Posted in Goa, India, Singapore, Sri Lanka, travel, True Story, Inspirational, Word prompt

Destination Goa (Part 3)

passport

 

Passport – check, Tickets – check, Phone – check, Phone – charger check, Ipad – check, Thyroxin – check.  I was anxious that I was going to leave something behind.  I was already anxious about this trip but to make things worse, just days before the departure, the Indian Government called in all the 500RS notes.  This in turn caused a massive shortage of money in the country.  Also couldn’t buy any Indian currency in Australia. And we heard reports that there were massive queues at atm machines and banks. “just our luck” we thought.

I was anxious of the unknown safety issues, I was excited about meeting my buddy and having a well earned break, I was sad about leaving hubby, son and my baby dog, (well I had to include and hubby and son to avoid judgement. But then again no shame in admitting that I was glad to lose them for a week or so to get a bit of rest, but my doggy on the other hand, I am really going to miss him).  Those droopy eyes were telling me “mummy don’t leave me”.

Australian immigration – it took me all of 5 minutes to clear.  Just like Jim Jeffreys said, Aussie airport and it’s security practices/measures are rather unique.  Not exactly unique but definitely very different to most other airports.   Don’t get me wrong, it is safe as anywhere can be.  But, just don’t have the same panic and stress ridden atmosphere.  The guy checking your passport, no sorry there is no guy checking your passport, a machine does matching for you. You have almost no human contact.  You see plenty of humans, but no one seems to care about you, they just want you to just piss off, without giving chance to form a queue.  You will be rushed through automatic sliding door after door and you are now way too early for your flight.

Took my tablet out and started to write, continuation of my story “friendship and war…” well I haven’t settled on the heading yet.  With all the travel plans I hadn’t touched this for sometime.  Read the last page I had written, did some editing.  Then continued on with the story.  Couple of times I stopped and glanced around to see what everyone else was doing.  It looked like they were practicing boredom.

Finally time to board.  Once again I had to smile sheepishly at the young good looking guy, well not sure if he was good looking, but he was definitely tall and ask him if he could put my hand luggage up in the overhead locker.  He was only too happy to oblige. Again not sure if he was happy as such, but nevertheless helped the short damsel in distress.

The problem with living in Australia is that, it is really down, down down there.  And also it is a such a huge country.  And if you are from South Australia, it takes nearly 3 hours before you can leave your own fricking country.  I watched a movie and some comedy skit on a tiny screen, with screen moving as per the front persons movements.  It was better to get back to writing.  I put the tablet on my lap rather than on the moving tray table.

Drinks cart was a welcome interruption.  “Sav Blanc” didn’t taste like any “Sav Blanc ” I’ve ever tasted.  But it was free.  Also, this was the beginning of the “girls” holiday.  So, I convinced myself, “holiday begins now”. So rubbish Sav blanc or not I had to have it.  But all in all it wasn’t too bad a flight.  Spoke to hubby from the airport.  Sent a couple of messages to Jan. But she didn’t answer.  She must have been still mid air.

I did some window shopping.  I planned what  to buy on my return journey.  Had a cup of tea, a massage, visited the butterfly garden and time passed.  Time for my next flight. The one that I was most anxious and nervous about.  Mumbai here I come.

 

Cont…

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/passport/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/security/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/luck/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/clean/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/automatic/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/nervous/

 

 

Posted in love, marriage, Sri Lanka, True Story, Inspirational

The Story of the “Dandelion Guy”

dance
Taken on my maiden voyage “MV Lanka Sri Mathi” 

To My Darling (but sometimes a pain in the neck) Husband

I want to tell you a story of a “Young man with a Dandelion”.

Thirty years ago on this date, a young man (slightly dashing I might add), took a garland and then a jewellery named “Thali” and said to this rather naïve and pretty thing, “well I am your husband from this day forward”

But the story begins way before that.  This said young man had apparently vowed that he was never going to get married (well that’s the story he is spinning currently, so I have to go with that)

It all changed when he tagged along with his sister to the Sri Lankan Tea fields.  His sister had a friend who lived in the picturesque hill country of Sri Lanka.  Couple of days of the fresh air and cups of tea somehow started to have an effect on this young man.

At the same time his sister’s friend had her own convictions.  This girl avoided all advances or even a suggestion by the opposite sex.  She sneered at girls who went gaga over boys.  In her mind that was all a waste of time.

