The film Sliding Doors holds significance in our family. It’s used in multiple ways, one: an affectionate teasing of grandma, long since gone, who was unable to grasp the concept of the dual storyline… two: the inability of anyone else to grasp a multi-layered concept… three: that moment when things could go either way, haircut or no haircut… often also called The Trousers of Time (after Terry Pratchett) where you can put your foot down one leg or another, the decision, seemingly small, can affect your life in irretrievable ways. Schrodinger’s cat sometimes makes an appearance too, maybe he gets trapped in the sliding doors?
anyway…
There I am, currently loitering rather than following the unknown path. I am Gwynny before she has the useful cinematic device haircut. The cat before the box is opened. My foot has not yet committed to one leg or the other. But once it does… My path is determined for the next year, possibly two. The problem being, the decision is not mine to make. So I wait.
I’ll let you know.
