Lance Greenfield's Blog, page 77

Part II: Maybe She Needs To Push Away From The Table! (10 Secrets You Should Know)

Lance Greenfield:

This is Part 2 of an inspirational and very informative blog post. There are millions of people in the world who could prolong their lives, and enjoy their day-by-day living, just by reading this and following the advice. It is not too difficult to do this, and there is no need to be oppressively harsh on yourself. As the post points out, there is still room for treats, in moderation and with full awareness.

Three and a half years ago, I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. That wasn’t the biggest shock. The biggest shock was that I found out that I was fifty pounds over my “fighting weight”. From when I left school until about five years after I left the Army after a long career, I weighed 175 pounds. The doctor weighed me in at 226 pounds! I set myself a fitness and diet programme to lose 50 pounds in 19 weeks. I lost it in 16 weeks. Over-achievement! I am proud to say that I have maintained my weight at between 175 and 182 pounds ever since. Approaching my sixtieth birthday, I am fitter than many twenty year olds. I run or row almost every day. Treats? I enjoy a glass or two of wine and an occasional bowl of ice cream.

So my lifestyle is totally in line with this article, and I can attest to the effectiveness of Doc KL’s approach.

Originally posted on The Ninth Life:

Previously on Part I: Maybe She Needs To Push Away From the Table: (Click link to read all of Part I)

…I was truly amazed at how well my plan had worked. Over the next 6.5 years, I have maintained my body weight at 125 lbs – 130 lbs. Currently, I weigh 127 lbs.

As my relationship with THE UNHEALTHY FOUR (french fries, ice cream, milkshakes, and stress) became more distant, friends and acquaintances all wanted to know the answer to a new question:

“How do you stay so slim?” they asked.

“Here are the secrets that have helped me” I answered.

Secret 1: Kick stress to the curb

For years I had stressed about my body image, “Why must I have a big nose, unruly hair, embarrassing love handles, and unsightly stretch marks?” I had been confused about my relationships, “What am I doing wrong?” I had worried about my career, “Why can’t I find a job?”

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Fossa

Lance Greenfield:

Fossas are amazing creatures. I first encountered them at the zoo in Naples, Florida, where they run several conservation programmes. It is the number one place to visit in Naples, despite what anybody else may tell you.

Number two is South Street: build your own pizza, over fifty draft craft beers and music from emerging bands. The first two of those elements are always great, the music ranges from great (usually) to “not to my taste be might be to yours.”

Both recommendations are just my personal opinion, of course, but give them a try if you are ever going that way and let me know what you think.

Originally posted on Vikas Acharya:

Fossa is a cat-like creature that closely related to the mongoose family. They can be found only in the tropical rainforests of the Madagascar. Fossa is the largest predator on the island and it does not have natural enemies, but due to extreme deforestation (90% of the forest is already destroyed) it is listed as an endangered species. Less than 2500 animals are  left in the wild.

The fossa is a creature which is closely related to the mongoose and is found only in the forests of the African island of Madagascar. They can grow up to 6 feet (1.8 m) long and can weigh up to 26 pounds (12 kg). It has a very slender, almost cat-like body which makes people very surprised to learn that it is actually related to the mongoose and civets but not the cat.

* Information on the traditional uses and properties of herbs/…

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Writers Quote: J.D.Salinger

Lance Greenfield:

There must be times in your reading life when you have longed to chat with the author or one of the characters in the book that you are reading. I know that I have been in that position many times. This is a wonderful quote.

Originally posted on Randoms by a Random:

I read Louisa May Alcott’s “Little women, good wives” a few years ago and after I was done, I felt like grappling a telephone and screaming- “couldn’t Laurie have ended up with anyone but Jo’s sister, I mean come on!”. Thank God I don’t have her number and I can save my little dignity towards other things like em, “forgiving her”.

I digress, now to the quote above, how do we know we’ve read an amazing book. It differs for all us; for me- it’s feeling a certain level of calmness after reading the last line, sighing and wishing I had written the book; that’s when I know the writer’s got me.

