" it's so cute that it's kind of growing on me.

Muscleman

My brother just cracks me up. At Condor (AKA Kelly)'s B-Day party, Morgan, Bailey and myself were showing each other our arm muscles (or lack thereof). I then told them that my younger brother has impressive muscle tone. He had at one point been a really chunky kid. Then he joined track and became tall and skinny and can eat anyting he wants and still will weigh only 115 pounds................. I hate him.

Oh, and the following voice is not my real voice...