As many of you know, I have been caring for my husband full time. Of course, I have taken advantage of the health aides who are so indispensable that one health care agency is actually called Visiting Angels. Another is simply Care at Home, which is the more down to earth representation of an agency that meets my needs. I recently called Visiting Angels to check on the credentials of a health aide and laughingly asked, "Are your health aides directly from God? Perhaps you would not prefer to serve someone who isn't sure that angels with wings can fill the bill." The reply was a jovial; "You don't have to believe in God to use our service."

I have often joked about seeking out atheists who wouldn't mind working on Sunday. After all, a husband's need for care doesn't skip the Sabbath. My schedule has to be a creative one. I call one aide, who attends early church service, to come while I attend the second service at my church. I have worked around early morning aides who have to leave to get their children off to school. I have timed my coming home so that one aide can get out to her bus on time. I don't even need a health aide if I call the Access Van whose driver meets my husband at the sidewalk after my husband tootles his power chair from our electric lift to the lift on the van.

One of my outlets is going to the supermarket where I walk every aisle for exercise and hopefully arrive on the day when the freebees are handed out. Even the post office is a treat. I make everyone's day with, "I'm not the one who voted for small government but I have to stand in line here at the post office which has cut down its staff." One day in the post office line I got to talking with a couple of young fellows who were amazed at this 86 year old woman complaining about being late to swim class because of small government. One fellow remarked, "Hope I am as peppy as you are when I get to be your age." The other fellow said, "I don't expect to live past age 60." To which I replied, "What? You have enemies with guns or something?" So we all had a good laugh.

Once at my swimming outing I was panting and breathing deeply while exercising at pool side and a woman turned to see who was making all the noises. I remarked, "At least I can pant and breathe heavily here at arthritis swim class. I don't have the opportunity to pant and groan during sex anymore." I know I could get help at the neighborhood sex toyshop but I am not that desperate as yet. Wow. I don't know where all this sex talk came from. I chalk it up to how down-to-earth one gets when the grim reaper appears closer than usual in one's life.

Talk about being sexy, I recently wore a knit blouse that has wooden dangles sewed on all over it. Someone commented upon the unusual dangles and I replied, "You should have seen this shirt before I cut off the dangles sewed on at tit level. I got so aggravated at people commenting about my being a dancer in a bar with dangles twirling that I finally cut them off-not my tits - the dangles."

This earthy talk is usually reserved until one is on one's deathbed. I have learned a lot from those who don't have to live very long after saying what they have always wanted to say to those hovering about to say their last goodbye. With my outspoken nature, I find that I have already said almost everything that most people save until they are on their deathbed. When I dared appear on the comedy stage at open mike night, I decided that I would never say anything to downgrade other people. Life is about surviving and appreciating others in the process. If I have been able to accomplish that, I am OK with the world. If I haven't been able to accomplish that, I know I will hear about it, especially from my husband who is my greatest critic. (He approved of this column!).

Georgie Bright Kunkel is a freelance writer gnkunkel@comcast.net or 206-935-8663.