Diet without Dieting - Alcohol Reduction

I’ve been on an Alcohol reduced diet since New year’s Day.  Surprisingly it wasn’t a new year’s resolution.  I had purchased a new set of scales at the end of year sales and found out that my old ones were out by about 10 percent. I had thought that the reason I had gone up 2 belt notches was that age and lack of exercise had re-distributed my weight from pectorals and lat’s to my abs. To my shock & horror, when I stood on the new scales I discovered that I had gained almost 10k over the past 6 years.  I knew that alcohol was highly calorific & figured this weight gain was probably due to drinking 3 glasses of wine a night.  I had always been careful to limit my intake to this amount, as beyond 21 glasses a week there was a  medical consensus  that you were certainly harming your body.  I had kidded myself that the positive effects of alcohol such as antioxidants and after hours stress relief from my busy Adelaide Architectural Practice was keeping the health balance about equal. 

Make An Achievable Goal

I took the plunge and decided to  reduce my intake of alcohol  to three glasses on Fridays and Saturdays and having 5 dry days in-between.  I am old enough and wise enough to realise that it is much easier to stick to achievable goals.   During the week I can stand around the kitchen with a glass of brown line cordial & feel almost as good as I can with a Savignon blanc or Shiraz. The weekend however is for me a social time and dinner parties and other social gatherings are not quite the same without a tipple or two.    The outcome of this is that I have been easily been able to stick to my new routine. I haven’t felt any deprivation yet  I have lost a half a kilo a week by maintaining this regime. This is easy as it is a diet without actually dieting.  No hunger pangs but still a slow and steady weight loss.

Don't Eat If You Aren't Hungry

I have changed nothing else in my diet….. other than not eating if I am not hungry.  All pretty simple. Regular wisdom is that a healthy breakfast gets the metabolism going & actually helps weight loss. I am not always hungry at Brekkie & if I am not I may have breakfast at mid-day or later, which means if I have lunch it may be at 3 o’clock.  If I eat lunch later I am not so hungry at dinner time & subsequently don’t eat as much …or if I do I don’t feel the need to snack after. 

Other Positive Health Benefits of Reduced Alcohol Consumption

The surprising thing that I didn’t expect from this weight loss regime was a plethora of other health benefits that have occurred during this diet.  I cannot be sure if these are related or to the reduction in alcohol or purely coincidental, but am happy to say that generally I am feel (and look) healthier than I have in years.

I have had a tendon condition in my hands where the tendons connecting to my fingers that run down the palm of your hands were tightening up and my hands were slowly beginning to become claws. The doctor had told me years ago that if it got too bad that surgery could correct it. This has stated to abate and I can now hold my fingers straight.

I have had a problem with irritable bowel syndrome. This has much improved. I can now eat a much wider range of foods (including low amounts of Gluten) than I have been able to for years without any problems.

I was getting those ugly age spots on skin that are brown and raised. The doctor told me this was normal with age. Surprisingly these have diminished to being almost undetectable.

Although I have no desire to become a teetotaler and still love to have a social drink with friends I am now much more circumspect in this regard.  My recent experience has shown me that more harm is being done and it is being done at a far lower consumption rate than I had previously thought.  I can say with certainty that reducing alcohol consumption to 2 days a week has had positive health benefits.... Cheers!!!

Vale: Ralph Lucas

For those who did not know my father, he was a remarkable man. Many attended his funeral last week to pay their respects and afterwards I had several requests for copies of the Eulogy.  Looking at his achievements now it is hard to see how my Dad ever had time to sleep. The list of positions he held in the various local floricultural societies alone is testament to a man who made the most out of life and who's favorite saying was "there's good daylight out there don't waste it"....

EULOGY

Thank you all for attending this celebration of Dads life. Your respect for Dad and sympathy to our Family is appreciated and evidenced by your attendance here today.

Ralph Mervyn Lucas, my dear old Dad, was born on the last day of December, 1925. He died on a warm, sunny morning that was filled with promise, eighty eight years later.

I was privileged to be there when it happened and as passing goes dad was as lucky as he had been with the rest of his life.

The previous day had been a bad one for Dad. As I only had time for a short visit that night I promised to see him again in the morning. He told me that he thought he may be able to last until morning as the “writing on the wall” had indicated that it was the end for him.

Worried about dad’s state of mind I did something I had never done before and visited him before breakfast. Dad was in good spirits when I got there and while we talked he had a breakfast consisting of 2 weet-bix, a bowl of stewed apple, 3 slices of toast and marmalade, plus a chocolate milk.

