Sunday, June 25, 2017

BOOKS! (Le bonze et la femme transie)

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that this is the first French-language book I've read since I graduated two years ago.

I was a French major, so I used to read French plays, books, and other texts all the time. Over the past three years I've even acquired some books of my own to read for leisure thanks to one of my old professors, a lost and found in one of my university's academic buildings, the Alliance Française of New Orleans, my host "dad" back in Paris, a couple of bookstores I visited while in Paris. My three months of unemployment last year even brought me more French books! I volunteered at a used book sale at the local Alliance Française and bought a handful of them for cheap. Just last month I bought another used one at my local library. So I've been collecting French books all this time, just haven't been reading them. And I follow French news and media entities everyday online, I read and write French correspondence for work... so it's not like I can't read the books I've been collecting. Just haven't put forth the effort. Until now!

If I recall, I actually started reading this book while helping at that French used book sale last year, but I didn't push myself to finish it until this year. The author is a South Korean woman who's dedicated her academic career to French language and literature, and over a decade ago she put out this novel, using French to write a story set in her home country during the 1960s. It took me longer than it should've to get through it, but I'm glad I finally did because it's quite the story! (All following translations are done by me.)


Le bonze et la femme transie by Eun-ja Kang
(The Buddhist Monk and the Transfixed Woman)

For most of his life, Tae-Mann was a spoiled official's son with an appetite for spending, sex, and doing whatevertheheck he wanted. Not long after marrying his wife, Fal-Ja, his mother died and his father gambled away the family fortune, leaving Tae-Mann and Fal-Ja to live in a shack as peasants. Having never been prepared for real life, Tae-Mann's too proud to work for a living, and he leaves Fal-Ja to go find his fortune.... as a monk! Le temple de la Prosperité (the Temple of Prosperity) is a buddhist temple on a mountain that's frequented by crowds of believers who leave offerings there throughout the year. Tae-Mann believes the temple is loaded with riches, and decides to enter its monastery as a novitiate so he can steal its money after becoming a monk. Upon arriving he meets a fellow hopeful, a widower whose motivation for joining the monastery are pure as can be. They both receive new names once accepted as novitiates; Tae-Mann becomes Bong, and his friend becomes Yong.

Predictably, Bong's plan faces a number of setbacks. He learns that Fal-Ja is pregnant, but conveniently assumes it's another man's child and never goes to see her again. Both Yong and Bong are inducted as monks, but the order is destablilized as rival factions fight over who will succeed the current head Monk. Then, one of the monks repeatedly distracts Bong with a hideout were alcohol and prostitutes are abundant. And then, Bong falls in love with one of he parishioners. A woman comes to pray at the temple during winter, but almost freezes to death on her trek down the mountain. Bong is tasked with using his body to warm her back to life, and from then on he's convinced that he and the woman, named Jin, are supposed to be together. Jin is a faithful buddhist who works in a brothel in order to put her little brother through university. Desperate for love, and to a lesser extent for redemption, Bong's plan to steal the temple's money becomes less about personal riches and more about building a better life with Jin. But again, things don't go quite as planned.

In all honesty I wasn't expecting to enjoy this novel as much as I did. I was so focused on how hard I anticipated reading it would be, that I didn't give myself over to the story until I was about a third of the way through. Who knew that drama among monks could be so interesting? Le bonze et la femme transie is about self-discovery, the struggles of committing to one's beliefs, friendship, love, inevitable human weakness. But it's also about how life can change in ways and at a speed that you can't imagine. Bong is committed to his selfishness for a really long time, and it's surprising to see how much his character still changes.

However, if I had to pick a favorite character, it would be Yong. Yong's trainee period is the shortest of any monk who's entered the temple, and his purity of heart and dedication to the monastic life make him a prime candidate to succeed the head monk. He's aware of Bong's scheme from the beginning, and despite being well-esteemed he never scolds his friend or rats him out to their superiors. Yong himself tried and failed to commit to the faith previously, and he believes that sometimes the most wayward people have the greatest potential. So he keeps a respectful distance and tries to guide Bong in the least invasive way that he can. Aware of Bong's faults and yet unfailingly compassionate. What a great friend.

This book was published in 2003, but as far as I know no English translation has been published. If you're a French speaker or learner interested in non-European contributions to Francophone literature, definitely give this book a shot!