She had a clear plan for her life, she was not going to even contemplate boys until she was 23 or 24 of years of age (there was a method in her madness, thought it might be a distraction until she finished university).  And when she was ready her suitor would be someone who was about the same age or not more than a 5 yr gap, No smokers, and only moderate drinkers were going to be even in the running.  Well she had no idea that she was going to throw away all these rules just for a dandelion.

The three of them (the guy, his sister and her friend) took a pretty innocent walk down the tea fields. There must have been a change in the wind direction.  Nothing else explains the rest of the events.  The guy suddenly plucks a dandelion by the way side and offers it to this girl.  Their eyes lock.  She thinks far out it’s just a dandelion.  They were laughing and talking about stupid things until then.  There was no build up for this.  There was no Andre’ Reiu or angels playing the harp.  Just a dandelion and maybe that special look but something changed in her.  Not sure what led the guy to pluck the dandelion.  But according to him, she was different than others; she had somehow gnawed into his brain.

Many things happened after that, some sad and some mundane. But after two years, so 30 yrs ago their journey together began.

 

This dashing charming but slightly arrogant young man thought that he was marrying a beautiful young girl, who would dance to all his whims, do all his chores, and he thought he was set for the rest of his blissful life. Boy was he in for a shock. Little did he realise that this girl, who wore a nice naive smile, who looked pensive and obedient was in fact, (when prodded) was rather bull headed and was exactly like him.

In spite of the clashing horns, there was still a lot of love that kept the unity twined together. Also the Dandelion guy learnt that he was mostly wrong and even when he doubted the verdict, it was still better for his safety and well being to apologise to his wife and listen to her.  So obviously they lived happily ever after. (Time to time he forgets but he soon learns his mistakes)

 

 

The girl does have a few messages for the Dandelion guy.

Thank you for the Dandelion.

Thank you for the German erasers you stole from the ship

Thank you for being there for me when my dad died

Thank you for marrying me

Thank you for caring for my mum as your own

Thank you for all the encouragement and being honestly proud of me when I was studying, you even cooked pizza for me when I got back late from College.  And you hate cooking.

Thank you for giving me two beautiful kids

Thank you for always thinking about us before you

Thank you for accepting my friends as yours.  Especially accepting Lalith means a heck of a lot for me.

Thank you for being there for all the highs and lows of the Westpac life.  You gave me the confidence to excel and the courage to stand up.

Thank you for being the rock during my health scare.

Thank you for never doubting me and always believing in me.  (Well have the same courage that I will stop at the traffic light, trust me, I am not colour blind)

 

Now she has some requests/ or demands

Never forget that we are a team.  Lean on me when you need to.  I am/ and will be always there, right beside you.  All I ask in return is for you not to mix up the spoons, curry spoon in the curry and not in the rice.

Don’t forget taking care of you is kind of taking care of us.  So please, take care of yourself and give me the opportunity to grow old together.

And please know that your gal still loves you.

Posted in Recipe

The Love Cake

sri-lankan-love-cake-16600_l

The Love Cake is a very traditional Sri Lankan cake.  The above image makes it look more like a butter cake.  But I copied it from google images as it looks much better than how it actually looks.  Not sure why you would have an Orchid on the plate, not very Sri Lankan is it now, maybe a Fangipani, but an Orchid seems like an odd choice.  Anyway the cake itself is wrong.  The cake is usually not this high.  No one dusts icing sugar on the top either.  Well now you understand why it never appeared on Master Chef.  It may look very ordinary but the taste is just divine.

love cake 2.jpglove-cake-3

Well the above is what it actually looks like. Now you understand why I went with the first picture.

Now that we have dealt with the picture/image, let’s analyse the name.  Well … Chiffon cake does not mean that it was made out of the material chiffon.  Same here, for what ever reason it got the name Love cake and the name has stuck.  It is however a regular participant at Engagement parties or any other time we feel festive.

Some of my friends and relatives have been asking me for the recipe and I finally wrote it down.  And I thought why don’t I share this with the rest of the world (or at lest the blogging world).