The first half of Khaled Housseini’s “a thousand splendid suns” got me feeling like- it’d be a great honor to write like him, heck, I actually wanted to meet him. Upon getting to the second part (and please…

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Writer’s Quote Wednesday – Good Storytelling

It’s good to be back in the Land of the Blogging, having been on holiday in Kos for a couple of weeks. One of the bonuses of my return is that I can, once more, participate in Silver Threading’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday.

As writers of fiction, we must ask ourselves, “What do our readers want from us?”

The answer is simple: they want a good story that is going to capture their attention, and imagination, from the first page to the last. Of course, there are pieces of ourselves, or events that we have witnessed or even read about, in most of our stories. These truths may be just grains of sand in a vast desert. They might be manipulated and enhanced until a great work of fiction grows around them. But what we are all aiming for is to tell our readers a damned good story.

Mark Twain said, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

This week, I am giving you two quotes for the price of one. Two times “free” is still “free.” The second one is a variation on the theme from Irishman, John Pentland Mahaffy, a contemporary of Twain. So, if you want to manufacture a great story, set your imagination free and make it all up!

“Never tell a story because it is true: tell it because it’s a good story”

John Pentland Mahaffy

Review: Skallagrigg

Skallagrigg by William Horwood

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Easily makes my top five

I have always been a prolific reader and sometimes have as many as five books on the go at any one time, picking up the one which most suits my mood.

This book is absolutely brilliant and so beautifully touches the emotions of the reader. It made me laugh and it made me cry. I cried often and long and deep.

It is clear that William Horwood has been close to cerebral palsy and his daughter, Rachel, does suffer from this condition.

The central figures are Arthur, a sufferer from the early part of the twentieth century, and Esther, a sufferer from the latter part of the same century. It explores the massive differences between the ways that they were perceived and the ways that they were treated because of those perceptions.

Esther embarks on a quest to find Skallagrigg, without knowing what it is, and you must read the book to find out if she succeeds and what it means.

The reader is drawn into the characters and I found myself living the roller-coaster emotional existence of both of them.

I am constantly recommending this book to friends and family. Many of them find it difficult to get into the story but I encourage them to persevere. Whilst I can understand their difficulty, I had no trouble whatsoever and was captured from the first paragraph.

If you are only ever going to read one more book in your life, it would have to be this one and no other. Trust me!

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Calais Refugees – re-blogged from Jaz O’Hara’s Facebook Post

I wish more people would write like this. The British media and the majority of postings on social media just stir up anti, well anti-fellow-human-being feelings, if we are honest. This depresses me  deeply.

These are people! People like you and me.

Put yourself in their place. How does that feel?

See the original post by Jaz O’Hara here.

I’ve been thinking about how I can find the words for what we experienced yesterday.

An hours drive from my house, then half an hour on the Eurotunnel, and we were in the world’s worst refugee camp in terms of resources and conditions, yet we were welcomed with open arms. It’s amazing how only the people who have nothing really know how to share.

The ‘jungle’ (as the camp is known), is loosely and naturally divided by country, with every one of the worlds warzones represented. We walked through ‘Afghanistan’, ‘Syria,’ ‘Eritrea’ and ‘Sudan,’ all living peacefully alongside each other. This struck a chord with me – it was immediately clear that these people, fleeing war and persecution, want anything but conflict. The ‘mosque’ (a wooden frame), next to the church (some wood and tarpaulin, crowned with a wooden cross), right next to each other, representing that we are all the same, regardless of religion or race.

Nothing could have prepared me for hearing the stories of these people first hand.

A man from Afghanistan told me how he had fled his country with over 100 other people with the aim of walking together to England. Many people (mainly women and children) died along the way. They were so hungry they ate grass, and one night, walking through Bulgarian woodland in the dark, he tripped and a stick pierced through his eye. He spent 2 weeks in hospital in Sofia and the group left him behind. He carried on alone and had finally made it to Calais.

Then we met three Eritrean brothers aged 14, 13 and 10. They were alone. Sent by their parents to escape conscription to compulsory, indefinite military service, which is basically slave labour, they had made their way from Eritrea on foot.

