We had started our destination to go to the American consulate to get my second grandchild registered as an American.  Harold, my husband, and I also wanted to treat Greg to the planetarium for his belated birthday present.  Greg’s wife firmly and probably wisely decided to stay at home with the wee ones.  So off on the bus we went to London.  My jet lagged brain felt I could handle this. 

We stood in front of the consulate staring in wonder at a majestic statute of General Eisenhower.  It is good to see how we Americans represent ourselves.  I was proud of the consulate.  Greg disappeared inside with a promise that it should only take an hour.

Harold and I leisurely took a walk in the park across the street.  Ten minutes had past.  We walked to Oxford Street a couple of blocks away. Harold’s favorite British tee shirt had worn out so we were in search of a tacky tourist shop.  We past up many interesting looking stores and alleyways and found our tee shirt and started back.  Thirty-five minutes had past. On our way back we both spotted a nice looking pub.  What a dignified place it was with its dark wood paneling and flocked wallpaper.  We had our half-pint and read a sign over our table.  In the windows above our heads pub goers had throne bottles at rioters or some such thing to avenge the good guys.  I can’t quite remember the details but it gave a rush of excitement to this hour of waiting.  Fifty-three minutes had past.  We quickly walked back to the consulate.  No, Greg was not to be seen.  The Pinkerton security guards pointed up some steps.  Would you believe Harold had worked for the Pinkerton payroll department many years earlier.  The guards got a big kick out of this.  We finally turned to look up the stairs only to see Greg coming down them.  I was surprised exactly one hour had past.

We all decided we didn’t want to walk to the planetarium.  Well Harold and I didn’t want to walk after all we had had our walk.  Greg probably would have being young and thrifty.  So, the tube it was.  I have always been morbidly fascinated with the London underground.  Its brightly colored maps and destinations hanging above the tunnels are totally confusing to me.  I have never been able to figure out a destination before a companion exclaims, ‘this way”.  I don’t know what I would do if I were all by myself.  I was glad the men were in charge.  The rush of Londoners in and out of the tunnels is always amazing to me.  When we immerged into the light of day the crowd was dense and bustling.  A young man in trench coat, hat and pipe stepped up to me and thrust his card into my hand.  The only words I heard him say in the den of people were, "Baker Street".  The men were now well ahead of me as they crossed Baker Street.  I rushed to keep up as I thrust the card in my pocket.

It took us only minutes to enter the Planetarium.  The planetarium entrance was a dimly lit long and winding maze of theme based displays.  As each of us lingered at a display of interest, we quickly became separated.  I finally started to miss my companions.   I saw my husband’s siloughete leaning against the railing.   I drifted towards him.  Now I was looking for Greg.  I asked Harold if he had seen him.  Grumbling a bit like parents do over lost children.  I turned to Harold and just about jumped out of my skin.  Sir Winston Churchill was standing beside me.  I slunk away hoping no one had seen me talking to a wax dummy.  Drat that Madam Tussaud and her wax museum next door.  Minutes later Harold and then Greg found me.

Being all united we entered the planetarium and took our seats.  I should have said napping chairs for this is what Harold and I did.  When the lights came up Greg announced that the program was great.  He did miss the large ant like projector that is in the middle of the L. A. Planetarium.  The L. A. Planetarium now has retired the ant.  He was right the aura of the place wasn't quite the same. 

I earnestly kept up with Greg as he lead the way back to the bus stop, past Baker Street, to the left at the next block and down several blocks.  We found that we had just missed the bus and had to wait another half-hour or so before the next one.  We were a little hungry and went down a block to Baker Street.  My heart picked up.  Maybe we could find a little pub that Mr. Holmes would have partaken refreshment.  My hopes were dashed into little pieces.  We looked both ways and all we could see was American fast food places.  We looked at each other in disbelief.  We headed for the nearest and ordered a cola and tried to make cheerful conversation.

As we settled into our bus seats for home I fished out the card that Sherlock Holmes had given me and put it in my wallet.  After all a friend or even myself might be in need of some help some day.  He looked like a Young man with a great future ahead of him.