I’m sitting in front of my iMac. The ringer on my iPhone is turned to Vibrate so that the theme from How The West Was Won doesn’t distract me while I’m writing. Or Elvis’ “Burning Love”–which is what would ring if my husband called from his job. He works for a company that makes iPhone and iPad accessories. He gets to and from that job in a car with an Apple sticker on it. (That’s the only bumper sticker he’ll allow on our car–ever.)
There isn’t a corner of my life that Steve Jobs hasn’t touched in some roundabout way.
Sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t an alien or someone who came through the Stargate because he impacted the world in a cuckoobananas crazybig way. I smile at people in the grocery store hoping that a bit of kindness will blunt the edges of their world. That’s my version of “impact”, and it makes me feel like a pinch of fines next to the meteor that was Steve Jobs.
And so here I am, writing a sort of eulogy for a person I never met. A person whom I’ll nevertheless miss terribly. I suppose, though, that as long as I listen to music on my iPod and write novels on my iMac and watch movies on the Mac Mini hooked up to my TV some small part of Jobs lives on.