And then, a 23-year-old from Dafur, Sudan. He told me that the Gangaweed had come to his village on horseback when he was 18, burnt it to the ground and brutally shot many people, including his dad, just for being black. He was arrested, accused of opposing the government, and put in prison for two years. As soon as he got out, he went back to where the village once was, desperate to find his two little brothers, little sister and mother. He was told his sister was alive and in a nearby town so he went looking for her. She wasn’t there. He searched towns and cities until he was again arrested, as travelling through the country is not permitted. Unable to face any more time in prison, he spent all the money he had to be smuggled to Libya. Here he started his journey, on foot and alone to England.

England..where everybody is always smiling and no one has problems, he told me. “Is it this cold in England?”, he asked in the middle of a sunny day in August. His expectations, and the reality of his life if he ever does make it to England, make my heart hurt.

He told me he doesn’t feel the hunger (the refugees get one free meal a day they have to queue for hours for), or the cold (I cant even begin to imagine winter in this camp), he just feels the pain of his lost family. Each time he spoke the word family, his voice broke and he put his head in his hands. Crying, he told me that every time he closes his eyes, he sees his mother, telling him he is a good boy, and that he is doing the right thing. ‘Why then, am I living like an animal?’ he asked me.

Every night he walks a few miles to the tunnel in an attempt to make it to England, although he told me he was taking a couple of days break from trying to allow his leg to heal. He proceeded to show me a huge bruise on his calf from where he had been hit by a police baton.

Many many people from Sudan tell the same story. Persecuted for being black, many have seen their entire family killed infront of their eyes.

We sat for ages in the Sudanese part of the camp. The guys here searched the surroundings to find the most mis-match selection of chairs, and even made us tea over an open fire. ‘You are our guests’ they told us, infront of the opening to their makeshift tents.

Yesterday I realised that the people in this camp don’t WANT to come to England. They have no choice.

These people aren’t migrants…these are REFUGEES. They can’t go back, but they can’t go forward, they are stuck, trying to create some kind of normal life from a bit of tarpaulin and a blanket.

And they are heroes. Their stories show more determination, strength and courage than anything I have ever heard from anyone in the UK. They should be an inspiration to us all…yet they are portrayed by our media as a drain on our society, scrounging our benefits. This couldn’t be further from the truth. These people WANT to work, want to earn enough money to pay tax, and want to be given the opportunities they deserve.

These people are desperate. On the one hand we commemorate holocaust Memorial Day, yet on the other we turn away at people facing as extreme persecution as the Jews, right on our doorstep.

What the actual fuck?

A sign in the camp read ‘we must all learn to live together like brothers, or we will die together like idiots’.

This needs to happen, and quick.

Many people didn’t want us to take their picture, scared of the negative media representation, but also in case their families face repercussions under repressive governments back home. They are also ashamed; ashamed to be living in such an undignified manner.

We’ll be going back next week to start filming a documentary, as sensitively as possible, with the aim of sharing the stories of these inspirational people. We’re also stocking up on men’s shoes, men’s clothing, SIM cards, old phones (people are desperate to call home) and anything else people many be able to donate…

For more information, like our campaign here:

https://www.facebook.com/theworldwidetribe

You can follow the journey in photos on instagram:

@theworldwidetribe

This is the link to our just giving page:

https://crowdfunding.justgiving.com/CalAid

We need to do something. Turning your back on this tragedy on our doorstep is literally unforgivable.

Review: Winter in Madrid

Winter in Madrid by C.J. Sansom

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Could have been a great book with a little more care

The storyline, with all of its sub-plots and inter-twining of characters, is excellent. It builds very well on the memories of Harry, an accidental spy; Barbara, a Red Cross nurse; Bernie, a public school friend of Harry and the love of Barbara’s life; and Sandy, a rather objectionable classmate of Harry and Bernie.

The author has obviously researched the period of Spanish history which spans the decade from 1931 to 1941 so well that the weaving of the many threads of fiction and fact are as smooth as silk.

However, this book is spoilt by the frequent irritations of fundamental errors which could have been eliminated by better editing. “’Harry,’ he said in Spanish,” could just have easily have been “’Harry,’ he said in Turkish,” or simply “Harry.”

There is a passage in the middle of the book where the author must have had the word “plump” on his mind as he wrote, for it appears at least three times on each page. The there are two occurrences of heavy machine guns being “set up,” which, in the same sentence, become sub-machine guns. Any soldier, and many non-military readers, would know that there is a world of difference between the two.

