Nick LeMasters & The Christmas Mix-Up

I love this picture. I’m thinking of referring to them as the “Silver Foxes,” to keep their identity a secret. Too late. They are already famous in the blogging universe. I mean, it truly brought a smile to my face when my friend once greeted my dad with, “Hi. I know you from Dayna’s blog.” Oh! The joy I felt in that moment. Like I was JK Rowling.

I think this blog has brought about many elements of my personality…typically my anti-social tendencies…but it has also identified me as a windtalker. When I say windtalker, I of course mean I am one of the few people on this planet that understands my mom. Remember this? Well, it happens on a regular basis.

You would think that after 33 years of marriage my dad would also have this innate ability, sadly he does not. Without calling them out, I would say one is given to flights of whimsy, the other only deals in absolute facts (you can draw your own conclusions). So when there are misunderstandings, it provides absolute entertainment…for me (and hopefully you).

This particular misunderstanding took place between 2:30pm and 3:00pm on Christmas Day. Yes. I was in the backseat of their car…laughing. I don’t know if I was uncomfortable or entertained. We all know I have an issue with laughing in uncomfortable situations.

Location: LeMasters’ Garage
Time: 2:30pm
Scene: The backseat of the car is loaded with three laundry baskets of gifts, dad is in the car (rushing my mom and myself) with the window down, mom is putting on boots, I am holding a bag full of presents chatting with her.

Mom: Do you know where my glasses are?
Me: No idea.
Dad: I threw them in a basket.
Me: Dad says he threw them in a basket.
Mom: Perfect! I’ll be able to see things at Ryan and Emily’s.

Location: LeMasters’ Car
Time: 2:45pm
Scene: Dad and Mom in the front seat, I’m in the back seat, my mom needs her glasses.

Mom: Dayna, can you find my glasses?
Me: Sure. Dad, what basket did you put them in?
Dad: Um. I didn’t put them in these baskets. I put them in the fruit basket on the kitchen counter.
Me: Are you being serious right now?
Mom: Are you freaking kidding me?
Me: Why would you tell me you put them in a basket, when there were three laundry baskets being brought with us?
Dad: I didn’t think about these baskets. I’m not even sure I said, “I threw them in a basket. I think I said I put them in the kitchen basket.”
Me: OH! Don’t lie. You’re changing your story because you know mom is pissed.
Mom: I can’t believe this. You always do this! You never think these things through. Now I won’t be able to see anything tonight. Why would you say that?
Dad: If I said...
Me: Wooh. Wooh. Wooh. Nope. What do you mean if? You said it!
Dad: You can borrow my glasses.
Mom: Are you freaking kidding me? I wanted my own! Share? Please.
Dad: Fine. I’ll stop at Walgreens and get you a pair.
Mom: Oh. That sounds great! I don’t want some gross, ugly pair of Walgreen glasses.
Dad: DAYNA! Stop laughing. I don’t know how, but this is somehow your fault.
Me: My fault? All I did was ask the location of the glasses. You are the one that told us the wrong location. Don’t blame me for your bad communication skills, sir.

The good news? A pair of glasses was located upon looking through the ten bags my mom keeps in her backseat. Yes. You read that correctly. Ten.

Some Things Never Change...Visits to Santa

For years my mom expected us to get our picture taken with Santa. Like my brother was in his twenties when we finally put a stop to it. Like we probably ruined her Christmas the year we put our foot down and said no more.

Now it’s time for a new generation to get their picture with Santa. What I’ve come to realize when looking at past and present pictures is there are only two poses. There is the “What the hell am I doing on this stranger’s lap” pose and there is the “Are we done yet” pose.

Below are three generations of LeMasters’ Santa pictures. There is a mix of hate and indifference in the photos below. I feel like it represents my family's feelings about strange, old men, who talk to us.

No letters were mailed out, because it was unanimously felt that I share entirely too much information throughout the year. I guess what I’m saying is, all is good on the Colorado front. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

A special thanks to Molly & Colleen LeMasters, who encouraged a blog based on the first photo below.

1959: Nick LeMasters (Age 1), wondering "what the hell Joan LeMasters was thinking putting him on a stranger's lap." Tommy LeMasters is obviously trying to put distance between himself and the crier...Santa makes naughty and nice decisions based on association.


