Moist

I have several friends who rank the title of this entry as their least favorite word...and to those friends reading, I apologize...but honestly, there is no better word to describe our state of affairs for most of the day. We've spent our last day in Hampton amidst thunderstorms from above and rising water from below. The thunderstorms require no explanation--only description--and only for those of you who've never lived in the south. They are the classic warm, humid rains that leave the air just as hot and sticky as it was before they came, and do nothing whatsoever to cool you off. The only good thing I can say is that the sound of the rain drumming on the cabin top is truly wonderful.
The water from below is a reference to our sump pumps (read: pumps that drain shower water overboard) that jammed today as Kevin was cleaning them out (what looked like a very dirty job from my vantage on the settee). He managed (as always) to get the pump fixed...but things were a little hairy there for a minute...and I think I now truly understand where the term "cursing like a sailor" comes from. The only enduring problem is that we discovered while trying to drain the pumps that the manual pump (what we'd use in a case of real disaster if we were taking on water and our electronic pumps failed) doesn't actually work. Nothing to be too freaked out about now, but definitely something we’ll need to fix before we head offshore again.
At the current moment, though, we are very dry and comfortable and quite enjoying our air conditioning while tied up to a free slip at the Hampton Public Piers. These nice folks are giving anyone who went to the Annapolis Sailboat Show a free night of dockage--which may not seem like a big deal to anyone who hasn't lived at anchor for an extended period of time. At anchor, you need to be vigilant about the amount of power and water you're consuming (which means no A/C, which is a huge power drain), and ever mindful about the fullness of your holding tank (no subtle way to explain this one--the holding tank holds human waste until you can either pump it out or discharge it overboard--which you need to be about 3 miles offshore to do). In contrast, while docked, you can plug into power and turn on lights with wild abandon; you can fill your water tanks at whim; and if the situation requires, you can attach a hose to your holding tanks and suck them clean (it's super gross, but strangely satisfying). Tonight being the last time we'll tie up at dock for a while, we'll be taking full advantage of all of these amenities before we hop into the Intracoastal and back to an existance of fewer lights and less water.