I really didn't spend time on the computer this weekend. I spent most of Saturday with the kids and chasing the dog I was babysitting, which is another post entirely. It was a good weekend, and fun. All week I had considered baking cookies, and never did it, so yesterday, while the J-Spot and K-Spot were here, we made no-bake cookies. All weekend there was much playing and much parkage, and some writing by longhand, too. (Though not as much as I would have liked.)

And then I get on the computer this morning to catch up on the news and email and find that Octavia Butler has died over the weekend. So sad, and so hard, and yet a good reminder that no one is immortal. I've seen a lot of people commenting that they'd had the chance to tell her what her work had meant to them, but they had waited because they were shy, or wanted to wait until they had a novel published, too, and so on.

If you love someone, if you love someone's works, if they have changed your life in some small way, tell them. Send them a letter, post in their journal, email them, call them. It will certainly thrill them, and you'll be glad you told them. Trust me, I know from personal experience.