Ingredients

6 –                    Eggs (I prefer to separate them)

500gm –           Caster Sugar (feel free to use less)

150gm –           Unsalted butter

3 tbl spoon –    Honey

2 tbl spoon –    Rose water (I prefer to use a bit more)

Finely chopped zest of a lime or lemon (I prefer lemon, lime could be a bit too strong at times)

1tsp      –           nutmeg grated (powder would do the job too; maybe use a bit more than a tsp)

1tsp      –           Cardamom (again you can throw the teaspoon away and use something bigger)

1tsp      –           Cinnamon (well let’s say I don’t believe in teaspoons)

250gm –           raw cashews chopped (I use a food processor, not powder level, but more than chopped)

250gm –           Coarse semolina

125gm –           Crystallised pineapple chopped

 

Directions

Preheat oven to 150c.  Line a cake tin. (This is a combination of two recipes, so I can’t really say what size cake tin to use, but I have even used muffin trays)

Beat the butter and sugar with an electric beater until pale and creamy.  Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Fold in Cashew, Semolina, Honey, rosewater, cardamom, cinnamon and nutmeg.

Beat the egg whites until firm peaks form.  Then fold this into the above mixture.

Spoon the mixture into the prepared tin/tins.  Bake for 1 hour and 10 min or until firm to touch.  No idea what that last sentence meant as I just copied off the recipe.  Baking time will depend on the depth of your cake tin, quantity etc.  This is not a cake that will get upset if you open the oven door while cooking. So best is to start low eg 45 min and when  it stops to wobble, it’s time to use a skewer. You want it slightly wet.  Else its overcooked and dry.  Once you take it out of the oven, leave in the tin for a few hours.  Even over night is okay.  Don’t be in a hurry to take it out of the tin. As the cake is going to be a big gooey, it is better to leave it to set.

Cup of tea goes really well with a slice of this cake.  My fellow blogger finishes her recipes by saying “and remember, this cake is always better if you share it”.

https://rabbitpatchdiary.com 

So yes, go ahead and invite a friend or two to share the cake and an afternoon.

Disclaimer:  Please note the above recipe is not endorsed by the Diabetic Society, cholesterol Police or any other Eat proper group.

Side Effects:    Very addictive and not so kind to the waist line.

 

Posted in Sri Lanka, True Story, Inspirational, Word prompt

Graceful as Hippo in a Tutu

hippo-in-tutu

Not that I am clumsy, but certain outfits make me feel like I am walking on stilts.  It’s not the shoes,  but it is the clothing that makes me and my family nervous.

Although now living in Australia, I originally hail from the little island of Sri Lanka.  Our traditional garb is a saree.  We don’t wear it everyday, but required to wear it for most traditional events, such as weddings and engagement parties etc.

The first time a girl wears a saree is on her coming of age ceremony. However, she then goes on to wear other half hearted versions of the saree.  I guess, I should explain what a saree is first.

saree

This amazing outfit, has no zips or buttons, just held together with a few pins and a lot of hope.  Have you seen the advertisements for couch covers?  On the ad you see a well made couch, with pleats and bows.  And you think amazing, this will give my dead couch the face lift.  And you order the couch cover in.  And voila you open the online order delivery package, and what do you find, well in fact, just a really great long piece of material. The pleats and bows are up to you or you could just throw it over the couch or throw the couch itself. Some are talented and after the initial disappointment of seeing a long piece of material they can make something of it. However not everyone is that talented or successful.  Well it is the same with a saree.  It is just a piece of material that is 6 yards long.

You wear a blouse that is really tight.  Really tight, sleeves the body, and all over.  It’s like wearing a swim suit made out of cotton.  By the time you get in to the blouse you are out of breath.  This is the Indian version of the Victorian era Bodice.

Then comes the underskirt. This skirt does not have an elastic, noo… it has a rope/cord. Which once again is used to tie it really tight. Now that your boobs are squished and a cord that has stopped circulation around your waist line, you now start draping the six yard material by tucking one end of it into the skirt.  The more advanced you are, you use less pins to form the shape above.  It is harder than you think or it looks.  Although for most of my country folk it comes rather naturally.  Then again for most, gardening comes very naturally while I manage to kill even a cactus.

I have to admit the saree does make most look very graceful and elegant.

Front on, in this picture you can’t see any body.  But, don’t be fooled.  There is a massive gap between the blouse and where the skirt starts.  So from side on there is a great view of the woman’s midriff.  So to assume that this is a graceful and conservative garb is not entirely correct.  However, the elders of the society will not accept you rocking up in a pair of pants and a top that covers the midriff.

