Hello lads and lasses!
Still in good ole Virginnie.
We have our route planned down to Charleston and our slip reservations made for the next 7 stops, but alas, no operating engines to get there! Our heat exchangers are in the shop getting cleaned out and pressure tested. BUT….we think that will be the last thing we’re waiting on to get the heck out of Dodge. We’re counting on a Halloween departure. Apropos.
The cat (Gypsea) had enough of being an indoor cat on the boat. She’s used to roaming the fields, stalking her prey, perching on rooftops and meandering the streets back home. So nearing 4 weeks being cooped up in 600 square feet was pushing her tolerance level. She started sitting by the doors giving us eat-shit looks and yowling when we tried to negotiate around her to get in or out. So with a prayer and a hearty “good luck”, we opened the doors to the grand unknown and hoped the AirTag on her collar worked. At least she knows how to swim, so I figured she wouldn’t drown (unlike the sinking pug). I’m glad to report that she is happy once again and stays within earshot. Instead of roaming the fields, she roams the mostly-vacant boats around us! She’s always back by mealtime.
I know every one of my posts involves ‘the toilets’, but we live and breathe (literally) by the level in the poop tank. Remember, we don’t have working engines right now so we can’t just zip around to the other side of the marina for a pump out. So the tanks were filled…again. How do we know this without a working tank level indicator??? Well, when the toilet lets out a nasty fart that smells up the place every time you flush that means you’re starting to push your luck. Normally, in such an emergency, one would use the discharge pump and give a wee bit of the tank contents back to mother earth below the boat (even though legally you have to be 3 miles from shore). Well we couldn’t even do that because our discharge pump doesn’t work…something to do with faulty ‘duck beaks’. So to combat the odor, I fried some chicken.The best air freshener (and reason why Derek married me) that overcame all other odors with it’s wonderful aroma. Finally, the boat smelled like home. They did tow us around to the pump out tank yesterday so we have about 6-7 days worth of no tank worries.
Tater is a celebrity. He stops to say ‘hello, where’s my treat’ with the marina workers on his walks each day. First the boat shop, then the dockmaster. They always give him one. They all know his name and call him when they see him. Each mechanic that comes aboard spends time with him and Tater is happy to supervise everything they do…one time laying on a worker’s back when he was lying prone to do some wiring under the floor. Takes after his human dad…Mr. Mingle (but not the lying on a worker part!!!!). We also found a do-it-yourself dog bath place around the corner. He loved the bath but DID NOT love the industrial-sized blowdryer. 22-lb dog took me on and almost won.
Derek and I are getting antsy and tired of every conversation being about boat parts, so last night we decided to have a date night at a great Italian restaurant within walking distance. No boat talk allowed. After a beer, gin and tonic, wine and Sambuca (that was just me!), and a scrumptious veal piccata, life was awesome again. We were laughing like teenagers. Back at the boat (it was twice as far on the way back because of the zigzagging) we topped the night off with white Russians. Therefore, today’s only task was to write this blog. Derek is napping and I will join him in a minute. Some days you just need to do nothing but nurse a hangover, boat duties be damned.
Cheers, you all
L & D
Still in good ole Virginnie.
We have our route planned down to Charleston and our slip reservations made for the next 7 stops, but alas, no operating engines to get there! Our heat exchangers are in the shop getting cleaned out and pressure tested. BUT….we think that will be the last thing we’re waiting on to get the heck out of Dodge. We’re counting on a Halloween departure. Apropos.
The cat (Gypsea) had enough of being an indoor cat on the boat. She’s used to roaming the fields, stalking her prey, perching on rooftops and meandering the streets back home. So nearing 4 weeks being cooped up in 600 square feet was pushing her tolerance level. She started sitting by the doors giving us eat-shit looks and yowling when we tried to negotiate around her to get in or out. So with a prayer and a hearty “good luck”, we opened the doors to the grand unknown and hoped the AirTag on her collar worked. At least she knows how to swim, so I figured she wouldn’t drown (unlike the sinking pug). I’m glad to report that she is happy once again and stays within earshot. Instead of roaming the fields, she roams the mostly-vacant boats around us! She’s always back by mealtime.
I know every one of my posts involves ‘the toilets’, but we live and breathe (literally) by the level in the poop tank. Remember, we don’t have working engines right now so we can’t just zip around to the other side of the marina for a pump out. So the tanks were filled…again. How do we know this without a working tank level indicator??? Well, when the toilet lets out a nasty fart that smells up the place every time you flush that means you’re starting to push your luck. Normally, in such an emergency, one would use the discharge pump and give a wee bit of the tank contents back to mother earth below the boat (even though legally you have to be 3 miles from shore). Well we couldn’t even do that because our discharge pump doesn’t work…something to do with faulty ‘duck beaks’. So to combat the odor, I fried some chicken.The best air freshener (and reason why Derek married me) that overcame all other odors with it’s wonderful aroma. Finally, the boat smelled like home. They did tow us around to the pump out tank yesterday so we have about 6-7 days worth of no tank worries.
Tater is a celebrity. He stops to say ‘hello, where’s my treat’ with the marina workers on his walks each day. First the boat shop, then the dockmaster. They always give him one. They all know his name and call him when they see him. Each mechanic that comes aboard spends time with him and Tater is happy to supervise everything they do…one time laying on a worker’s back when he was lying prone to do some wiring under the floor. Takes after his human dad…Mr. Mingle (but not the lying on a worker part!!!!). We also found a do-it-yourself dog bath place around the corner. He loved the bath but DID NOT love the industrial-sized blowdryer. 22-lb dog took me on and almost won.
Derek and I are getting antsy and tired of every conversation being about boat parts, so last night we decided to have a date night at a great Italian restaurant within walking distance. No boat talk allowed. After a beer, gin and tonic, wine and Sambuca (that was just me!), and a scrumptious veal piccata, life was awesome again. We were laughing like teenagers. Back at the boat (it was twice as far on the way back because of the zigzagging) we topped the night off with white Russians. Therefore, today’s only task was to write this blog. Derek is napping and I will join him in a minute. Some days you just need to do nothing but nurse a hangover, boat duties be damned.
Cheers, you all
L & D
Gypsea's 'I-am-not-pleased' stare
Great boat neighbors, Mark and Saffie. He delivers yachts all over the world and will be attempting to break the around-the-world record soon.
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