Ginger Zee - A Little Closer to Home: How I Found the Calm After the Storm

A t one point, Samantha Wnek had more photos of me on her phone than she did of her own family. She knows my schedule and remembers my life in more detail than I ever could (Hey SamI got married on June 7, right? Yes Ginger. is an annual conversation). Ive followed the heels of her iridescent shell shoes around the world. Shes the silent partner who never requires attention but desperately deserves at least half of the accolades I get in my life. Bottom line, I dont know if I could function without my sister, friend, and producer, meteorologist Samantha Wnek.

Meteorologist Max Golembo is the second man I wake up tothe guy who is in my ear keeping it all together on GMA. My no-man who most days I appreciateand on other days, I appreciate after we are done debating.

To the woman who has kept my hair looking rightwith the best attitudemy nineties hip-hop dancing superstar turned hair stylist and hype woman, Merylin Mitchell.

The team in the thick of it now making me look good from GMA to World News Tonight to Its Not Too Late: Chris Donato, Daniel Manzo, Daniel Peck, Melissa Griffin, Tony Morrison, Scott Kolbicz, Lindsey Griswold, Stephanie Ebbs, Jon Schlosberg, Andrew Lear, Cleo Andreadis, Rick Sures, Jay Sures, and Jenna Fogelman. For Caragh Fisher and Kerry Smith, for always looking out for me even if I like to push it.

My best friends, Alysha, Kelley, Liz, and Lindsey. Brad Edwards, for always being the sounding board, the guy I call when I dont want to smoke a cigarette and the one pushing me to be a better writer but more importantly a better mother and wife.

And Wendy Lefkonthanks for believing in me and for being that unicorn of a woman who truly supports another woman.

To Abby Smith, our nanny and basically the third parent in our family, unending gratitude.

To my parents, whom I cant be more grateful forIm sorry for the blame I put on you for so long. Thank you for loving me through it all. You have done such a great job as parents.

To those little boys that steal my heart each and every day. The pride I have, the bursting joy you bring, and the lessons you teach me every day, my little peachesAdrian and Milesyoure my boys.

And to my husbandfor always capturing me at my worst, sharing that, and making me know thats still the best. Making me see and feel the love for myself that you feel for me. My heartmy beanI love you.

G INGER Z EE is the chief meteorologist for ABC News, forecasting for and reporting on the nations weather from Good Morning America to World News Tonight. Zee has been on the ground before, during, and after almost every recent major weather event and dozens of historic storms, including Hurricane Katrina. She watched as the eye of Superstorm Sandy passed over Atlantic City; she stood in the eye wall of Cat 5 Hurricane Michael; she was there for the historic 2020 California wildfires and for the unprecedented 2020 hurricane season. Zees dedication to science began at an early age, watching powerful thunderstorms rush across Lake Michigan. Her passion for meteorology brought her to storm-chase at Valparaiso University, where she earned her bachelor of science in meteorology.

I was just coming out of a heavy sleep, my head felt swollen, and I was dizzy and dehydrated. When I licked my lips, I tasted the sour leftovers of the vomit Id thrown up into the garbage can next to the bed. I rolled to my side and attempted to sit up, but a massive headache slammed me back to the pillow. I knew it was evening by the setting sun outside the window, and that was confusing. Hangovers were usually a morning thing at this juncture in my life. My left butt cheek hurt, and when I lifted the covers, I saw that I was naked.

I figured out that I was in my boyfriend Jacobs bedroom and started remembering how I got here. We woke up together this morning, probably about twelve hours ago, had coffee, and went to work. We both worked at a country club in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I was a waitress and Jacob worked in the athletic club. I loved that job and had been working there since I started busing tables when I was sixteen years old.

Around lunchtime, my boss, Cindi, invited me to join her with the wine representative and a few other employees in the private dining room. Cindi was no jokea strict but loving woman who was serious about our work, the members, and making the club excellent from top to bottom. Id been waiting for this invitation since my first day at work six years before. In that time, Cindi had taught me so much and I had climbed the ranks quickly from busing tables to now manager on duty. I was always adamant about making sure Cindi was pleased and that all rules were followed to a tee; my goody-two-shoes-ness had not worn off.

The wine representative held tasting classes with Cindi and a few of the senior waitstaff a few times a year in an effort to educate the managers about the wines that we would be serving in the coming months. I would enviously watch them all take off their waitressing belts, untuck their stained shirts from the morning and lunch rush, and relax into this elite club. I would usually keep working feverishly to show my dedication to the job, thinking someday Id be in that room. I would slyly eavesdrop outside, or most fruitful were the moments Cindi waved me in to clear their glasses and snacks. While I leaned over the discarded goblets, my ears were alive. Id memorized words like smoky, red currant, and tannins, trying to imagine the day I could taste these and have a true understanding of terroir (a French term used to describe the environmental factors that affect a crop of wine grapes).

I felt like Rene Zellweger in Jerry Maguire in the scene on the airplane when she tells her son, First class is whats wrong, honey. It used to mean a better meal, now it means a better life.

Today I was being invited to sit in first class. I washed my hands in the bathroom and wished I had time to change my clothes. I unceremoniously ripped my servers belt off and, with pride, unbuttoned and untucked my shirt. The wine representative was dressed in all black: black pencil skirt, modest black heels, and a fitted black sweater with a string of pearls that were too big to be real. She had just finished pouring three small glasses of different white wines in front of the group when I slid into my seat. The table was a round that we used for eight or ten people at a wedding. Today it was barely adorned with a single white tablecloth in the middle of this meeting room that would be set later for the next days Rotary Club meeting. Those guys loved a good Arnold Palmer (lemonade and iced tea). But no Arnold Palmers sat before us nowit was all chic wine. I kept staring at the wooden podium and Rotary flag when I felt uncomfortable.

The white wines tasted great. Refreshing, crisp... I kept rehearsing in case I was asked.

When the wine representative moved on to red, I was served a glass. I sipped it very, very slowly to give the impression that I was carefully considering its notes, but by this point I was happily thinking shed avoid asking for the new girls opinion. Luckily, I had a few words up my sleeve and took a shot when she looked at me.

What do you taste, Ginger?

Smoky?

Everyone in the room laughed except the wine representative, who generously let me off the hook.

I think this one is more fruit forward, like a bowl of berries at the end, dont you? she asked.