Coming back to when do we start to wear the saree.  Traditionally the first day would be on your coming of age ceremony.  But then after that you are not required to wear it until you are in your late teens.  As I said there are half hearted saree like garb that are acceptable by the society.

half-saree

Which is pretty much an elaborate skirt and a shawl that pretends to be half a saree.  But at this age you are not rebelling.  Because this is a new experience.  And this is just dressing up to be half an adult.  Remember helping dad to wash the car.  Yep, the novelty wears off.  But to begin with you are very excited, then by the time you are old enough to actually help, you are no where to be seen.  Well not for everyone.  Many love wearing the saree.  I am still waiting for that day.

Sarees are one size fits all.  And I think that is one of the problems for me.  I am even short for an average Sri Lankan or Indian.  And so a lot has to be tucked into my skirt.  And you have to also walk very lady like.  When growing up, when my mum couldn’t find me, all she had to do was look up a tree.  And she would find me quite comfortably perched on a branch, reading a book and munching on the fruits.

I wouldn’t call myself a complete tomboy.  I like getting a pedicure, buy shoes and handbags.  But, find pants in winter and shorts in summer as a very practical garb. High heels is not that practical but they do make me look a bit taller.  So when I wear a high heel with a saree the outcome can be very interesting.  My mum is the only one who can successfully drape me.  When I say successfully, I mean with minimum scene.  I walk in like a wound up robotic doll and take a seat and hope to never get up again.  Unless I am walking, I look very graceful.  What annoys me most now is some our international relatives have taken to wearing the saree for our functions.  And seem to be walking around, as if they have been wearing it all their life.

Mum and I went to Japan last year.  “When in Rome”….  Decided we should try wearing the Kimono.

kimono-uma

I was really excited.  There are places where you can hire these outfits and they drape it for you and you can hang on to them for the rest of the day.  You can walk around that little city area.  So you get the whole experience.  Same deal.  Traditional outfits for women were designed to restrict their breathing.  Or, it was like breast check, this was more like rib check.  By the time I came down those steep stairs and out the door, I had realised that these type of garbs looks nice on other women or on a manikin rather than on me.  Once again my mum walked around as if she has been wearing this all her life.

I think this hippo has learnt it’s lesson and quite happy with her pants.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/graceful/

Posted in Daily post, True Story, Inspirational, Word prompt

My First Voyage – MV Sri Mathi

dolphins

Daily Post – word prompt – Voyage https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/voyage/

I have  posted some parts of this already (slightly modified) on an earlier blog/post – Life on the Open Sea.  This was a piece I wrote for a book published by a friend my husband.  We all sailed together for sometime a long time ago.  Still the memories and friendship very much in tact.  He is probably the one responsible for me to start writing and the birth of “The Dreaded C Word” https://wordpress.com/post/uma197.wordpress.com/27

Here goes, I hope I take you on a voyage into my past, warning there are no sordid scandals.

My CSC Years as a Supernumerary

My life in CSC started on the 7th June 1987.  When I was asked to contribute for this book of CSC recollections, I thought well mine is going to be the only true story, considering I was the only one sober on board that ship.  There was a lot of drinking and partying on those ships but I have to admit, the ships were still ship shape, and no one shied away from their responsibilities.  This was a place where the individuals took pride in their jobs.  Captain to the Cadet, everyone took their duties seriously.  Work hard and play hard was the motto.

As usual the ship’s ETA was as punctual as a pregnant woman’s due date.  My maiden voyage was looming.  So was my 21st birthday.  I was a young new bride awaiting her 21st and her maiden voyage all at the same time.  We were meant to sail out on the 10th, just a couple of days after my birthday.  Cake was ordered and all set for the big day, my birthday party.

Ships are referred as a “she”, but I think they should be referred as a “pregnant she”, their so called ETA’s are never accurate.  This time was no different.  She came in early. She arrived on the 5th (I think per memory, well it was a couple of days before my birthday).  We finally sailed off on the 7th.  I was excited as well as nervous about the trip.

Ganesh had just returned after completing his Masters exam.  But, there were no vacancies for him to get command.  So he was made the Senior Chief Officer.  So the Senior Chief or (Super Chief as I teased him), went on board with the Supernumerary by his side.  Many eyes on the supernumerary, she was being watched and measured.

