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.