1961: Robyn LeMasters (Age 3), not really interested in the whole picture/Santa ordeal. The ringlets rock, though! I do think it's pretty obvious that she doesn't want the strange, old man touching her shoulder.


1965: Nick LeMasters (Age 7), finally accepting that this guy might actually be magical. Look at his face, he's totally captivated. I'm sure he's thinking, "I'll sit on this stranger for a minute if it means I get a new gold, Stingray bike, with a checker flag banana seat."


1983: Ryan LeMasters (Age 1), not really sure what's happening, but being the appeasing young-man that would turn into the pleasing man, he smiles for the camera...feeling indifferent about the whole situation. I would say that he does look like he's trying to inch his way off Santa's lap.


1985: Nathan LeMasters (Age 1), hating every second of this moment. Tiny, however, sees a new bone in her future.


1988: Dayna LeMasters (Age 1), so begins my phobia of strange, old men who feel the need to touch or talk to me.


2006: Annie LeMasters (Age 1), could really care less about the situation, completely indifferent.


2009: Zach LeMasters (Age 1), I think we can all tell by the red face, and glazed eyes, that somebody was crying about the prospect of sitting on a stranger's lap.


2011: Nick LeMasters (Age 1), obviously trying to figure out the nearest escape route.

Why I Can Never Marry Tim Tebow

Last night as I helped my mom wrap presents for her “work friends,” I stumbled across this picture on Facebook.

Yes. That’s right. That’s my brother Ryan, super excited about the prospect of wearing Tim Tebow’s face on his chest.

Yes. That’s right. Ryan LeMasters is the reason I can never marry Tim Tebow. This is what I chatted about with my parents as we wrapped, curled, and stuffed gifts last night.

Me: See. This is just sad. He’s obsessed. And he only likes him because he can ramble off scriptures at will. Now I can never marry him. It would just be awkward. Ryan would call him all the time.

Dad: You are so right! He would call him up and say things like, “Tiiiim! Tebow! Timmy Boy! Mr. T!

Me: (laughter) You are so right! It’s sad. He’s ruined my chances. And you know I would bring him over and this would be the first thing out of Ryan’s mouth, “We’ve actually met before. Remember when we took a picture together at DIA?”



Mom: They did not! Ryan did that? He has a picture with this guy?

Me: You haven’t seen it?!? Let me show you. I think they have their arms around each other’s waists.

Mom: Oh! He’s cute. I haven’t seen him before. He would look cute with our family.

Me: Okay. This just got creepy.

Obviously this is the only reason we would never make it as a couple. The fact that I'm not really into football and would probably tell him to calm himself down a bit, is nothing to be concerned about.

Starbucks & The Incognito LeMasters

I think it’s pretty clear that my family and myself tend to run on the anti-social side. People annoy us. We don’t really like socializing. We just don’t really like people. This personality trait shined bright and clear a few weeks ago, while on a visit to Starbucks.

A few weeks back, I wrangled my parents into helping set up my classroom. We would spend five hours cleaning, boxing, hanging, and drilling. Before setting out on our own version of “Extreme Makeover: Classroom Edition,” we stopped at our local Starbucks. This is a necessity whenever we all set out for an adventure. I mean…my dad doesn’t even ask anymore…he just drives straight to Starbucks.

When we walked in, it was clear we would be in for a bit of a wait. There were ten people in front of us. I immediately noticed they were doing the “name game thing.” You know what I’m talking about. When they say, “Can I get a name for the cup?” I HATE THIS!

Why, you are asking yourself? One, they never spell my name right and I don’t want to appear crazy and high maintenance by saying, “It’s Dayna. Dayna with a Y.” Two, I just don’t like giving out my name and then it’s on the cup and then people see it and then I just think, “Ugh. What if some weirdo starts talking to me and then knows my name…”

Anyway. My mom also hates the name thing. She typically says, “Oh. Yeah. I don’t do that.” That day, however, she was in rare spirits. I tried to avoid the whole situation by having my dad order, but he failed me. He didn’t move to the front of the line when our time came. I think he was distracted by the case of blueberry muffins. And so, this is what happened that fateful day in Starbucks. The Starbucks I have to go to on a regular basis, because it’s the only one on my way to work…

Me: Grande, non-fat, chai.
Baristo: Can I get your name for the cup?
Me: Dayna. Dayna with a Y. I know that sounds so high maintenance.
Baristo: That’s okay. No problem.