I was fascinated by the word Supernumerary.  I was just a number but just that I was a special super number.  Complimented and brought down to earth at the same time.  Things were pretty much the same at the mess table.  There was always a lot of friendly banter.  It was a lot of fun.  Felt like I was back at school, in the boarding.  I soon realised the friendships we were making here was going to be the same.  It was going to be a lifelong affair.

We were heading to the Middle East with Capt. D.J Amera as Master.  Word spread that it was my 21st.  My birthday was celebrated just after we left Aqaba, Jordan.  What a unique way to celebrate one’s 21st.  The chef had made a lovely cake, so just after dinner everyone gathered in the bar, cutting the cake, then followed by a lot of drinking, dancing and singing.  Not the way I imagined my 21st to be.  I wasn’t planning on being married by 21, let alone being married to a sailor and celebrating my 21st on a ship.  This goes to show that you can’t always plan everything in life.  I have no complains about the way my life has turned out, even though it was not what I had planned.

Sea and sea life teaches us the biggest metaphor, “Go with the flow”, yes sometimes, things don’t go the way you plan, but you ride the waves as it comes.  You still plan and get prepared for the next big wave, but when you get hit by that unexpected Seismic Wave, you are still prepared to ride that wave.

Until this trip I really had no idea that I would fall in love with the sea the way I did.  I come from the hills of Sri Lanka.  We have no sea, just rivers and waterfalls, even then it was no big deal for a Water view. So I never gave that much thought to this mass abundance of water – The Sea.  Until I set sail on MV. Sri Mathi.  There was nothing but the vast sea, day after day.  There was something serene and pure about this setting.  I came to love this journey.  This was my life, my home, my family, for the next four years, till we migrated to Australia.

Once Ganesh goes up to the Bridge, I had to fend for myself for entertainment.  Most times there is at least one other female on board, either another officers wife or the purser.  But there have been times where I was the only female on board, which meant I was the only one who didn’t really have a job to do. I didn’t really mind it. I spent my time reading, going on the bridge wing and just watching the sea, and at times being entertained by the dolphins and so forth.  I didn’t have to do any cooking or cleaning and every 3-4 days shopping in a different country.  A girl could get used to this life.

If there was another female, then I just hoped that they liked scrabble and monopoly, preferably scrabble.  I think the best buddy I had on board was Irani, 2nd Engineer Ryan’s wife.  She was a great scrabble player, unless she was struck with sea sickness.

Yes, the sea was not always calm.  She can have the biggest tantrum at times and put on a show.  I started to learn some nautical lingo (but never could work out why we had to call it port and starboard, right and left would have sufficed).  I loved pitching; the waves would hit the front of the ship, the focsle and make a big splash.  While, I admired this beauty, mother natures’ fury out on display, Irani was in the bathroom, bringing up yesterday’s corn beef.  Not the best time for either of us.  I was bored and she was sea sick.

I didn’t mind rolling although it wasn’t as pretty as pitching, but yawing made even my stomach churn.  Another down side to rough seas was that, most times the chef was unable to cook a proper meal and hence you end up with corn beef.  I hate corn beef.

I learnt pretty fast that the sea can change its mood without much notice.  This particular day Ganesh came down to the cabin as the sea was getting very rough.  I didn’t think much of it.  I was lying on the bunk (bed in laymen’s term) and reading a book.  Ganesh came down to the cabin and started to stow away the things that was on top of the cupboard and lash the cupboard.  I couldn’t understand why he was tying the two cupboard door handles together.  It didn’t seem that rough. I thought it was a bit of an overreaction, anyway who am I to advise him? While I was admiring the seaman’s knot that was now on the cupboard door, this Seaman’s slowly developing tummy and trying to read all at the same time, the ship rolled.  I departed the bunk on a horizontal manner, hit the bulkhead and fell to the floor, like a bird that would fly into a glass pane. My ever supportive husband was laughing his head off.  News travels fast in these ships.  This was news of the day at dinner.

