Today is the winter solstice, the day when winter officially begins. In real life, we’ve had a month of winter here already, with far too many days when the temperature went down to -30° Celsius at night and only went up by 5 or 10 degrees in the daytime.
Our two youngest cats insist on going out whenever they see the sun shining brightly outside. Pookie, the youngest, soon comes in and seems thankful for a warm home. Angus stays out longer but doesn’t venture off the back step into the snow. When he comes in, he begins to wail in an accusing tone: “Who stole my summer? What did you guys do with the green grass, the birds and all the other living things?”
Panda, the oldest, remains curled up in a chair. Elle a déjà vu neiger. This is French for she has seen it snow before, which is the French equivalent of she wasn’t born yesterday.
I was born in winter time, which means I am now entering my 72nd winter. I have seen all kinds and it seems like lately we are getting back to the kind of long winters I knew as a boy.
But there are still “experts” telling us that the world is getting warmer and we need to take drastic measures to avoid an apocalypse. My experience, and the reading of history, convinces me that there is no such thing as normal weather. What we call normal is only the average of the extremes.
It seems foolish to take a few years weather data and extrapolate a long term trend from it, especially when more recent data does not support the original predictions. I’m afraid the main expertise of the “experts” is in sowing panic.
I’m with Panda, there’s no point getting excited about the weather. But maybe I’m a little like Angus, too — it does make a good topic of conversation.