The Normal Abnormal Weather

Watching or listening to the weather on TV or radio, especially this time of year, yields a particularly strange use of the English language in relation to reality. Any particular day’s high or low temperature is always compared with the “normal” high or low temperature for the day. Of course, by “normal” they really mean “average,” because the actual normal is at least 5° and often 10° above or below the average. And so more often than not there is surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, in the weatherperson’s report of the day’s deviation from the “normal.” Today, for example, we’re experiencing “abnormally” warm temperatures in Iowa for December 29 – a balmy 53° against the more chilly average (weatherperson’s “normal”) of 31°. But if you look over the high temperatures for the past 16 years for Iowa City, you soon see that today’s high is not all that abnormal:

2011 - 53° 2010 - 35° 2009 - 19° 2008 - 26° 2007 - 26° 2006 - 56° 2005 - 36° 2004 - 41°

2003 - 35° 2002 - 50° 2001 - 15° 2000 - 19° 1999 - 54° 1998 - 37° 1997 - 30° 1996 - 21°

Only 3 of these highs are within 5° of the average (or “normal”), only 9 are within 10°, but 7 (almost half) are plus or minus 10° or more (3 plus 20°). So as with most in life it turns out that the “normal” is actually the “abnormal.” Surprise.

This is November?

Today’s temperature here in Iowa City reached 74°, a record high —on November 10. Sunday it was 67°, Monday 66°, Tuesday 70°. This is all about 20 degrees above the average for this time of year. And it’s quite disorienting. I put my shorts away and got out my sweatshirts a couple of weeks ago, but have been wearing a T-shirt the past few days. I’ve been meaning to clean out the dying garden and pond, but it’s tough to get motivated when it looks and feels like things might start up again any moment (not to mention the convenient rationalization it provides). I’m certainly not complaining — keep it up through the winter for all I care. I can keep last year’s oil in the snow blower as long as I’m able. But there’s in the back of my mind the nagging suspicion that this unseasonable weather is nothing more than a goading, a tease of expectation and hope that will soon and certainly be dashed upon the icy shore of bitter, dark winter, and we’ll be huddled around the furnace, cursing the drifting snow and bone-chilling temperatures (not to mention the TV weather cretins droning on about the “wind chill factor,” which is nothing more than saying don’t go out and stand in a field buck-naked). One of the few advantages of age is the experience of knowing this is true.