Write about your first computer.
My first computer? A refurbished Dell that my parents gave me as an early graduation gift halfway through senior year. It felt like a quiet door swinging open to the world—no more fighting over the family desktop.
My sister chipped in for Microsoft Office, making it feel truly official. Suddenly, I could type papers in my room, save drafts without panic, and fuss over fonts late into the night. That Dell tagged along to college for study marathons, half-finished research papers, and way too much social media through my freshman and sophomore years.
By junior year, it was groaning and freezing at the worst times. True to my “use it up” ways, I rode it until the end instead of fixing it. One afternoon, I walked into Best Buy and came out with a Mac—a thrilling upgrade.
That Dell still stands out, not for its power, but because it was mine. It carried me from high school awkwardness into real life.
Feature Photo by Erick Cerritos on Unsplash
What’s your first computer memory? Share below!
Loved this nostalgic trip? ❤️, Like, share with a friend, and subscribe for more real-life stories from my homestead.
Related Posts
The Power of Local Food: Lessons from Ethnic Cooking
Until I attended college, I believed that cultural influences on food were largely a thing of the past. I grew up in a part of small-town Wisconsin where the cultural influence of my German dairy farming heritage had diminished over the years. Regional dishes, while still present, were largely nationalized. Food was sourced from boxes…
Keep reading
Life by Stratigraphy
The first sound I remember from that trip wasn’t birdsong or the crackle of firewood—it was my professor’s baritone voice drifting through a soft Michigan mist. Waking to that unlikely serenade, I understood for the first time that geology wasn’t only about rocks. It was about connection. I was a sophomore then, half-frozen in an…
Keep reading
Unfolding the Woman Within
When I pulled open the long-forgotten box of clothes, I expected nothing more than sweaters and dresses that hadn’t seen daylight since before we moved. Instead, I uncovered an archive of myself—fabric woven with memory and identity, versions of me I thought I’d misplaced in the blur of motherhood, upheaval, and quiet reinvention. Threads I…
Keep reading
Practical Homesteading 