Mom: Venti, non-fat, six pump, chai, ½ pump peppermint, and no foam.
Baristo: Got it. Can I get your name for the cup?
Mom: Tamika.
Me: STOP IT!
Dad: Babe! You can’t do that. Stop it.
Mom: What? He just said a name for the cup.
Baristo: I like it. If she wants to be Tamika today, she can be Tamika.
Mom: See? You should have said Sophia Grace.
Me: This is the worst.

Yes. He did in fact write Tamika on the cup.

Obviously my mom was in good form that day. We left there with our chais in hand and set off for my new place of work. What I wasn’t expecting was that other teachers would be there. So yes, my parents ended up meeting quite a few of my co-workers. And yes. When my mom met one of the Spanish teachers, she said, “Hi. I’m Robyn. I teach art here.” It was so awkward.

Oh. Yes. That teacher tells everyone that we are good friends, because he knows my mother. Yes. When I stop in to Starbucks on my way to work, the baristo does in fact ask me how my mom is.

And so we now know that no good can come from the people at Starbucks asking for my name when I stop in for a chai.

iPods...A Window Into Our Souls

A few weeks ago I was driving to work and listening to the radio. It’s been a while since I’ve had an opportunity to listen to morning radio. Oh, the joys of commuting to work at 6am…Not complaining. I love my job.

Anyway. The topic for the morning was iPods. iPods and how we all have songs on our iPods that we wish we didn’t. I am guilty of this. I was also guilty of having every embarrassing song they listed on my iPod…we’ll get to this later.

I’ve often thought to myself, as I rocked out to Miley Cyrus’ Party in the USA, “Lord! Please don’t let anything terrible happen to me while I’m listening to this.” I can just imagine myself getting in a car accident or falling off the treadmill and knocking myself unconscious. I assume the person who finds me will be more concerned with the fact that I’m listening to The Biebs or Disney or ABBA, rather than the unconscious me.

And why is it, that the songs I am embarrassed of, are the ones that I can’t help but sing at the top of my lungs? In the shower. At home. And yes, in the car. They are the songs that I listen to at the gym and imagine myself singing on stage. Of course the setting changes with every song. When I listen to Mamma Mia, I am the star of a Broadway show. When I listen to The Biebs, I have amazing dance moves. When I listen Glee, I’m hosting the Oscars…no idea why…I assume it’s because I’m entertaining celebrities with song and dance.

And so. It came as no surprise that morning when they began to list their embarrassing songs and I had each and every one, plus more. So here. Here it is. My confession to the world. The top ten songs/music on my iPod that I’m ashamed of.

10. The Twilight Soundtrack
9. Various Glee Soundtracks (Yes. This means more than one)
8. Disney’s Greatest, Volume 2
7. Disney’s Greatest, Volume 1
6. Dolly Parton, 9 to 5
5. A Walk to Remember Soundtrack
4. Hilary Duff, Come Clean
3. Justin Bieber, Baby
2. Miley Cyrus, Party in the USA
1. Celine Dion, My Heart Will Go On

The "Used" Thanksgiving Dinner

I am finally back on the blogging track, following the constant badgering from friends and family. By constant, I mean my mom begging me to write one because she was sick of seeing my dad’s 8-year-old face when she checked for updates. By constant, I mean the one email from my friend Jordan demanding a quote “Dayna Blog.” Oh! The pressure.

A few months ago I promised another Marty LeMasters blog. I’m a woman true to my word. As it’s Thanksgiving week, I felt that the following story was appropriate for sharing.

Note: As this story happened approximately 30 years ago, the accuracy of the story may be questionable. Please direct any discrepancies to Nick LeMasters.

I think it’s pretty obvious that my family likes a shindig. We like an excuse to gather, eat, and be merry. Well, that was the same when my parents were first married. The following story is shared annually and has been a story I have cherished since I was a young girl.

One Thanksgiving many years ago, the LeMasters siblings and those with spouses, gathered at 3051 Bruin Court for yet another Thanksgiving meal. Grandma Joan always set a beautiful table and the house smelled amazing. The usual suspects were assembled: The LeMasters Clan (Marty, Joan, Jackie, Kevin, Jerry, Jeannie, Nick, Robyn, Tom, and Molly), Nana, Jean, and Auntie Irene.

