AT THE MUSEUM
Ralston had taken Catherine to the museum where he was reviewing an expressionist exhibit for In The Park Magazine.

  She was in silver and black, with her hat in her gloved hand.  Ralston had his tablet and pen--he was old fashioned that way.  He always wrote in pencil first, then he entered it into his laptop.

  The exhibit was Catherine's favorite art, abstract expressionism of the French school, country scenes, ladies in Victorian dress, breezy hillsides and languid scenes of Paris.  Ralston thought all of this was so decadent, he didn't see what the fuss was about.

  'Ralston,' she began without being asked, 'why do the seasons have to change?'
  'What?  That's an absurd thing to say.  Are you going to stop the seasons, as if you were God?'
  'Now, now.  I just mean I finally have my wardrobe in fine order and now I've got to change it again before winter arrives.'
  'It's only September.  Fine cool fall air.  What's wrong with enjoying ourselves as we are now?'
  'You are.  Men's clothes never change.  You've owned the same six suits since the day we first embraced.  Do you remember?'
  'I do remember.  It was at the Shayne Mansion, a charity event for a variety of ministries.  You were the chairwoman of the activities.  I was merely a guest.'
  'And you looked so sleek in that black tuxedo, oh my God, did you ever.  Why did you consent to grey hair?  It doesn't go with anything you wear.'
  'You're being ridiculous.  I didn't consent, time makes all things silver.'
  'Is that going to be in your column?'
  'What, the silver remark?  Well, now that you mention it, yes it will.  But back to your seasons thing.  The world spins around with change--seasons, time, fortunes change, the years we live, it all happens to us all.'
  'Not me,' she said touching her hair.
  'Oh yes you.  I know you had a little bit of surgery last week.  A few wrinkles, my dear.'
  'How did you know?'
  'I have my sources.  We all change, or should.  It's a part of what makes us wonderful.  Do you want to be young again?'
  'Oh God no.  I do not want to be young again.  Too many unfortunate decisions on my part--and don't you agree with me about that.  But I still don't like time getting away from me.'
  'Without time we would not be here, we would not have the intimate times we've had, wine would not age, and children would not grow up.'

  She had to agree with that.

  'And designers would not come out with new clothes for you, my dear.'
  Now Catherine had to agree to the wonderfulness of that.  'I suppose so.  But why can't time stand still?'
  'When?  Before you were born?  No, Catherine, you're just seeing no one but yourself.  Humility is in order, here.'
  'Have you been going to that new church again?'
  'I have and it's a blessing.  As the minister said, humility ennobles the soul.  It develops in you the kind of class people admire.'
  'Well...'
  'Just the kind of virtue you admire in another woman, class without selfishness.  Isn't that right?'
  'I suppose so.'
  'Come on, let's find a little place for dinner,' he said taking Catherine's hand.