. . . with Jack and my nephew Oliver. Here’s the story of the night — we were racing into the Portrait Gallery at 6:50 p.m. trying to see everything we could before closing (not an unusual situation for anyone in my family). I went into one gallery and the boys went somewhere else. Nine minutes later I hear a commotion in the hallway, poke my head out to see the guard waving his arms and repeatedly yelling “you can’t go back!” and hear Ollie yelling over and over, “I’m looking for my aunt!” Jack, of course, left me behind and was almost out the front door.
