Some of my best memories involve maps.
I opened another box to unpack today, ready to put away or throw away what was inside (I've decided to get rid of unnecessary clutter while I unpack) and I realized I'd just opened a Pandora's box. It was my maps, maps of London, the UK, Europe, and, most poignant of all, my hiking maps of the Chilterns. As I picked up each one, smoothed it back and sorted it into a pile, I grew sad and mopey, thinking of all the routes I'd not be taking again.
I never used an app or a sat nav; when I arrived in England in 2004 neither was available. I clung to my old fashioned maps, of which I had plenty—some are actually historical maps I acquired, fascinated by how little the English geography had changed in the last 400 years.
After I'd pulled out half the box, I couldn't go any further. It didn't help that it's a rare gray and drizzly day here in Virginia, similar to so many gray days I spent in England. I didn't want to think of the return trip to the Yorkshire Dales I never made, the maps of Florence and Copenhagen I wouldn't need, of Bath and Windsor, of Reading and the Thames Path.
I also found a map of Metro DC and Frederick, Maryland, that some kind soul gave us in preparation for our move. I left them in the box.
One day I'll get out and explore this New World, but not right now, when I've got boxes waiting to be unpacked and a cup of tea to finish off this drizzly day.