Till the end no matter how bad things got Dad appreciated his food. Dad attributed the fact that he had outlived his brothers to the care Mum took in preparing food for him. Dad was on a Pritikin and fat free diet years before anyone knew what was “heart-healthy”.

The morning of Dads passing we discussed the fact that there would be fish and chips for lunch and laughed that the orderly had offered an alternate choice of vegetable samosas…. Who would pick those when there were fish and chips on the menu??

Dads friend Roley had died just 2 days before. I had broken the bad news to him the previous night. His memory hadn’t been the best for the past few months but while we waited for his breakfast he asked me “Is it true is my best mate’s dead?” I told him it was. There was silence.

Dad and Roley were fierce competitors when it came to flower exhibition. For more than 40 years they had grown Gladiolus and each of them wanted to be the winner at the annual show. I said to Dad “well, it looks like you won this last competition”. A small smile flickered and Dad was OK again.
Dad simply just got on with things.

Dad had mentioned the “writing on the wall” before & I had thought it was part of his illness where reality and dreaming had blended together again. The first time this had happened I had chills and asked him to tell me about the writing. Could he understand it? Were there any messages that may have some meaning???

Dad concentrated his faculties and carefully scrutinised the 3 walls of the hospital room that were visible from his bed and then he focused on the wall in front of him. What do you see Dad? He answered “That wall is in turmoil”. He then focused on the space above the doorway to the bathroom. I tentatively asked the question “what do you see Dad?” There was a long pause as he focused more intently. Then spoke the words “Seven dollars fifty a night”

Dad was a good tempered, gentle man but he also had a wicked sense of humour. He had declined help from a physio in the Repat a couple of days before and I had thought it was because the exercises’ were too difficult and painful.

He confided to me that morning for some reason the Occupational therapists and Physios’ would always come around lunch time. He didn’t like this much as it interfered with his favourite part of the day. He smiled as he told me his secret to getting rid of their unwanted attentions. Dad motioned for me to come closer & whispered to me secretively. The young ones are very rude to me, so I just tell them tell them “go away… you’re ugly”.

As well as his appetite returning his mind had cleared and we had the opportunity for a good talk. I was able to convince him that he should be nicer to the Physios’ next time and start participating in their classes. The transformation that had taken place overnight was amazing and I had begun to hope that Dad was rebounding yet again from the myriad of medical problems that troubled him.

Unfortunately this time (as usual) Dad was spot on & he passed away shortly after this conversation, fulfilling his prediction from the night before. Dad had a big heart &
it was this big heart that suddenly gave out. Dad was able to see the garden from his bed and there was a gentle spring breeze blowing in through the curtains, shifting them & billowing them in towards him. His mind had clarity, his wounds had healed, he
had asked after Mum and the family, he had humoured me by telling me he would be nice to the physios’, then unexpectedly and quickly…he left.

Back to the beginning:

Ralph Mervyn Lucas was born in his mother’s house on the 31^st of December 1925 in the inner city suburb of Hilton.

Dads parents, Doris and Clarence Lucas had been given their house as a wedding present from Dads grandmother who at that stage owned what remained of a small farm next-door.

Dad was the middle child and perhaps, as is the case with many middle children, this inspired and drove him to greater things. James was first born, taking his father’s (and Grandfathers) middle name and Keith was the baby. Dad confided in me that Keith, as youngest, was Grans favourite.

Having the farm next-door was an important aspect of Dads childhood. Although he was a Depression Child, his family didn’t struggle as much as others. There was milk from the cow, eggs from the chickens and all the fruit a young boy could wish to eat.

There was a fig tree over the chook yard, the chooks fertilising the tree and the tree producing enough fruit for the Chooks plus 3 hungry boys. Even to Dads last days figs were his favourite treat.

An old row boat that had been designed with a low keel for racing made life even easier as it ensured that there was always fish on the table.

The boat was moored at the Royal yacht squadron until the war & the boys would row out to the sand bar and pass it before any-one else….
claiming the best fishing spot & ensuring there was a meal for the night.

During the early days of the war Dad and Keith moored the boat under the pier of the Torrens Island power station. There was talk of a possible Japanese invasion and so this was strictly off-limits. Dad however convinced the Military police on the pier that they should be allowed to stay.
The first five butterfish of the night were dutifully thrown up onto the pier for the MP’s above & then the rest could be taken home.

When dad turned 18 Australia was still at war in the Pacific and so he joined the Air-force like his brother James had done before him.

Dad had bad eyesight due to a bout of measles as a child and so he wasn’t sent overseas. He ended up in The Northern Territory serving with the 42nd Squadron Equipment and Accounting section in Melville bay. Dad had a near photographic memory and a talent for numbers so he was well suited to this posting.

