I remember when the guy from the Apple store came to our house to set up our Apple IIGS. I spent hours on that computer, playing Oregon Trail and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?. I typed out the manuscript of the mystery novel I wrote in the fourth grade on it.
I wrote poem after poem after poem on the Grape iMac I bought during my sophomore year of college.
Okay, I wasn't pleased when I lost all of our European vacation pictures due to a "Sad Mac" episode on the MacBook.
I wrote the vast majority of my book on this iMac desktop, and it is the primary tool with which I archive our family's life. My camera is useless without it.
Earlier this week, I wished my grandmother a happy 93rd birthday over FaceTime. I haven't seen her in over nine years, and while an image on a screen is no substitute for flesh and blood, I was grateful that our pixelated connection hid the tears in my eyes.
And tonight, I was FaceTiming with Lara when her husband called to say that Steve Jobs had passed away, during the height of apple season.
To say that Steve Jobs has had a profound effect on my life - all our lives - what an understatement.