And so, with mam's words chorusing in my ears, I drove my woeful self up to the shop in the Machinist's ute, with garden tools on the back. (There were still branches of privet and blackberry canes, not to mention grassy clumps to be loaded onto the trailer). I just had to do something physical. Some hard yakka.
As I pulled in, Grandpa was searchin for one of his garden tools. He came over to me and asked what he could do. I showed him one of the bushes which had to be cut out, and for a moment, there was that pesky-boy look - just a miniscule second of a glint in his eye. (Grandpa loves to cut down trees. We have the totum poles to prove it). He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with his arsenal of saws and clippers, distributed evenly over both of his hands. "Can you believe I picked these up for five dollars?" . He was set for an enjoyable afternoon.
The Grand's cottage gate creaked and Granny appeared. "Would you like me to clip some bushes, Helen?", she asked. After my mam's torturing experience with cellulitis, there was no way I wanted her caught on brambles, thorns and bacteria piercing her skin, so I suggested she might want to sweep parts of the driveway if that suited. "Oh sure!" And with that, she promptly took the broom and started sweeping tiny leaves, branches and loose pebbles into piles.
For quite a while we were silent as we laboured, and as I lent on the spade handle to wipe my brow (ha!), I caught sight of a female form walking towards me. The sun was behind her and rays emanated from each side of her body. An angel. It was our Emma!
Just when I was lowly, lacking inspiration, motivation and gumption, I was humbly reminded that help was, indeed, - at hand.
Some of the weeds and grasses we have been digging and clearing from the driveway at the shop. 
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