I had a wonderful time at Potlatch on Saturday, although it was completely, dismayingly exhausting. This concerns me since all i did was sit around, and knowing that next year at this time I'll have a convention to run makes me wonder how I'll manage.

Can't remember a thing about the panel I was on but it was very lively, lots of audience participation (which is really welcome and especially so at Potlatch) and we filled the time. i then went and set up the bake sale and spent the next like 5 hours sitting and talking with old friends and new, and providing napkins and plates and taking money for a range of donated items from gingerbread to brownies, shortbread to candies, muffins to cookies. I left to go to dinner, came back and sold a few more things. And when I left last night, there was still stuff, and there probably will be more than the $114 I counted, but I'm very impressed by that. At a small event - of course it's a fundraiser and all but still - we have some excellent excellent cooks and bakers in our community, that's for sure. I want more of those muffins I bought too. Darn - should have just snatched 'em all.

Caught up with some old friends - not enough. Talked with at least one person whom I haven't talked with in at least 20 years and enjoyed it tremendously. I remember her as a very different person and will not presume to judge or guess. It's an old shaky memory and worth tossing. Had lovely dinner and was brought home by two of the best friends I have - I say that because they went out of their way to get me home so I didn't have to bus it on a cold Saturday night, but I hadn't planned the trip home and hadn't really dealt with how weary I was.)

I resent being weary, tired over nothing; I did nothing but sit and have a nice time, and I resent that I spent Sunday exhausted, worn out, unable to concentrate on much of anything. In one small burst of effort, I finished a writing assignment but it's a good thing it was an interview and most of the words were someone else's.

I didn't go back to the convention Sunday - stayed home, sort of dazed and tired, and watched some of the Olympic Closing Ceremonies which were pretty much as baffling as the opening Ceremonies had been. I missed seeing what part 35,000 red noses were to play in the apparently clown-themed, Felliniesque event. I so did NOT want to watch Felliniesque closing ceremonies. But I'm still recovering from the use of disco music to introduce the athletes two weeks ago. I just didn’t think I could handle more bafflement – which this time came in the form of Ricky Martin. RICKY MARTIN? Didn’t he used to have a career? And has anyone ever read a review that actually finally tells the truth about him – that while he can move, he's cute and yes, he sings, he apparently has a range of 4 notes? Never mind that Avril Lavigne was unrecognizable, and I wondered if she’d been the subject of one of those bizarre makeover shows (don’t get me started on Sasha’s “Project Runway” number.) I guess I’ve fallen behind on my pop culture stuff – which is shaky at best. Hey, be impressed that Iknow that Avril Lavigne was once a brunette, okay?

Andrea Bocelli. Don’t get me started. But a) I’m not big on tenors b) I’m not big on thin voices and c) I think the guy is adored because he’s seen as a tragic figure. But then I could have sworn the guy singing “O, Canada” sang a flat note as well and he’s apparently a big deal opera star so it’s probably me.

I meant to watch for the noses and to see Joey Cheek carry in the flag. Those of you who know me, if you watched the event, can guess what is was that made me really cry. No, it wasn’t seeing Shizuka carried in on the shoulders of the Japanese team – I didn’t see that until today’s paper, and I cheered at the image. But if you watched, who caught the hand-off to Vancouver - the host of the next winter games? I did not know until a few days ago that the mayor of Vancouver BC is a quad. Sam Sullivan is a quadriplegic. He was on the city council for 14 years and it does suddenly explain, to some degree, WHY Vancouver is so scooter-friendly. Why they get it and why they're never ever surprised, taken aback or hesitant when someone in a scooter goes by. What I mean is that I have seen more scooters like mine on the streets of that city than anywhere else. And someone once said to me that there was someone in city government who was partly responsible.

And then the weekend ended with a major “dammit, that just sucks”.

Stu returned last night from Sunday at Potlatch with the stunning news that one of Seattle's gems of an author, the wonderful Octavia Butler, died Saturday, while we were all sitting around celebrating the genre, apparently after falling on the sidewalk outside her house. Someone said “stroke” someone else said “ a fall” – she was brought to Northwest Hospital – the one I used to work at, which has a small but excellent emergency services department, but she died.

"Sci-fi" writers don't get lots of praise as brilliant writers, and Octavia was to date, i believe, the only writer in the genre to receive a MacArthur Fellowship. I didn't know her well at all, but did have the luck of being at a party or two and talking with her over the past year or so, even if we never exchanged names. I thought having Octavia in my city really classed up the joint. She was one of those women who would probably be called “stately” because she was tall, with a low voice, and because she was Black and imposing. And she wrote stuff no one else wrote. We needed Octavia Butler. She needed sf but we needed her too.

I was delighted to realize that although she thought of herself as shy and unsocial, she was apparently comfortable enough in Seattle’s fandom to come to parties and hang out.

Both the Times and the P-I noted her passing. I admit sadly that that surprised me; I would have thought her beneath the notice of the two you should pardon the expression “leadlng” newspapers in the city.

She sure classed up the place.