After my weekly Sunday cleaning and laundry, I went out to visit my friend who broke his ankle last week. Poor guy. I really do feel for him. Aside from the fact that he can't go back to work (teaching) because his district won't allow crutches or a wheelchair (I don't get it either), and that he has to have surgery on it tomorrow morning, he lives on the third floor in a complex with no elevators. He was a champ climbing up and down those stairs tonight, though. I think I would have cried in frustration at least once each way. And he's an amazing left-foot driver (who wouldn't let me drive, no matter how many judgmental looks I got when we got in and out of the car).
He's worried about going stir crazy and getting fat. I told him to go up and down his stairs at least once a day and he'll not only get out of the house, but also get some exercise. I just hope he concentrates so that he doesn't take a stair to the tooth.
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