Favorite quotes:

«Je vends mon corps, mais ce péché n'est pas irréparable. Après ma mort, mon corps sera brûlé, et ces jours peu honorables partiront aux quatre vents avec ses cendres. Ce qui m'importe, c'est de toujours rester maîtresse de mon âme. Qui sait? elle recevera peut-être une autre vie, beaucoup plus heureuse»  (119).

I sell my body, but this sin isn't unforgivable. After my death, my body will be burned, and these dishonorable days will fly to the four winds along with its ashes. What matters to me is that I always remain in control of my soul. Who knows? Maybe it will receive a new life, a much happier one (119). 


«En fin de compte, tous les pas que j'ai faits pour échapper au temple m'en ont, au contraire, rapproché. Où que j'ai pu aller, je ne me suis pas éloigné plus que mon destin ne me l'a permis. Quoi que j'aie fait, j'ai toujours agi sous son œil. J'ai tiré en vain la corde qu'il tenait attachée à moi. Plus j'essayais de m'enfuir, plus la corde me serrait» (196).

At the end of the day, all the steps I took to escape the temple brought me, on the contrary, closer to it. No matter where I go, I can never go further than my destiny permits. No matter what I do, I've always acted under its eye. In vain I pulled the cord that destiny kept attached to me. The more I tried to flee, the more the cord restrained me (196).

Sunday, June 11, 2017

BOOKS! (Cry, the Beloved Country + Rich People Problems)

Today I've got a pair of books that I've been wanting to read for a while, for one reason or another. The first book I contemplated buying at the end of my last day working at a  certain bookstore, but opted for a James Baldwin novel and The Handmaid's Tale instead. Over a year later, I snatched it up for $5  at a different location. The second book is the final part of a trilogy that I've been waiting on for two years!

Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton

Johannesburg is attracting people in droves, as urbanization coincides with the mining industry taking men from families and dismantling tribal culture. During this time it's often said that people who go to the city never come back, and black people are gradually flooding into the city in search of opportunity, or in search of the loved ones who've arrived before them. Stephen Kumalo, a Zulu pastor in the countryside, has already "lost" his only sister and only son to the city, and after being summoned by a letter claiming that his sister is ill, he travels to Johannesburg to retrieve them both. Unfortunately, both relatives have succumbed to the precariousness of survival for poor black people in the city. Kumalo manages to pull his sister Gertrude away from prostituting and making booze in the slums, but is too late to save his son Absalom, who's been jailed after a failed home robbery attempt with his friends ended with a white man shot dead. But this wasn't just any white man. The victim, Arthur, was one of the most vocal advocates for black people's rights and access to opportunities in South Africa, a "white ally" as he might be called today. And on top of that, Arthur was from the same part of the countryside that Absalom is from; his father and Stephen Kumalo are actually neighbors.

Cry, the Beloved Country was first published three months before the Afrikaner-backed Nationalist Party gained control of parliament and instituted apartheid in 1948. A third edition was published in 1987, when apartheid was still the law of the land and would be so for the next seven years. So as a pre-apartheid novel the book is mostly foresight, but it's also very much in the midst of the mess since segregation laws and other racially-discriminatory policies and practices were in place long before apartheid was established. There's a sense that South Africa is on the verge of something both magnificent and terrible, and both black and white are consumed with desperate self-preservation and crippling fear, but for different reasons. For black people ("natives") the fear stems from a lack of means and resources, and the awareness that if there's any power to be had, white people already have it. White people (English and Afrikaans-speaking "Europeans") on the other hand, have been outnumbered from the beginning and cling to whiteness and the sense of superiority and security that it affords them. They might support educational, recreational, or vocational programs that help black people become more learned and avoid crime, but only so far as black people continue to be uninformed enough to accept mine life, shanty towns, and the destruction of tribes without fighting back.

Reading this reminded me very much of Richard Wright's Native Son and Ernest J. Gaines' A Lesson Before Dying, where execution awaits young black men convicted of the murders of white people, and the characters and the reader have no choice but to reckon with it. It also reminded me of Richard Kim's The Martyred, where the notion of faith is questioned during a time of violent conflict. If you appreciate any of those books, enjoy reading about racism or the consequences of colonialism, or are intrigued by the use of biblical references in literature, then read this book.

