My grandfather always bought Pontiac cars, to the point the company began sending him posters of Chief Pontiac to hang on his wall — which he did.
He only ate strawberry ice cream and, when he traveled, he took along Mason jars filled with well water from his backyard well.
His motto was, “You gotta stick with what works.”
My mother inherited that saying, though she tended to focus more on family traditions and holidays.
Every year, for instance, she’d put a few trick candles on our birthday cakes, the kind of candles that never go out.
If being granted a birthday wish hinges on blowing out all the candles, no Johnston was granted a birthday wish for at least 25 years.
But Christmas, especially, came in for her “stick with what works” approach. Oh, there was a year or two when she bought a device that made her Christmas tree chirp like a bird. And I remember her experimenting with blue flocking, but for the most part, when it came to Christmas decor, everything had its place.
There were candles. Always candles.
“The Lord knew what he was doing when he called someone besides me to lead the church,” she’d say. “I’d put candles everywhere!”
Knickknacks of reindeer and Santa would always appear; As would four little angels holding the letters N-O-E-L. My brothers and I would scramble them to spell the name of Uncle LEON or the word LONE. We would have spelled LENO if the comedian had been around then.
But the piece de resistance — the centerpiece — was a clear, glass Nativity set that my mother had apparently decided looked both elegant and rather homey.
I was looking at that Nativity one Christmas when my mother walked by.
“Someone stole baby Jesus,” she said, pointing to a hollow little dish that looked like a tiny empty nest. “Who steals baby Jesus?” she asked.
I’d seen sets like mother’s before. I flipped the little dish over. There was Jesus, on the underside. The cradle and Jesus had been forged as a single piece. She’d placed it upside down.
She gave me a sheepish smile, as if to say, “Nobody but you and I need to know about this, OK?”
I held my index finger to my lips.
Then, as she walked back into the kitchen, she tossed a little remark back over her shoulder.
“That’s just like Jesus, isn’t it?” she said. “We think he’s nowhere to be found when he’s right here with us the whole time.”
Since that Christmas, whenever I see a Nativity, I almost always say to myself, “We think he’s nowhere to be found when he’s right here with us.”
It’s become my Christmas reminder.
You gotta stick with what works.
Miss you, Mom.
Email: jerjohn@deseretnews.com