Dear Retouching Tablet,
It seems like yesterday I was writing a blog post, welcoming you to our family. You were new and pristine, carefully wrapped in plastic and eager to be put to use, and now it seems our time together has come to an end. I guess that’s how it works with things you love-you blink and the years pass.
You sat so firmly upon my lap, day after day, week after week, year after year. Together, we have seen thousands and thousands of images, haven’t we? Newborn babies, graduating seniors, the joy of a wedding and all the families…oh, the families. Together, we perfected the details of every image, because you and I, retouching tablet, approached each image with the same philosophy: no shortcuts, no click-and-play actions…we always felt our clients deserved better. I loved the feel of your pen in my hand as we zoomed into faces, bringing out the sparkling blue of an eye or the highlight in a strand of hair.
You’ve endured the accidental drop on the floor and more than a few crumbs have been brushed from your surface. (I apologize again for that coffee incident. I swear to you, I did NOT know that the lid wasn’t secure. I still have no idea how you made it through that. The Nutella incident wasn’t too great, either. Sorry.) You were patient when I was so tired I couldn’t see straight and you always cheerfully agreed to stay up as late with me as we plowed through deadlines and endless design work. I sensed your frustration when I took the occasional breaks for Facebook or to watch stupid cat videos, but you never let me down.
I knew something was up yesterday when you refused to acknowledge me. I had sensed trouble brewing for the past few weeks. You weren’t quite yourself, acting erratically and having to be coaxed to work. I knew you were getting tired and needed a well deserved rest. So, last night, I unplugged your USB cord, lovingly wrapped it up, caressed your smooth tablet and with more than a bit of nostalgia, I gently put you into a drawer.
Rest well, retouching tablet. I will replace you in my office, but never in my heart.