Favorite quotes:
"Stand unshod upon it, for the ground is holy, being even as it came from the Creator. Keep it, guard it, care for it, for it keeps men, guards men, cares for men. Destroy it and man is destroyed" (33).
"And we are therefore compelled, in order to preserve our belief that we are Christian, to ascribe to Almighty God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, or own human intentions, and to say that because He created white and black, He gives the Divine Approval to any human action that is designed to keep black men from advancement... We go so far as to assume that He blesses any action that is designed to prevent black men from the full employment of the gifts He gave them... Thus even our God becomes a confused and inconsistent creature, giving gifts and denying them employment" (187).


Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan

After introducing us to the lifestyles of the absurdly rich in Singapore, Hong Kong, and mainland China in the previous two novels, Kevin Kwan brings us back to Singapore for some serious family business. Rachel and Nick are the proverbial poor-girl-rich-guy couple whose relationship ushered us into this universe in Crazy Rich Asians. They took a measured half-step into the background in China Rich Girlfriend,  and here they continue to share the spotlight as most of the action focuses on Nick's family. Nick's grandmother Su Yi, the matriarch of the Young/T'sien/Shang clan, is dying, and the entire family is flocking to the family mansion like vultures to try to get a substantial cut from her will. Who will get Tyersall Park, the family mansion? Who will get the most money? Who will be in charge now? Who will get the fancy pet swans?

Su Yi, Nick's cousin Astrid, and rags-to-riches social climber Kitty Pong lead us through most of the story. In fact, Astrid and her on-again boyfriend Charlie are the main romantic couple this time around (they each have their own kids and are still officially married to other people, it's complicated). In addition to the typical snobbery, connivery and obscene displays of wealth (cosmetic surgery for fish! $250,000 paper offerings to the dead!), the novel also addresses Japanese colonial exploits in Singapore during World War II, which is a historical aspect that I certainly did not anticipate coming from this book. There's also a HUGE family secret that's somewhat tragic but also puts Su Yi's past actions in perspective.

The novel is set mostly in Singapore, with other important scenes in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Jodhpur, Chiang Mai, Kuala Lumpur, Surrey, Paris, Los Angeles, and the Philippines. I wish I would have taken the time to re-read the first two books so that I could give a more thorough assessment of Rich People Problems in relation to the others. It's certainly a very solid end to a much-beloved series. And the Crazy Rich Asians movie is being filmed as I type! This series came to me during a particular period in my life, so perhaps I am biased in its favor. But it truly is a wonderful distraction, and the film is poised to be a milestone for Asian actors in Hollywood. Ease your troubled mind and read the whole series if you haven't yet! And thanks a million, Kevin Kwan!

Favorite quotes:
"It wasn't very significant to me. Why would I care what the Queen of England thinks? The British abandoned us during World War II. Instead of sending more troops to defend the colony that helped to make them rich, they retreated like cowards and wouldn't even leave us with real weapons. So many young men—my cousins, my half brothers—died trying to hold back the Japanese" (170-71).
"I think he looks down on people like your father—people who are self-made—because at the heart of it he is a deeply insecure individual. He knows he did absolutely nothing to deserve his fortune, and so the only thing he can do is disparage others who have the audacity to make their own money. His friends are all the same—they are frightened of the new money that's rolling in, and that's why they cluster in their little enclaves" (344-45).

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Memories, Movement

(Or, "More Unnecessary Things That I Remember While Driving, Walking, or Trying to Fall Asleep")

That one time in 2nd grade when we were discussing the Gore-Bush presidential race in class, and the teaching assistant/Kids Club lady named Geri (Jeri? Jerri? Gerrie?) told me I'd probably be a Republican. Oh, if only I'd understood what she meant and knew how to use my eyeroll to its fullest potential at that age...

That one time I was waiting to checkout at Rite Aid and ran into the Kids Club lady from when I was in 5th and 6th grade. Ms. Linda. She asked me what I was up to now and seemed to approve, "I always knew you were one of the good ones." (This happened just last week.)


Sunday, May 28, 2017

BOOKS! (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks + One Day We'll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter)

Today I've got two books that focus on women of color (what else is new!). The first is a used book sale find which was also a mainstay on the school reading displays at the bookstore where I used to work. The other is a funny book of essays that was highly recommended by Tracy from the Another Round podcast. Let's get to it!

