And just like that, a post.

On top of a post. How about that?

Writing certainly is cathartic. As soon as something is up and out on paper, it makes room for other thoughts.

A week or so ago, I reactivated my Netflix account. We'd deactivated it a few months ago due to the move and not having enough time to enjoy movies, but last week decided that we could start the streaming movies again. John enjoys 30 Rock, while I started with season one of Deadliest Catch. I'd seen other seasons, but the first three I missed.

This was one "reality show" that I never in a million years thought I'd like. I don't eat fish or crustaceans of any kind, so the idea of watching crab fishermen catch snow crab (also known as king crab) or opilio crab never entered my stream of consciousness. I knew that people fished for them, but I had no idea what really goes on to get these things. And I didn't really care. But I do like boats, and my family grew up on lakes in Iowa (man made, of course), and one of my earliest memories is tipping over a catamaran and getting stuck under part of it and thinking, Wow, that was fun. Maybe it wouldn't have been if we didn't practice water safety and my Garfield life vest wasn't strapped on, but I was floating and had no problems. So one day, when I flipped through channels and saw guys who looked a little like crab in their orange coats and pants get pummeled with waves, I was intrigued. And then I was hooked.

My favorite boat is the Northwestern. It took awhile to figure out my favorite boat because they're all great (Cornelia Marie, Wizard, and Time Bandit whose captain Johnathan reminds me of my sister's fiance, plus many other boats in different seasons), but the comraderie on the Northwestern is what I really like to see. There are three brothers, Sig (captain), Edgar (deck boss/engineer), and Norman (deckhand but not on all the time). Sig is pretty matter of fact and even-keeled. Edgar is a little edgier, and quite sarcastic. Both really enjoy their jobs. They have two other deckhands, Matt and Nick, and a greenhorn-turned-deckhand, Jake. Jake's goal the entire season was to get a Northwestern jacket. He "worked the rail" (threw the hook that gets the line to bring in the pots) in his long underwear after losing a bet to Sig. He tried to eat a heart from a fish after Edgar did it. He lost his lunch. But at the end of the season, he got the jacket off of Sig's back, and it was really nice to watch. Jake was so happy that he hugged Sig. Now, Sig is not the touchy-feely type with his guys. He never shakes the hand of a greenhorn, so to be hugged, and to reciprocate, was very touching to watch, and it reminded me of what I don't have: a dad.

My father was rough around the edges, to say the least. He was a Marine, having been stationed in Okinawa. (I credit both him and my mom for my sense of adventure and travel.) He was a high-school dropout who earned his GED. He was a truck driver. He was a foundry worker. He was a houseparent for adults with MR/DD. He was an alcoholic. Early in my life, I didn't really notice his alcoholism, but as I got older, I saw signs. I became happy when he was a truck driver and gone for long periods of time and it was just me and my mom. I dreaded weekends because he would drown himself in Old Spice and gold chains and go out with friends and come home swearing and obnoxious. More than once I woke up to fights between he and Mom. Very few times was he a happy drunk, but when he was, he was entertaining. Charismatic. Christmastime was magical. He would have the lights dimmed (we had dimmers everywhere), the tree would be sparkling with its starry lights and tons of tinsel to hide the bare spots, Ray Conniff Singers playing on the record player, and egg nog with rum? (I'm guessing). I loved him.

Watching Deadliest Catch, I see parts of my dad in these guys: hard-working. Crusty. Determined to make a living (although my dad spent most of what he made). Sometimes funny. And those are the parts that I miss.

My dad and I had a parting of ways when I was 17, not long after my mother died. Call it what you will, but from that moment on, I felt like an orphan. There was a time when my dad tried to initiate contact, but at tat time, he was on Wife #5 and hadn't tried to communicate with me at all while I was in college and really could've used some help, so I held a grudge. Later, when I heard he was diagnosed with lung cancer, I wrote him a long letter, which was returned with a hateful letter and all of my school pictures growing up. He died a week before Christmas in 2006. I normally don't think about him, or have any regrets because I said what I needed to say when I needed to say it. But watching these guys with their families and deckhands at the end of the season, when they all say hello and goodbye, I missed him. I miss his whiskers (what I called his beard) tickling my cheek. I miss his protectiveness. I miss his piano skills (he could really play, and the piano is one instrument I picked up only in college except for dabbling on his keyboard). I miss boating and learning how to train our dogs. I miss his black lunch box that he took to work, sometimes without a Hostess cherry pie because he gave it to me. On certain occasions, I could tell he was proud of me, and I miss that. I miss being a daughter. Even though we said our goodbyes a long time ago, I still grieve for what's never been: an adult daughter with her father. It's funny that feelings would be stirred up by a show I never thought I would come to adore.