You know times are getting better when references to the Klencke Atlas start edging out suicide bomber items in the news displays. We don’t know whether we have told you, but we are like seriously queer for maps. We are, accordingly, not half chuffed to be sharing space since the re-do with the huge, possibly – make that unabashedly dorky, custom-built, roller-equipped folio case in our modest workspace. (It used to be on the west wall where it held up the T. D. Jones Lincoln bust while sucking in dust particles). Vast as it is, the roller case could not, of course, accommodate the Klencke, but it does contain two lovely nineteenth century Hamilton County atlases, one featuring little building outlines, and a laughable scabrous (someone spilled still active hydrochloric acid on it), Brown County atlas:
There is no better way to waste time than to waste time with maps. They are loving and caring and they never tire of singing their song. Someplace in here we have a box where we throw the breathtakingly up-to-date maps that come tucked in to the monthly National Geographics. Pick a map. Any map. Look at the names. Look at the roads. Look at the railroads. Imagine the ethnic hatreds, the land deals, the envy, the agriculture, the hiding places. Steam into the harbors. Bomb the dams. Total pleasure.
Some members are shy about exercising their folio rights. They shouldn’t be. The atlases and the folio cases come with the membership. You just stroll in and start rolling. We never mind being interrupted from our labors. Never. Never.