LOW CLOUDS DARKEN the April sun as Glenn Close turns onto a country road toward the place where she intends, she says, smiling, to die. The actress, 78, started her day much like any other. Shortly after dawn, she put on a pair of brown Carhartt work pants and a white shirt and fed Sir Pippin of Beanfield, or Pip, her nine-year-old Havanese. Together they drove from her two-bedroom home in a modest section of Bozeman, Montana, a ski town in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, to Main Street Overeasy for pancakes, which she soaked with her own batch of Canadian maple syrup, kept by the diner’s owner in the kitchen. On the side of the jug, she’s listed in black Sharpie those who may use it:
Alexander “Sandy”…