As was typical on most holidays, Marty announced to everyone that he needed to take a late-afternoon “nap.” This was code for “I have to sleep off the few pops I’ve enjoyed this afternoon.” Marty retreated to the bedroom.

At just about the time dinner was to be served, Marty arose from his slumber. Soon there after, the guests took their seats around the dinner table to begin their Thanksgiving feast.

Nick recalls this meal being particularly good…but maybe he was just hungry. The meal proceeded in the usual fashion: lively conversation, loud voices, and good food. As the legend goes, Uncle Tom wanted seconds of that delicious bird. Grandma Joan directed Uncle Tom to the kitchen, where he would have to carve more.

At that moment, Marty now over his post nap grogginess, decided he needed to weigh-in on the matter. As Nick recalls, Tommy was directed not toward the succulent bird in the kitchen, but to Jerry’s plate. A quick look revealed ample turkey, stuffing, and gravy remaining from the young man whose eyes were bigger than his stomach. It was not a pretty picture. A brief argument ensued between Tommy and Marty (not an uncommon occurrence).

The conversation may have sounded like this:
Tommy: Are you kidding me? Have you seen his plate?
Marty: Don’t let good food go to waste! We need the rest of the turkey for sandwiches.

Tom abruptly left the table, brief laughter ensued, and fresh turkey appeared on his plate.

Note: We believe Marty’s reaction may be attributed to Post Traumatic Stress (PTS) experienced while growing up in depression era New York City.

Tune in next time on “Infinite Twaddle” where Nick will recount the time he rejected Marty’s offer of red wine.

Money Doesn't Grow On Trees, Nick LeMasters

After my previous blog entry about fake sheriffs, my dad called up his mom to see if she had read my latest LeMasters’ tell all. She had in-fact read the story and was interested to know if he had regaled us with another famous story. I don’t know where I’ve been hiding, but I haven’t heard this one. However, I know it’s been told because my mom looked at me as he was telling it and mouthed, “He tells this all the time.”

As the story goes, Nick LeMasters was always on the hunt for money growing up. Grandma Joan used to say: “Nicky’s always got a few bucks in his pocket.” He valued money. He valued money from a young age. And so the following story was found about five-year-old Nick LeMasters in The Vallejo Times Herald.

IT’S RICH (August 6, 1963 - The Vallejo Times Herald)

CROP FAILURE – For every unsophisticated person there seems to be an opportunist ready to capitalize on his victim’s naiveté.

For instance, there’s the case of five-year-old Napa youngster who recently lost his first tooth. The next morning when he woke up, he found three shiny dimes the “good fairies” had deposited under his pillow during the night.

But instead of investing his newfound wealth in something substantial like popsicles or bubblegum, the youngster insisted on planting the coins in his backyard and raise “money trees.”

A few days later when he went to check his newly planted “crop,” the boy discovered to his dismay that his three silver seeds stamped with “E Pluribus Unum” had disappeared.

No direct accusations have been made, but the crestfallen youngster who had dreams of becoming wealthy by raising “money trees” recalls that a playmate – not quite as visionary as his friend – was with him when he “planted” his ten-cent piece “seeds.”

The Times said “no direct accusations have been made,” but upon deep reflection, we have a few new accusations. I asked Nick to reflect on that day so long ago. That day that should have been full of joy but was full of disappointment. This is how our conversation unfolded:

Me: Who was this kid with you?
Dad: My friend Don DeSoto.
Me: Well he’s a dirty rotten thief.
Dad: So it would seem. The article got it wrong, by the way, I planted the money under the Hawthorne tree in the Hancock’s front yard.
Me: Ooh. See that’s important information. That means more people were aware of the situation. Why did you go back to dig up that 30 cents?
Dad: Well, I had told my mom and dad what I had done and they told me that’s not how money works. Money doesn’t actually grow on trees.
Me: Ooh. See that implicates them. Personally I think the notorious Marty LeMasters went out there and dug that 30 cents up and put it toward his weekly serving of Alfredo's pizza.
Dad: Good point! Perhaps grandma Joan coerced Tommy into digging it up and then sent him down to buy a pack of Pall Mall Reds.
Me: OH! The possibilities. If only your little five-year-old mind had been as suspicious as mine.

Anyway. The point of this sad little tale is that Nick LeMasters was ripped off. If you know the whereabouts of his 30 cents, please contact us ASAP. Oh…with inflation…I’d say it’s about 5 bucks.