Did you tune into a weather forecast yesterday? Hope so because it was National Weatherman's Day. I celebrated by reflecting how far weather predictions have progressed.
When I was a kid, I watched Howard Tupper on our black and white, 6-inch TV as he placed magnets depicting suns, umbrellas, or snowflakes on a map of New York State. That was it — no radar and predictions were sketchy at best.
These days weather phenomena remain somewhat unchanged but forecasts have become more sophisticated and accurate. Broadcasts — case in point, The Weather Channel — keep viewers in the loop 24/7.
Radar is a given. Competing stations boast their Klystron 9 versus Max Defender 8 as "the world's most powerful radar." Here's a nugget gleaned from the internet: Klystron derives from the Greek describing waves breaking against the shore. To me, Max Defender sounds like a boxer.
VIPIR (volumetric imaging and processing of integrated radar) puts radar into three dimensions.
When we moved to Florida, new weather-speak displaced wind chill factors and lake effect snow common to the Northeast. Hurricane season introduced me to the cone of uncertainty, a shaded area resembling an upside down dunce cap or a lopsided comma. The graphic shows areas where named storms can impact. As Mother Nature's rage nears, the cone shifts as many in Black Friday frenzy stockpile water, batteries and plywood.
Since Florida lies in what I call the summer sauna zone, we constantly hear about feels like temperatures and outflow boundaries, those areas where thunderstorm cooled air collides with the surrounding climate.
Occasionally weather pundits end up with egg on their faces. In 2004, predictors warned Tampa Bay's coastal residents to evacuate inland to our area where — who knew? — the hurricane's eye pinwheeled right over the presumed safe area.
I'm not a Weather Channel junkie but do tune into local forecasts. But if we lost power and cannot get the forecast, there is a fail-safe Plan B to tap into: nervous birds fluttering about and a neighbor's dog that hunkers down in a closet every time a storm heads our way.
Patricia Misiuk is a Lakeland, Florida resident who lives on the edge by not hoarding water, batteries or plywood. You can reach her at SHOOK46@aol.com.