With hindsight this stationing was the beginning of what would later become a successful career as an Accountant and Business manager.

Dad met Heather Lochhead, at a dance at the Embassy ballroom about 6 months after the war. He was smitten and when she went back to the experimental farm in the Riverland for 3 months he wrote constantly.

Dad was confident. He was so certain that he would marry Mum that he never really proposed but just worked the phrase “when we are married” into the conversation one night.

The engagement ring was duly purchased and presented at the next dance. Dad had guessed the size by telling the Jeweller that it should fit his little finger. It was a perfect fit; as was their marriage for the next 66 years.

Mum and Dad were married on the 3^rd of April 1948. This Anniversary was the most important date on the calendar for Mum and Dad, surpassing birthdays and even Christmas in importance. This year Dad managed to hold on to celebrate this special occasion one final time. A good time was had by all. For a while we forgot what was so obviously approaching and there was laughter and smiles around the table.

A week after this happy day Dads failing health put him into what seemed to be an endless cycle of emergency visits to hospital.

Falls, pneumonia, infection, bad circulation and heart failure were only a few of the problems that troubled Dad, yet throughout this he never complained. He showed an amazing resilience and recovered enough to be sent home from hospital on four
separate occasions. Mum battled on and although 3 years Dads senior she became Dads primary carer. This gave Dad several additional months at home where he could sit on his seat and look at his garden, which after Mum and Family was his next greatest love.

Gardening was Dads passion. He also loved a good contest, especially if he had a chance of winning. Whatever dad did, he strived to be or do his best.

When they were first married Dad and Mum lodged with an old lady in Medindie to save money to buy the land for their first home. Dad wanted a large garden and so they bought a half an acre block in Broadview on low lying land that was originally little
more than a duck pond.

Dad worked at the bank and so was able to use the banks Architect to design their house. It was cement brick, cement tiled & modest in size. I didn’t know it at the time but it was also quite special.

As a child I had no idea of such things but I knew that our place was different to the ones in the street with their freestone fronts, small windows and dark rooms.

Our house was oriented so the living areas faced North. There were large glazed steel casement windows that wrapped around the corners of the house, seemingly having no visible means of support. There were flywire screens that rolled up invisibly, and a two way bathroom that could also be accessed from the garden.

Mum and Dad had the good fortune to win Tattersals back in the early 1950’s. This was a life-changing win. Dads share was three thousand three hundred and twenty four pounds nineteen and eight pence. Dad was informed of the win at work, but as the inaugural Gladiolus club meeting was scheduled that night he attended this first before going home. When he got there friends and family ensured that the party was already in full swing.

The win meant that the Mortgage could be paid, carpet put down and furniture bought. A brand new Morris Minor was purchased and life was very good.

The Garden at Broadview was something special. Over 30 years Mum and Dad created a beautiful place that was serene and peaceful. Always a competitor, Dad entered the Garden in the Sunday Mail Garden contest. Dad and mum entered the Garden 3 times, but the achievement of two first place, and one second place award wasn’t quite good enough for Dad. He always insisted that if they hadn’t had a flood that year he would have had a perfect score.

This garden was the place where Dad spent his spare time growing the specialty blooms that he so dearly loved. There was a camellia House, a Rose Garden, a glass house, cactus wall, chrysanthemum house as well as a digging patch for Gladiolus and vegetables. There was also room for the Dachshunds’ to run and a small 9 hole putting coarse for me to challenge dad.

Dad was someone with broad interests. He always joined in and helped out at the various societies and clubs that he frequented. There were many friends to be made from all walks of life.

In the early days Dad bred and showed Dogs, the culmination of 10 years being a Grand champion Dachshund he bred named Stolzhund Jeremy.

The sixties was a busy time for Dad. He had studied at night for a bachelor of Economics Degree and was working his way up the Management ladder as an Accountant. Gladiolus quickly became more than a hobby, and for several years he spent his spare time on a block on the side of the Torrens growing them commercially. The money saved from this venture enabled a Beach house at Port Willunga to be purchased.

The rule was that the first 2 days of the Holidays was Dads time. The lazy-boy lounge was his throne and he would lie there under the fishing rods mounted on the wall, sports guide in hand, listening to race commentaries on an old Bakelite radio that sat in a packing crate bookshelf. After the 2 days of curfew all family members were welcome to come along and stay for the night or the week. There are many of us here today with happy memories of that small lime green asbestos shack sitting in its field of oats with its bright pink outhouse in the garden beyond. There was always risk of snake or spider bite when venturing past that bright pink door. No-one was happier than Mum when dad built on a shower and toilet to the house, eliminating the need to brave the wild-life out back.

