“It’s still cold out,” she said as soon as she returned from walking their dog. “Time to have a talk with Mother Nature.”
The calendar was nearing April, he agreed, and while the temperature was considered seasonable by the television and radio weather reporters, the meteorologists, it didn’t feel seasonable, at least not to Bree or her husband, Franklin.
Actually Franklin had always wondered how many of them were actually meteorologists at all, but rather aspiring television or radio personalities who hadn’t graduated to the reporter level and were relegated to the weather segment of the news. Perhaps, he thought, there was a hierarchy of the stages – weather person, in the street reporter, in the studio commentator and so on until one reached the eminence of anchor.
As to the weather person it seemed that it was a job in which being right had very little to do with job security. In point of fact Franklin had often suggested that, after a report of a sun-filled afternoon which was, in reality, actually filled with a continuous down-pour of rain, that the newsroom do better if it installed a window so the weather person could look out and get the forecast right.
Today though, Franklin could only respond by simply saying – “I agree. I’ll put it on my To Do list.”