Here’s a change of pace from crucifixion: I have to ride a roller coaster.

This is something I haven’t done since I was eight years old. So why, you may well ask, have I decided to do it now that I have settled into a sedate middle age? Because I am one of those unfortunate creatures who without warning developed a completely irrational midlife fear of flying, and the behavior therapist who is helping me fix this problem recently decreed that riding a roller coaster is the Next Step Toward Desensitization. After considerable on-line research, we have settled on Rye Playland in Connecticut as the scene of the crime–they have an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster of modest size–and I’m planning to bite the bullet some time tomorrow, weather and my schedule permitting.

You can expect regular updates between now and then, climaxing in a posting of triumph. (Or possibly a short note from my executor.)

At present, my anxiety level, on a scale of one to 10, with 10 being the highest, is four.