It was two years ago that my husband and I went to the Frye Museum on our first wheel chair date. He had recovered from a brain hemorrhage and we both needed an outing. Now that he has returned home again after recovering from a broken pelvis, we had another wheel chair date at the Frye. As we traveled up the ramp, our health aide (who was pushing my husband in his wheel chair) remarked, "Oh, the Katsura trees out front are turning golden and sending out their delicious aroma. Can you smell it? Some say it is like cotton candy or even brown sugar."

We decided to enjoy a lunch before viewing the glorious art collection and so went through the huge doors into the high-ceilinged lunch area. As we scanned the menu, a sudden crash overpowered the voices of visiting patrons. A large tub of desserts had fallen to the floor. After recovering from this startling event, I paid for our lunch and remarked, "We haven't been here to the Frye since my husband came home from a care center two years ago." This time, I explained, we were visiting after my husband's return from another stay at a care center. He said, "Hope he doesn't have to go to a hospital before coming again."

After enjoying a cheesecake dessert shared with the health aide who came along to help my husband navigate, my husband rolled past the permanent art collection. It included The Shepherdess, a poignant study of a commoner with hands and bare feet clearly defined; the dashing self portrait of Anselm Feuerbach; a 20's portrait of a young woman with a determined side-glance, and face draped in un-styled hair; a realistic Madonna with Jesus cuddled unceremoniously across her lap; and Franz von Stuck's voluptuous nudes. Of course, on each side of the gallery entrance were the huge portraits of the former gallery owners, Emma and Charles Frye in their upper class regalia of the 1913s.

When my husband was asked what he enjoyed the most, he didn't hesitate but announced, "The nudes." They were certainly outstanding in their warm flesh tones with spotlights bringing out their sensuousness. Not many people think of a person traveling in a wheelchair as enjoying all the wonderful sights and sounds of the world. Somehow a wheelchair cries out, "Handicapped." But my husband remains a person who enjoys the finer things in life. His ability to appreciate great art has not been diminished by his lack of mobility.

As we visited the gift shop on the way out to the car, my husband said, "Let's pick out one of these colorful, vintage cards to send to our daughter's friend who just fell and broke her leg." He still has memories of this young friend's gift of a huge basket of fruit while he was being evaluated at Harborview Hospital after his devastating brain hemorrhage.

So many people are unsure how to approach those who seem less able. Believe me, my husband can converse, enjoy the great artists of our time, become excited by politics and expect to be called on the phone to remain connected to family and friends. As I always say, every day is meant to be lived to the fullest. So don't ever let a wheel chair cramp your style. And certainly never let a wheelchair stop you from interacting with a person rolling about in it.

Fortunately, my husband can walk with his walker out to his greenhouse on our deck just outside the dining room sliding doors. Gardening is still his passion. But it doesn't match the love we still have for each other and believe me, we never stop expressing that love. As a four year old once said, "Love is still wanting to be together after you've been married a long time." I agree whole heartedly.

Georgie Bright Kunkel is a freelance writer who can be reached at gnkunkel@comcast.net or 935-8663.