“You’re nuts!”
The words hit me like a one-two punch to the jaw. “So much for a reality check,” I muttered.
That Saturday morning, once I had fully awakened, I’d borrowed a friend’s car and had driven into Connecticut. Unlike previous weekends this past month, I didn’t go to visit my folks for a day of being my mother’s prized show horse, but headed toward Greenwich instead, to the Grand Horizon Theatre, one of the oldest playhouses in the state. Though originally built in the late 1800s, the three-story structure had recently been refurbished to its former lush elegance and now presented musicals and dramas, some new, some classic, throughout the year.
Today I had no interest in the play, however, but in the opinions of my dear friend, whom I’d tracked down. A friend who could, hopeful
