A reason to keep moving me

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My Dad was a broken down cowboy. He loved his cigarettes or maybe he had a love-hate thing going with those things. The closer I get to 65, the more I think about my Dad. He made it to 68. His last years he had a companion: an oxygen tank. He must have been in his late 50s when he started to realize that he just couldn't walk up to the barn to milk Lisa the cow the way he had been doing. At one point he brought home a Shetland pony stallion. I think he had the idea of starting up a team of matched Shetland ponies that could pull a cart. That idea did not last long. So I think about him as I realize that I am not walking as much as I used to. I can not do water aerobics due to the Virus. I hated those painful hours of exercising my screamy muscles and joints even as I knew I needed to keep on pushing. I have gardens and chickens that need attention. And thorny weeds that refuse to die that need mowing. This stuff provides a reason for me to raise my legs and lower them- not allowing atrophy to set in. Thinking about Dad is quite a motivator for me. In his day, he would walk to a pasture fence, whistle and horses that had never seen him before that moment, would gallop toward him. That mental picture is what I tell myself to keep for a morning meditation.