I sailed on a few other ships after that, MV. Lanka Athula and MV. Lanka Seedevi to name a few.  We were back on Sri Mathi a couple more times. This was and is my favourite ship. I guess I could be a bit bias, as this was my first ship. Second time around we had Capt. Asoka Wijey as Master and Robert Wijey as Chief  Engineer.  Asoka’s wife didn’t accompany him as she had just given birth to a baby girl.  Obviously Asoka thought this was the best time to escape to the sea avoiding the nappy duties.  Robert had not met his (beautiful) wife at that time.  I love chocolates.  When I am shopping in Port Khorfakkan , I do what the locals do.  I followed the “when in Rome… theory”.  The Arabs have big families and big wallets.  Purchases are made by the carton.  I did the same.  I bought a carton of kit kat, a carton of twix, a carton of bounty, a carton of… you get the picture.  After lunch these two would follow us to our cabins for a chocolate.  Munching on the chocolate we will continue to talk more BS.  No one made any sense, but each one of us was sure that we were right, the other was not, and most often it was three against one. I didn’t mind as I secretly felt proud that I could hold them out on my own.

Many a times I have sailed with kids as well. No scrabble, but I didn’t mind as I enjoyed being the spoiling aunty.There were two kids in particular that I fell in love with. Chief Engineer Rogers son and daughter, bit vague on the names Shiva and Shivi I think.  Cutest little things, now all grown up and probably married.  I read somewhere the other day that “It’s not you that is getting old but your kids are”.

Along with jokes and fun times, I also like to shed light to some of the heroic work that goes on. For them it’s just another day at the office.  It was early hours in the morning, we were still asleep, Ganesh answers a call from the bridge. He says fire into the phone, looks through the porthole and then runs out the cabin without telling me anything. I looked outside through the porthole.  Rows and rows of containers, I couldn’t see any fire.  I got changed out of my pj’s.  Ganesh came back to the cabin on a mad dash, said “good you are changed, a container is on fire, but should be ok”, and dashed back up again, fire alarm went off.  I was not too keen on getting into the life boat, we had just left Fujerah and my fridge has just been restocked with chocolates, it would be a shame to abandon that.

One of the containers carrying charcoal had caught fire.  Sitting in the hot sun in Fujerah the charcoal had ignited due to self combustion.  Next five or six days everyone including the chief cook was fighting the fire. Ganesh barely slept. It was the same for everyone on board. We finally managed to reach Saudi, sense of relief, we can finally hand over this headache to the Saudi’s. Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple, they didn’t won’t to let us come in, until the fire was out.  I guess they understood petroleum more than charcoal. It was hard to explain it to them that the charcoal has to just burn down, it cannot be put out by water, we were using water to keep it under control, to keep it from spreading to the other containers.  Suggestion was put forward by the P & I Surveyor to use this container by the fire fighting training college was eagerly accepted by the Saudie’s .  It is in these circumstances that it comes to light that the ship life is not just fun and games.  When you out there in the middle of ocean, it just you and the crew, for better or for worse.  It high lights the importance of team work, proficiency, trust and commitment by each crew member.

I spent many a Christmas and New Years on board.  It’s a day for the Chief Cook to highlight his skills.  There was one Chief Cook in particular who loved the festivities. He should be called a Chef rather than a cook. He could be rated along with Rick Styne the Michelin star Chef.  Just like Rick he was well travelled and cooked many different cuisines.  However, just like Rick, struggled with the simple parrippu.  I had no complains, I could care less about the parrippu, I had four amazing deserts to devour.

Sundays was rather special, all gathered in the bar before lunch, round of drinks and darts is usually the order of the day.  Everyone was keen on giving me a turn on the darts.  That was part of the entertainment.  The dart board is mounted on a bigger plywood board.  Great excitement and cheer if I manage to get the darts on the plywood board.  It received more cheer than a bulls eye from champ. I think the rightward slant of the body and leg to balance the rolling ship is negated by the leftward slant walk and head tilt now due to the hydration in the bar, gives them the perfect stance, balance and aim at darts.  I now realise the reason for my shortcomings. A few more glasses of gin and may be a pair of stilts could have fixed my problem.

It is twenty five years since we last sailed and have migrated to a new country.  But the friendships made and the memories created, still remain in tact.  Even when we lose all contacts with someone and then we meet them years later, it starts from where we left off, and it’s as if we never left.  It was a workplace like no other. Even amongst shipping companies, CSC was rather special.The bond exists, not by the proximity of your dwelling, but rather by the memories of yesteryear.  Here’s to memories and mate ship.

… Other than my husband’s name all other names have been changed.  Just in case I become famous they don’t come down demanding for royalties.