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
 
Born in rural Virginia and living in Baltimore, in 1951 Henrietta Lacks went for treatment at Johns Hopkins where she learned that she had cervical cancer and a handful of other previously-untreated conditions. She eventually died of the cancer that same year. During her treatment and after her death, cancerous cells were taken from her body by a small team of Johns Hopkins researchers who found that her cells multiplied more quickly and for a longer period of time than any other cells they'd studied in their lab. They were, in fact, immortal (still multiplying as I write). The team bottled away collection upon collection of her cells, which were shared with other researchers and used to understand DNA, study disease, and even develop treatments for various illnesses. After her cells were commodified, a handful of research groups and biomedical companies even made fortunes off of them. But here's the problem: Henrietta and her family never consented to have her cells taken and used for such purposes, they never knew that any such research was going on, and they never received a single cent in exchange for what has since been euphemized as her "cell donation". Having first heard about Henrietta Lacks as a high school student in a community college, scientist and journalist Rebecca Skloot reached out to the family in 1999 and eventually gained their trust, working closely with Henrietta's daughter Deborah to research and write this book.

I'd originally expected this to be a scathing exposé that would stick it to all the people who benefited from Henrietta's body without consulting her or her family. But it's not that kind of book. Skloot does reveal a lot about the norms of scientific research, the progress of informed consent and patients' rights laws, and America's history of using black bodies to conduct research often without consent or sufficient compensation. But rather than a concerted effort to go after the bad guys (so to speak), it's more of a well-rounded approach to informing people about Henrietta Lacks' contribution to modern medicine and explaining all the players and issues involved.

I'm still trying to not be incensed by the sense of entitlement that medical professionals were quoted as having, especially in relation to Johns Hopkins which was built to serve the city's poor, orphaned, and similarly disadvantaged. Their sentiment basically boiled down to, We (conveniently white) doctors treat these (conveniently black) patience for free anyway, so what's a few cells from them? They practically owe us. There was also the sentiment that, We're using these cells to advance science which benefits everyone, and asking people for consent for every single thing will just ruin everything. Business is being made of our bodies whether we're aware of it or not, and patients or "donors" can't really do anything about it. (Granted, sometimes we do give our bodily materials away, à la ancestry-related DNA testing and whatnot.... Whoops.) It's obvious that Rebecca Skloot wanted to make this story accessible to as many different readers as possible, so despite usually avoiding science books, I was able to get through this book fairly quickly while still learning a lot. For the sake of being better-informed patients, everyone should read this book.

Favorite quotes:
"But those patients had one thing going for them that Henrietta didn't: They were alive. And the dead have no right to privacy—even if part of them is still alive" (211). 

"She appears to be screaming. Her head is twisted unnaturally to the left, chin raised and held in place by a large pair of white hands... No one spoke. We all just stood there, staring at those big white hands wrapped around Elsie's neck. They were well manicured and feminine, pinky slightly raised—hands you'd see in a commercial for nail polish, not wrapped around the throat of a crying child" (273).


One Day We'll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter by Scaachi Koul 

I'd never heard of Scaachi Koul before Tracy from Another Round mentioned this book of personal essays (I can't remember if she mentioned it on Twitter or on the podcast). And then I was in the book store after work, looking for something fun and light to read, and O.D.W.A.B.D.A.N.O.T.W.M. was on display. The last book I recall reading by a Canadian author is Kim Thúy's novel Mãn, and I know next to nothing about Indian-Canadian experiences, so why not give this one a go?

Speaking in generalized terms, the American perception of Canadians is that they're nicer, more considerate, and overall just better than us at being good people. It follows that many of us assume that there's no racism in Canada. After all, for decades (centuries?) enslaved people who looked like me regularly fled the "land of the free" to actually BE FREE in Canada. But alas! According to Koul, racism does indeed exist in Canada. She spends some time on colorism (or "shadism" as she calls it) and Indian/South Asian aspirations to whiteness, and I would've loved to know more about Canadian racism from her perspective. But while her identity as a brown woman plays some role in every one of her essays, she doesn't aim to write solely about race. The subjects covered run the gamut of social issues that are currently trendy to talk about, and in that sense this book of essays is not so unique. Yet, something about Koul's voice was so appealing to me that I couldn't stop reading! I actually chuckled, and quite frequently. Her snark is disarmingly entertaining.

