The wee one turns out to be better company at an art museum than her big sister was. At least she didn’t touch any pictures. I had the larger one at the Vienna Art History Museum once; she must have been about three. She put her hand right on an old master. No alarms went off. She was in my arms at the time; I just turned and sauntered off, a jaunty whistle on my lips. That was a bad age for her, she pulled the emergency brake on a subway car at that age as well. Also on my watch.

There were quite a few people out looking at art Sunday, including a few kids with neat hair colors and a woman who looked like an angry man trapped in a woman’s body, but slowly working his way out.

The younger one did get bored quickly. She is such an artist herself, I’d expected she’d have more patience with the art. So we went next door and crawled around on the exhibits at the fire department museum. No one yelled at us so I guess it was okay.