Then there is the half of madness where two officers switch rank. A general is demoted to colonel, and promoted back again, and a lieutenant is promoted to major, and back again. Crazy! And such negligent editing!

These irritations, for me, take the edge off what would otherwise have been a five-star-rated book.

Finally, I would not agree with the Sunday Express critic who placed Sansom in the same class as Sebastian Faulks and Carlos Ruiz Zafón. Definitely not!

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What’s Everybody Reading on Vacation – Summer 2015?

Four years ago, Fifty Shades of Grey was the top Summer holiday read all over Europe, if not the world.

This year, what is it?

Well, I have walked around the pool at the family owned Hermes Hotel in Kos, and everybody seems to be reading Eleven Miles by Lance Greenfield.

Not only do I see the paperback version in many hands but, when I ask Kindle readers what they are so into, they all tell me, “It’s a book about a little Batswana girl called Boitumelo Hope Tumelo who walks eleven miles to school each day, and eleven miles home, just to get her education. It’s an amazing read from beginning to end. You’ve got to read Eleven Miles by Lance Greenfield!”

So, there it is, the top Summer vacation read of 2015 is officially….

Lance’s Coach Tour #6

The voting is over and my passengers are boarding for the sixth grand coach tour.

Welcome aboard!

The front two seats are quickly occupied by Sheila and Colleen, who are all ready singing  even before the expected arrival of Howard boards with his trusty guitar.

Following her success with the cake for Beethoven on the last tour, Teagan skips up the steps with another delightful cake for whomever we will visit today. She may be in for a shock!

I am very happy that doctors Lucie and Victo Dolore are on board. We may need medics before the day is out.

Donna, Hugh, David, Alka, Ritu, Vashti, Francis and Ane dash past me and on up to the back of the bus to form a new singing group in competition to the bunch at the front. I can already see that this is going to be a very lively trip, and it will get even hotter when we arrive at our destination.

The next groups of passengers to board include our time-traveling minstrel, Howard, accompanied by Lia, Itchy Quill, Dominique, Beth, Krissy and Portergirl. It is a huge relief to me that the introduction of a musical instrument has brought order to the singers and they are all singing along to the same tune now. Everybody appreciates the humor of starting this latest coach tour with Bob Dylan’s The Times They are A’changin’.

All of the seats are soon full. There are many familiar faces on board, and a few new ones too: Nydia, Carrie, Donna, Hugh, David, Alka, Ritu and Deborah. They are all very excited, but settle down quickly as I pick up the microphone to make the introductions.

“Ladies and gentlemen; welcome aboard my sixth coach tour. It is fantastic to see so many new faces today. Before I tell you all where and when your votes are taking us today, I want to make a little appeal.

“I am thinking of building a second time-travelling coach in the near future to cope with the popular demand. The epochal chrono-coils are so expensive though. I’ve got lots of potential sponsors, but they want to see more time-tourists. If you have any friends or relations who might like to come along on one of our trips, please tell them about Lance’s Coach Tours. And don’t be shy about re-blogging, tweeting and sharing my reports amongst all your online friends. The more passengers I get, the more trips we can embark  on, and the more buses we can have in the fleet.”

“Just tell us where we’re going Lance!” shouts Almost Welsh Sarah impatiently.

The rest of the passengers have more sympathy for my appeal, but I can see that everyone is eager to get going.

The door closes as I announce, “Today, ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to announce that I have arranged with the Queen …”

“Oooooooh!” echoes around the coach from the assembled tourists.

“… of the Iceni, Boudica, or Boadicea as some of you may know her, as she prepares for battle.”

More “Ooooooh”s and “Aaaaaah”s fill the coach.

As the bus drives out of Victoria Coach Station, I confirm, “Yes, ladies and gentlemen. We will soon be joining the hoards of Iceni, Trinovantes and other Ancient British tribes as they prepare to annihilate the Roman Legion of the Ninth near to the city of Camulodunum, known today as Colchester.”