The title comes from a conversation that Koul has with her cousin after a particularly painful and strenuous moment during said cousin's week-long Indian wedding festivities. It was Koul's way of consoling her, assuring her that this thing that sucks won't last forever, and probably won't matter much anyway. The book's content isn't nearly as depressing as the title might lead you to believe (the cover's even got bright pink and yellow colors to reassure you!). The essays I enjoyed the most are "Inheritance Tax", "Aus-piss-ee-ous", "Mister Beast Man to You, Randor", and "Tawi River, Elbow River".

Favorite quotes:
"He has a cute butt. Ann agrees, saying she like his surly yet romantic silence, and posits what her husband or Hamhock might say if we brought this boy home with us. We crack a few jokes about turning him into a respectable man, My Fair Lady-ing him, getting him a suit, teaching him English. This is funny until I remember colonialism" (70).

"I just want to rub coconut oil in her hair and tell her that she is in my bones, no matter where she ends up" (109).

"I was editing at the time, and the whitest, malest landscape in the country is long-form writing. This is boring, like offering the same selection of toothpaste-flavoured ice cream for a century and then wondering why your business is failing" (123).

Saturday, May 13, 2017

BOOKS! (The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love + Bound Feet and Western Dress)

Today's review features two used books! The first I got from a local library book sale (was intrigued by the fact that it won a Pulitzer). The other one I found in my local Little Free Library (was simply curious).

The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love by Oscar Hijuelos


This would be a fantastic novel to pair with the animated film Chico & Rita on, say, a university syllabus for a course about pre-Castro Cuban music and migration to the United States. Coincidentally I caught the film on TV not too long before spotting this novel, which was fitting since they are both stories focused on Cuban musicians set during the same era. Originally from Las Piñas (in a province once known as Oriente), the Castillo brothers develop as artists in Havana before joining a wave of Cuban musicians who have been immigrating to New York since the 1920s.They arrive in 1945 and are young men living it up, but not without their troubles.

Younger brother Nestor (trumpet, vocals) has carried melancholy and anxiety with him since childhood, always feeling like something is missing especially after his first love dumped him back in Cuba. Older brother Cesar (band leader, vocals) is a restless macho man with daddy issues who let his pride ruin his marriage back in Cuba, and in NYC is only concerned with playing music and having a good time (copious amounts of sex, food, and alcohol). They lead an orchestra called The Mambo Kings, whose modest renown eventually scores them an appearance on 'I Love Lucy' and a nationwide tour. But Cesar loses the will to play music after Nestor's untimely death, and he doesn't take the inevitable loss of youth and virility well either. So after living in New York for three decades and watching the high life and his brother slip through his fingers with seemingly nothing to show for it, Cesar holes up in a hotel room to die, drinking alcohol, playing his old records, and reflecting on the past. The novel is mostly Cesar's memory of the past, as we revisit his life as a musician. You have ample (and I mean, ample) reasons to dislike the guy, but since he's all you've got to take you through the story, you want to sympathize with him despite yourself.

Mambo Kings is looong and I certainly wouldn't be in a rush to read it again soon, but it is incredibly thorough. If you're interested in Cuban culture, New York and its club scene after WW2, jazz and Latin music styles of the time, or simply enjoy reading emotive prose about love, passion (lots of sex scenes!), and loss, then read this book.

Favorite quotes:
"What did he seek to accomplish? To write a song communicating such pure love and desire that María, far away, would magically reinstate him into the center of her heart. He though that she would 'hear' these melodies in her dreams and that something would possess her... and he would hear a knocking at the door [and] find María of his soul standing there, this woman who had somehow become the lost key to his happiness" (46). 

"The guys who had it rough were the black musicians, who were treated in some places like lepers. No violence against them, just a bad silence when they'd go walking into a store, a disenchantment when they'd walk into a  lodge for the hungers' special breakfast, plates slapped down on the table, drinks poured quickly, eyes averted... Spirits were dampened, especially when the weather was bad, because in their travels through the heartland of America these fellows sometimes felt an Arctic coldness of spirit that made New York seem like Miami Beach" (180-81).