Joining the Adelaide Gem and mineral club in the early 1970’s meant years of fun camping out… first in tents and later in our Combi camper van that was fully fitted out with everything including the kitchen sink. Mum remembers these days as some of the best times. She was there for the company, but always a competitor, Dad collected and competed with his rocks and fossils. Much fun was had hiking across creek beds and mountain tops in search of an elusive or rare specimen. After presenting him with his prize the judge from the South Australian museum commented to Dad that he possessed the best collection of Port Willunga fossils in existence.

After Dad retired from work at the age of sixty he had renewed enthusiasm for fishing. He had just moved to Glenelg North and this meant that the beach was only a hundred meters from his house.

Mullet season would see him down on the beach every morning. The special brew of semolina, garlic, mince-meat and curry powder was his secret fish-catching weapon.

Dad would stand in line with the other regular anglers on the beach. No-one talked, they just would acknowledge each other with a nod. No-one would even look sideways to see what anyone else was doing… but peripheral vision was working overtime.

Dad knew what everyone had caught & who had triumphed in their daily battle. Dads brother Jim would come down & fish with him some mornings and I have fond memories of seeing them side by side; indistinguishable in their old tatty jumpers, rubber boots and camouflage hats, competing like they did when they were children.

Dad’s passion for gardening and willingness to share that passion with others is what defined him as much as anything else.

I have memories of show halls packed with trestle tables and filled with blooms on competition days.

In the early morning we would travel down to the cold stores in the East end market where Dad rented space for his best flowers to keep them in tip top condition and delay their opening for as much as a week before the upcoming show.

Dad was a master of the art of “dressing flowers”. On competition morning he would be found hovering over a bucket of flowers on the Laundry bench at Broadview. Tweezers in hand and razor blade on bench, he would meticulously place last minute cotton wool behind florets, whilst with fingers flying he removed wiring and pinning from the night before.

What Dad started with and finally finished with were sometimes such remarkable transformations that even other floral aficionados were amazed. Dad was proud of the fact that even if he hadn’t grown the best bloom with a few minutes of preparation it would look like the best one.

Floriculture resulted in many accolades for Dad over the years, culminating in the medal of the order of Australia in 1998. I read here a précis of his investiture:

For service to Floriculture in South Australia as a grower, administrator and judge.

Senior Judge Royal Agricultural and Horticultural Society Floriculture show.

Editor of the Australian Gladiolus Annual 1969-1976, he has served on the committee of the Gladiolus Society for more than 40 years. President 970-1977, secretary 1957-1977, show secretary since 1977 and is a life member. He was selected as Gladiolus
Commonwealth champion in 1966, 1970, 1986, 1987 and 1989.

President of the Rose Society of South Australia 1982- 1984
Treasurer since 1984 and is a life member.

Treasurer of the Australian Camellia research Society in the early 1970’s and Show organiser since 1980.

A Former President of the Chrysanthemum Society, currently Show Secretary and secretary and is a life member. He is also a Qualified Dahlia, Daffodil and sweet Pea Judge.

An update to these achievements was published in the Rose Society Bulletin in July this year. Dean Stringer wrote the article after visiting Dad at home in Townsend Park shortly after one of Dads many hospital stays. The final paragraph reads:

“Ralph has served as a highly respected Judge and awarded life membership from the Rose, Dahlia, Gladiolus, Daffodil, Chrysanthemum and Enfield Horticulture Societies.” It was a Delight to listen to him recount his favourite horticultural achievements and the many changes, some good, some bad, over the years. We felt honoured to have spent the afternoon with a person who has taught us so much over the years and surely must be one of our great Rosarian Icons.

Mum proudly showed Dad the article on one of his better days a couple of weeks ago. He was very pleased to hear such nice things said and dismissed his achievements with his usual wry humour. He smiled and commented “At least they only called me an Icon, if I was a Legend I would have to be dead”.

Dad you are a legend now. Rest in Peace and with all our love.

Thank you.

Media Coverage Of Flight MH17

I took time out from my small Architectural practice to do some gardening & relax this weekend. The MH17 disaster on Friday affected me deeply. Enjoy what you have while you have the chance.

The world is getting smaller, which means tragedies like MH17, although they seem very remote can by fate still touch us. When it happened I was appalled, but still interested in the politics behind the event  & was tuning into all the news reports. It seemed very remote....after all only one South Aussie was involved....

