For me there is some special connection I have with live actors that is not quite there on a movie screen or TV. Ever since I could remember my mom and dad would make a point of going to Broadway, even in the depression when money was hard to come by. It was always worth being there even if it meant a trek to the second balcony for 55 cents or $1.10 – that was better than not going. That legacy left me, as I had a family of my own and moved to Westport, with subscriptions to the Playhouse in the summer, and Long Wharf in the winter. There is magic in these places. The whole experience; from the presenting of the ticket to the usher, the scrabbling across the early arrivals to achieve a seat, the scanning of the program for the promise of what’s to come, the thrill as the lights go down– the voice of the announcer welcoming and acknowledging, the hush as the setting becomes visible and the first actor begins to move. And then – not always, but if the skill of the wordsmith and the players touch me, I am no longer a part of an audience watching a performance – I am suddenly, unconsciously THERE. I have become part of the texture of what is happening before my eyes, one with the real people living the story unfolding around me – feeling what they are, caught in the magic. The applause is a transition and I gather up my things, not quite sure of where I am, only knowing I have been totally out of myself for a while, often with tears having left a trail I choose not to obscure.