All coming back, it's coming back to me now

One thing that puzzles me in Agatha Christie- aside from the people who are moribund at 70- is the attitude of quite middle aged people that fifteen years ago was the ancient past: no one can remember what happened fifteen, eighteen, twenty years ago, and half the people who were there then have died, and one certainly can't consult records from that far back. Well, seventeen years ago I was that generation's definition of firmly middle-aged, and I can remember myriad details not just about 9/11, but about the previous August and the following October and you name it. Like the denizens of Christie's small towns, I haven't moved around since then, and most of the people I knew then I still know now, in spite of the transient population of my clients-as-it-were. So I wonder at people's lack of memory in Christie's novels.

I note this because yesterday and today were 9/11 weather, sunny and blue and warm and dry. It may not stay that way, but for now, here we are as we were.