Bound Feet and Western Dress by Pang-Mei Natasha Chang 

While giving attention to Chang's experiences growing up and fitting in (or not) as a Chinese-American girl in New England, this biography mostly focuses on her grandfather's sister Yu-i, whom Chang first read about in a book while studying Chinese history at Harvard. (Yu-i and her legendary poet first husband, Hsü Chih-mo, were often known as the first couple in China to get a modern divorce.) Inspired to learn more, Chang spent the next five years interviewing her great-aunt and writing this book. Born in 1900, Yu-i was married at 15 to the then-young scholar who saw her as little more than a filial obligation and country bumpkin. She ended up moving around from China to England, Paris, Berlin, back to China, and then to Hong Kong before emigrating to New York City in the 1970s.

The book's title refers to a conversation between Yu-i and Chih-mo in which he demanded a divorce because they weren't suited for each other ("bound feet and Western dress do not go together"). It also refers to how Yu-i's personal inclinations often went against tradition, as she refused to have her feet bound as a child, repeatedly endeavored to become educated even though girls' education wasn't prioritized, lived as a single mom in Europe, and eventually became a teacher, bank vice president, property owner, and businesswoman back in China all by 1928. And yet, as remarkable as Yu-i was, she neither reveled in her own accomplishments nor lambasted her ex-husband in this book. She learned to support herself because she had to, and as the mother of her ex's children she acted as daughter-in-law to his family even after he remarried and later died.

Aside from learning about Yu-i, I learned a lot more than I'd expected to about Chinese traditional values, especially in regard to women's duties as daughters, wives, and daughters-in-law. It's very similar to the information you might get from The Joy Luck Club, for example, but it includes more detailed explanations of customs, spiritual beliefs, Chinese family structures, and where these tenets come from.

Favorite quotes:
"Rice was the food of the country, to be respected in all its phases: the ripe grain in the husk, the paddy, glutinous rice, rice in the straw, hulled rice and cooked rice. To honor the farmers who planted, tilled, harvested and husked the rice, one was not supposed to leave even one kernel at the bottom of one's ricebowl" (177).  

"No matter how Western or progressive his thoughts, I believed Hsü Chi-mo to be Chinese, for the Western love that he sought did not save him in the end" (199).

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Memories, Movement

(Or, "More Unnecessary Things That I Remember While Driving, Walking, or Trying to Fall Asleep")

That one time during my summer in Paris when I went to go get my Carte Navigo, and when I presented my photo the attendant looked at it and told me I was beautiful. Or, in her words, "Byew-tee-fuhl!"

That one time when I visited a church and got to the sanctuary too early before service. Sat in on a Sunday school class lead by a black auntie who claimed that Kim Davis was a hero whose actions aligned with God's Word. Never went back.

That one time I had to explain black hair, perms, going natural, transitioning, and the "big chop" to a former high school classmate who'd asked me how her friend could "get her daughter's beautiful curls back". Said former classmate was white. Her friend was white with a half-black child, and had apparently chemically straightened her daughter's hair without doing the necessary research.

That one time in church when the pastor had all of us stand and hold hands in prayer, and while holding the hand of the guy next to me his girlfriend inserted herself in between us, so the dude and I were awkwardly holding hands behind her back (literally!).

Monday, April 24, 2017

Flat Stanley (Office Edition)

In this case I guess it'd be more fitting to call it "Flat Uni" or something.

I told y'all my team at work was corny, right? Well someone had the idea to buy this little LEGO person wearing a unicorn costume (unicorns have been an inside joke on this team since before I got there, don't ask), and have everyone take pictures with it and then send it on to the next person, be they on a different coast or an entirely different continent. It's supposed to boost camaraderie and make our jobs more interesting ('tis telling that one has to go to such lengths, no?). I did this exact same activity with a human-shaped paper cutout named Stanley in kindergarten. It was cute then, but now... no comment.

When they passed it to me on Friday I was really annoyed that I had to be concerned with work-related things outside of work hours. But then I liked the way the pictures turned out, so I've decided to post them here before turning them in and sending Uni off to the UK. We each get two weeks, but I wanted to get it over with so I  knocked it out in a day. Here's how I spent my Saturday:
Took my dog for a walk and passed by the spot where they discovered mastodon bones some years ago. There's a sign...

...And a sitting area with an information placard.

On the way home I stopped by the local Little Free Library, which was specially decorated for Easter/the arrival of spring.
Later in the afternoon I spent a few hours at my favorite cafe.



They sell bubble tea and Taiwanese food, and the staff is super nice. 

Then I went home and sat behind my house until it got dark. My dog guarded the backyard while I read.


And back to work on Monday (didn't do much on Sunday).