I can see the various reactions of my passengers. The faces of Ritu, Janet and Erika light up as the anticipate meeting the famous warrior Queen. Sabiscuit, Yvonne, Gail and Brandy look more fearful at the thought of visiting a live battlefield. The prevailing atmosphere is one of great excitement.

“We won’t be travelling far in terms of distance, but we are going back almost two thousand years in time. That’s not the furthest we’ve been. Some of you were with us on out first trip when we visited Stonehenge during its construction.”

Wendy Kate, Sally, Tooty Nolan and The Owl Lady giggle as they remember meeting the strange foreman of the site, Broch Macdhur.

“And don’t worry about the risk of death or injury. We’ll be meeting Queen Boudica at the core of her forces which number around one hundred thousand. The Romans won’t get near us.”

The Crazy Bag Lady chuckles and nudges Teagan in the ribs. “I think you’re going to need a bit more cake than that, unless you can perform a miracle!”

“This cake is exclusively for Boudica herself,” sniffs Teagan.

As we leave London, the countryside becomes a blur. Before we’ve sung three more songs, the coach slows and we stop on the top of a hill. We are surrounded by ferocious lookin tribesmen and women and horses. It seems as if we are invisible until we leave the coach and join them. Although we are clothed in modern garb, and speaking a different language, the ancient people treat us as though we are their own. We can understand them perfectly, and they can understand us. Such are the vagaries of time travel.

“Lance!” exclaims Queen Boudica. “I am so pleased to see you. And you brought all you friends, just as you promised.” Turning to the tourists, Boudica welcomes them loudly. “Please stroll around the camp and speak to whomever you wish. Today is a day of rest. Tomorrow we will do battle with the invaders. They will all die!”

Carol, CC, Bec, Sassycare, Jo and Jane are already wandering around flirting with the soldiers who are checking all their equipment for the battle ahead. There is much laughter coming from another quarter, where Jane, Diana,  Heartafire, Olga and Simple Head Girl are sitting close to a fire, telling jokes.

One of Boudica’s officers is proudly telling a few of the tourists, Barbara, Nydia and Carrie  amongst them that when they have slaughtered the Roman Legion tomorrow, they will march on Londinium.

“Ask Lance,” says Carrie quite jovially. He’ll probably give you all a lift down there on his bus. The officer just stares back at her back at her with a confused frown on his face, totally baffled.

A small crowd has gathered around Queen Boudica and Eloise as they indulge in a very technical-sounding conversation about the design of the Queen’s chariot. Barbara, Nydia, Carrie and Donna are all wondering how Eloise could know so much about chariots. “I made one for the school play,” she explains.

“That’s hardly in the same league, Eloise,” says Carrie.

A few seconds later, the queen squeals with delight.

“I would never have thought of that. Thank you so much. Fixing blades to the wheels will chop the Romans to pieces as we charge through them.” She turns away to give instructions to her chariot riders.

“I don’t think that you used that trick in your school play,” exclaims Nydia.

“No. You are right. Health and safety would hardly allow it, and I think I could have been in serious trouble with the parents had their children gone home legless.” A huge grin split her face as she realized the double meaning of what she’d just said.

A few hours later, the passengers are disappointed when I tell them that we must leave for the journey home. It has been a great experience for all. Only a few would carry that knowledge to their graves that one of their number had accelerated the demise of the Roman occupation by giving the Queen of the Iceni a bloodthirsty idea to chop down legionnaires in the field.

The trip back to London is full of song and speculation as to where and when we will go on trip number seven. Of course, I am open to suggestions through your comments, and I shall launch a new poll in the next few weeks. In the meantime, please re-blog, tweet and share my coach trips as widely as possible. The more people who join us, the more trips I will be able to run.

There were many other bloggers who were on this trip who were not mentioned in my report. The following people shared the fun of a grand day out on the battlefield of first century Britain:

Bec, Jason, Sassy, Amber, Steve, Allison, Vonita, Julz, Faraday’s Candle Sisters, Fiona, Ordinary Wife, Lili, Bridgette, Nunziapier, Izma, Meredith, Charise,

Boikanyo, Razorback, Marianne and Cindy.

Please share this experience with as many people as possible. I promise much more fun in the future or, more accurately, in the past.

Just chilling on a Wednesday evening

Settling down with a glass of Merlot and listening to