Easter Weekend

Context: This post is about a trip to San Diego.

This year, General Conference and Easter fell on the same weekend. I was reluctant to go to San Diego partly because of this. My parents said we would listen to the radio during part of the drive but that we might not listen during all of it for various reasons. I did not like this. My life was not going very well, and I was desperate for words that might assist me.

I agonized over the decision. Then I agonized over my decision-making agony, because I am usually very decisive, and it troubles me when my decision powers abandon me. Finally, I agreed to go. But. I made a plan, which was that I bought two portable phone chargers. My phone tends to eat up a lot of battery, especially when I'm streaming. Each charger was supposed to last a few hours, so even if my phone was particularly voracious, I hoped to get four hours' of power to listen to General Conference. I also bought a backup pair of ordinary headphones for my chargeable, wireless Bluetooth headphones. Just in case.

Saturday involved a lot of driving. We were in a hurry as we drove through Utah, Nevada, and into California. We only stopped a few times, which was tedious, but to my delight, my parents did end up playing most of General Conference over the radio.

It was an excellent conference. We had the opportunity to sustain the new prophet, President Nelson, through a solemn assembly. There were also a lot of really, really good talks.

It was hard for me to tear myself away for even a moment. During bathroom breaks at the gas stations, I kept my headphones in and the audio streaming while I waited in line.

Did I get what I needed? Yes. I'd say that at least sixty percent of the talks throughout the four general sessions related somehow to my Interpersonal Crisis. There were so many talks about kindness, forgiveness, and love; about treating people the way the Savior wants you to treat them; and about giving others the benefit of the doubt even when they have wronged you. I felt chastised, but I also felt peace and understanding. I felt that renewal of Easter.

During the Sunday morning session (which we watched in our hotel room while eating breakfast), my mom remarked that a lot of the talks seemed to be about her situation with her brother! We were listening to the exact same thing and getting rather different takes on it. I think part of that is just due to human nature, but I also think that it's partly due to the way that the word of God works. Different scriptures, even when interpreted in a doctrinally correct manner, may resonate differently with one person than with another. Same thing with talks. They individualize themselves to us. The first time I heard Sister Wendy Watson Nelson (who is a superior human being, IMO) speak, she said that years ago, when she was struggling to know if she should marry her fiancé, every talk in a session of General Conference was about marriage, and what she heard led her to break off the engagement. Later, when she went back to reread the talks, none of them really seemed to be related to marriage at all! But her ex-fiancé ended up leaving the woman he did marry for another man, so it worked out well for Sister Nelson.

Besides listening to General Conference, our Easter weekend celebration was a little unconventional. On Saturday night, we arrived at our hotel around dinnertime. My parents went to visit my uncle while my brothers and I rested and refreshed. A few hours later, my parents returned with delicious Shake Shack food. Then bedtime.

Sunday morning, as I mentioned, we watched General Conference on my dad's laptop. My mom had brought little Easter packages for us—cellophane bags with jellybeans and chocolate. She even sort of hid them around the hotel room for us to find.

After the morning session and our sort-off Easter egg hunt, we piled into the rental and headed for Old San Diego. It was a visual riot! Many of the shops and restaurants were built in a Mexican style and selling Frida Kahlo merchandise and southwestern cusine. Everything looked so bright and happy and appealing.

We found an LDS visitors' center (for the Mormon Battalion), but it was closed. It looked kind of like an old Catholic mission. Across the street from the visitors' center was a synagogue! Even though my brothers and I are one-eighth Jewish, none of us had ever been in a synagogue. We ventured inside to respectfully look around. (I thought this was an especially apt activity for Easter weekend/Passover.)

Apparently, this is the first synagogue in San Diego.

We also found some other cool historical buildings.

Speaking of which, you might notice the leafy green foliage in some of the pictures. It turns out that San Diego is kind of like a jungle. Our hotel was nestled in a bunch of palm trees and other foliage. It reminded me a decent amount of Animal Kingdom at Disney World. 

Lunch was at at our hotel bistro. I had a delicious chicken pot pie and half of Baby Brother's grilled cheese sandwich. Dad hugged us all goodbye and went to the airport, and then Mom hustled us kids to go visit her brother.

Even though seeing our uncle was the main reason for the trip, I don't have a lot to say about it. I don't feel like I can say much. It's hard to explain how he's living from day to day and how depressing his place of residence is without violating his privacy. I'll just say that being there was physically and emotionally taxing for all of us (including him, I reckon).

After that, we were on our own. Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the rest of our day.

Our reply was unanimous: "Go back to Old Town San Diego!" So we went back to Old Town San Diego, where we passed a pleasant evening learning about the Mormon Battalion (the visitors' center was open since General Conference had ended). We enjoyed the interactive exhibits, including a small courtyard where Baby Brother and I panned for gold. Afterward, we went to a collection of shops that Little Brother wanted to browse. The shops were closed, but the Mexican restaurant nearby smelled so good that Little Brother persuaded those of us who dislike southwestern food (Baby Brother and I) to try it.

At home, we never eat out on Sundays, but when we travel and have no place to prepare food, we do. So we wound up having Easter dinner in a pleasant courtyard at Casa Guadalajara with chips and salsa in front of us and mariachi music around us.

Baby Brother: (texting our siblings) Literally everybody and their mariachi band is at this restaurant.

I liked the food way more than I thought I would. I enjoyed seafood chimichangas with grilled vegetables, and Mom even let us get some dessert to take back to the hotel.

Happy and content (and full of churros and ice cream), we got into bed and slipped away. I was technically still in recovery from my appendectomy, and the soft hotel beds were a huge blessing. I got much better sleep in San Diego than I was getting at home.