My secret calling: weather reporter

I studied broadcast journalism in school, so I can write a short snappy sentence. But I never aspired to be on air. My colleagues tell me that I may have missed my calling: weather reporter.

Not a meteorologist proper, of course — that involves actual atmospheric science and a whole bunch of data analysis. I stopped understanding science of any kind when we got to the semipermeable membrane chapter in high school biology … is that like a half-open door or it is more like a saloon door?

It’s not like I enjoy weather.

I hate being too hot…

Enjoying beautiful Hawaii.
There are ways to make unbearable heat more palatable…

Or too cold…

Enjoying lovely Ottawa.
Getting ready for some outdoor winter fun in Rosseau.

I am happiest in the chilly delight of mid-autumn…

My happy place — sweater weather in New York.

There’s a narrow window of the weather I enjoy. The rest of the year — about 9 months on average — I am (more obsessed than usual about) monitoring the precise weather conditions we can expect that hour, day or week. I check several sources daily and compare forecasts. (Environment Canada, the weather app on my phone, the Weather Network on Twitter and several others!)

  • I need to know the Humidex — will I be weeping all day? Should I stay inside in the A/C?
  • I need to know the Windchill — will it be a scarf and hat day? Do I need to wear my balaclava?
  • Will it rain? — I need to know whether it’s an umbrella day, a rain hat day (yes I have a rain hat), or a raincoat and rain shoes (have those, too) day.
  • Will it snow? — can I wear regular boots or do I need to get out the heavy insulated ones?

So yeah, I am very informed about current and pending weather conditions.

Tomorrow we’re expecting a high of 9°C with a mix of sun and clouds and there’s a 30 per cent change of rain. Pretty much a perfect day!



Twenty-year-old me would be aghast

Oh, just look at me. Not yet 20 and in my first year of journalism school.

Can’t find me? It was almost 30 years ago — I looked pretty serious in those days.
There I am!

Twenty-year-old me dreamed of being a journalist, reporting from far-off lands, the wind whipping through my tousled hair as I did my stand up from the current international hotspot. Yeah, I wanted to be Christiane Amanpour. The fact is current-aged me couldn’t bear an international hotspot — I get stressed in a crowded nightspot. So things worked out for the best. Did I mention I now work in the deadly serious world of PR? Twenty-year-old me would be aghast, but I love PR. I just wouldn’t have believed it then…