We Are All Linked In Some Way

My dad went into an aged care facility on Thursday.  My 91 year old mum has been his carer for the last year, but since she slipped and fell over about 2 weeks ago we had to finally make other arrangements. The facility he has gone to is lovely compared to others I've seen and the staff are exceptionally caring. Dad sleeps about 20 hours a day & so our next-door neighbour who happens to work at the facility had organised that my Mother could play scrabble with one of the other female residents whist she visited. This resident was the mother of one of our neighbours friends who had lived down the road 10 years earlier. We had a tenuous link through school quiz nights and the odd birthday & dinner party.  We were introduced properly on Thursday night, exchanged pleasantries and looked at the family photos she had around the room, discussing her children & grandchildren . I made a mental note to put up a few more family shots in Dads room as it helps start conversations & would make it easier for him to settle in.

Less than 8 hours later we had the flight MH17 disaster &  it turns out that the South Aussie killed was this woman's daughter...

The Media Circus

I didn't read the newspaper on the weekend. Seeing the front cover was enough to make me refuse to open it. By that stage we knew what had happened and it really was just the media playing the story for their own purposes.
When I turned the paper over, so that I didn’t have to see the front page, the irony was that the back page also had a full colour spread on the disaster.  Media feasts on such things.  It must be so difficult for the families of the victims to continually be bombarded by this circus. The remorseless teasing out of the events.  The telling & retelling of near misses. The digging down to prise out the grief from the family and friends, exposing it so that the public can vicariously experience some ghoulish shadow of their pain.

Let's hope that one of our football heroes has a sore toe, acts a little inappropriately, perhaps says something racist, or is (horror) found in possession of drugs. The circus will move on & focus back on what they usually cover the headlines with.....

Preparing For a Birthday Speech

Making a Speech For a Loved One: The process can be more important than the speech itself

Mum was 90 on Thursday & we are having a small get together for her for lunch today. There has been quite a bit of fuss from friends and family for the past week or two over the big event and Mum has received presents and well wishes from people far and wide. Because it is such a special occasion I have been thinking about maybe saying something & in doing so surprised myself enough with my thoughts that I have written them below.  I probably will say only something short at the event, but the process of taking an hour or so out of my workday & thinking about her has been an interesting experience. I can recommend that this is a worthwhile exercise doing while the ones we love are still with us. It is no use thinking about these things for the first time when preparing for a funeral.  

Mum has far exceeded three score and ten years. Reaching 90 is certainly a milestone but not an achievement. It is something to do partly with the luck of good genes (thanks mum) and partly to do with living a life of moderation. Mum advocated "a little bit of everything & not too much of anything". It appears it is a good template for a long and happy life.

Although I was an only child, Mum had a lot of practice being Mum before I came along. Leaving school at 13 was not her choice, but being the eldest she was needed to to help my Gran out at home & look after her younger brothers and sisters. Mum had loved school but leaving didn't stop her from learning. This early departure from formal learning fostered a life-long thirst for knowledge.  Mum has read at least 1 book a week since leaving school and for the past 10 years has supplemented this with a couple of hours on the web every night.

I mentioned earlier that reaching 90 is not an achievement in itself.  Mums achievement is to have reached 90 and still have the inquiring mind and interest in life that she had at 13. Mum started using a computer at 80 and took up photography at 85.  Mum still reads editorials in the newspaper & goes on-line to follow the journalists blogs. Mums active mind sets her apart from most other nonagenarians. This is the result of a lifetime of self improvement and as such certainly is a noteworthy achievement and worthy of praise.

Thinking back to my childhood memories of Mum, the strongest memories were of happy, fun filled days holidaying at our shack at Port Willunga.  Memories of Mum & her two sisters sitting on the sand with their huge sunhats and colorful one piece bathers are so vivid they almost seem surreal. The surprise is that my strongest memory of Mum is kneeling down on the sand in front of her while she applied liberal amounts of sunscreen to my face. My cousins would already be in the water while I had to wait for this ritual to be completed. The sunscreen was called UV-cream, it came in a glass jar and no matter how careful Mum was it always had a liberal sprinkling of sand mixed in with it. This white, sticky goop would be applied with meticulous efficiency & it felt like emery paper was being rubbed over every inch of my face.

I remember this so well because it hurt like Billy-O. Mum wouldn't take any notice of my remonstrations... she just went ahead and made sure she didn't miss an inch, no matter how much I wriggled and complained.  The point is that it was done with love.  This is the thing about being Mum, you do what you think is best for those you care about, no matter what.... So thanks Mum, for the care and love of a lifetime. Cheers!!