"If there's one thing I can't admire it's an ungraceful exit. There's really no excuse, and just imagine what everyone will be saying about you, long after you're gone."

Nancy Clark
July and August

I never wanted to become one of those bloggers who use cyberspace as an arena for their personal pity parties.

My first blog, "Hopelessly Midwestern in Belgium," was a vehicle to share our expat experience with friends and family. Although it had some commentary on the difficulties of being an American abroad, that was balanced (I hope) by enthusiastic reports on our European travels.

After the initial rhapsodies—complete with pictures—about how beautiful Colorado is, "A Foothills Life" never had a clear purpose. Tiny pictures of the Rockies on a blog can't convey the scale of the mountains or the euphoria you feel after climbing to the top of a peak. And although each new skiing, climbing, or kayaking expedition is an adventure for us, writing about it and especially reading about it week after week seems like a waste of time.

In addition, recent blows to our bodies and souls have left us reeling. They occupy so much mental space that it's hard to keep them out of the blog, which leads us back to my dislike of blogs that are full of self-pity and whinging, as the Brits call it.

Which is why I'm officially retiring from my two-year stint as a blogger, effective immediately.

I never used to wear a helmet when I skied. But when we were at the big pre-season ski equipment sale at Denver's convention center last fall, I bought a no-frills black helmet that, to be honest, doesn't do much for my snow bunny self-image. "I'll just try it out," I told Jim. I continued wearing it mainly because it keeps my head and ears warmer than any ski cap I've ever owned.

That ugly helmet probably saved me from a concussion this morning.

I was skiing down an intermediate hill at Breckenridge, just minding my own business, when a tall, 20-something guy slammed into me from behind at high speed. Jim was further down the hill watching me, and said that he couldn't figure it out, because it was a wide hill and there was plenty space for the other (clearly experienced) skier to maneuver around me.

When I hit the ground, my helmet-encased head literally bounced from the impact. I didn't lose consciousness, though, and, aside from feeling a little sore tonight, I seem to be fine.

The puzzling thing is that, although my "assailant" stopped to make sure that I could get up, he never apologized for smacking into me. Have Americans lost the art apologizing for their actions? A topic for another day, perhaps.

In my ongoing, online quest to find employment, the following job titles caught my attention:

• Denial Specialist
• Executive Dog Walker
• Sugar Plum Fairy

(The last one reminds me of the current TV ad campaign for the Colorado Ballet. It features a balding, pudgy, hairy-chested guy in a low-cut leotard, tutu, and tennis shoes.)

We stopped at Starbucks en route to the Colorado Symphony concert last night, so blame it on the rare evening infusion of caffeine. When we arrived home, I jumped on the computer to read the Op-Ed pieces in Sunday's New York Times. As often happens, Frank Rich's column hit a nerve. As doesn't often happen, I decided to post a comment about the column on the Times' website.

Mr. Rich's column is at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/08/opinion/08rich.html

If you sort the 600-plus comments on that column by Oldest First, mine is #365 on page 15. Or you can just read it here:

When I read that Timothy Geithner didn't bother paying his back taxes for 2001-2002 until AFTER he had been nominated as Treasury Secretary, I was infuriated. I didn't for a nanosecond buy his excuse for not paying his 2001-2004 personal taxes when they were due. That he didn't voluntarily pay his 2001-2002 personal taxes back in 2006 when the IRS notified him about the delinquent 2003-2004 taxes seemed, well, ethically challenged.

I also didn't buy Team Obama's claim that Geithner was the only man for the job. Another administration without a Plan B? Great, just great.

So I tried two avenues of communication to voice my concerns to that black hole otherwise known as Washington, D.C.

First, I e-mailed Max Baucus, head of the Senate Finance Committee, about my concerns. No answer, even though I clicked the "Yes, I would like to receive a response concerning my email" button on his website.

(BTW, Mr. Baucus, there are two (2!) periods after the preceding quote on the "Email about an issue" page of your website. Hire a proofreader! In the current economy, there are even more unemployed English majors than usual from which to choose.)

Second, since Team Obama kept sending me e-mails suggesting that I share my opinions about the transition and priorities for the new administration, I e-mailed that crowd about Geithner, too. No response.

Sigh. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose," as my Belgian neighbors used to say. Moi, I'm going back to being an apolitical animal, and donating all my future time and money to the local animal shelter where I volunteer. At least the pit bulls act like they're listening when I talk to them.