By JANE LOTTER

"I'm worried about Y2K," my sister Barbara said to me recently. I faked a knowing look, but all the while my mind was racing. Does she mean her retirement plan, I wondered - or skis?

"You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?" Barbara asked. We were sitting in her comfortable Wallingford home, having tea and cakes. "I'm talking about the Year 2000. The millennium."

"Oh, that old chestnut," I said with relief. I picked up a raspberry scone and examined it. "My goodness, hasn't that happened yet? It seems like people have been talking about it for a couple thousand years."

"As well they might," Barbara said. "This is big, little sister."

I should explain that my sister Barbara is an exceptionally bright person. Many people mistakenly believe I got the brains in the family, but just as Sherlock Holmes had an even smarter older brother, Mycroft, so I have Barbara. Barbara is not only extraordinarily intelligent, she has keen insight. If Barbara had met the late jazz great Billy Tipton, for example, her remarkable powers of observation would have told her instantly that Billy was a woman posing as a man. I, on the other hand, would have dated him.

So when Barbara says she's worried about Y2K, it's a good idea to listen.

"Do you realize millions of software programs can't recognize dates past 1999?" she asked me.

"Can't or WON'T," I replied.

She ignored me and continued on. "Economists predict a worldwide recession. A complete societal breakdown."

"Given my own financial situation, I'm not sure I'd notice a recession," I said. "I mean, around my house it'd be pretty much business as usual."

"Then get this," she said. "The Millennium Bug also affects the computer chips that control all sorts of commonplace machines - airplanes, traffic lights, you name it."

"Whatever you do," she said ominously, "don't get in an elevator on New Year's Eve."

"I won't," I promised, neglecting to add that I invariably take the stairs. "And I won't even THINK of crossing with the light. I'll step right off the curb, smack dab into the middle of traffic like I always do. It'll be safer."

"Good," she said. "Now all we have to worry about is the societal breakdown part. If Daddy were still alive, you know what he'd say."

I looked at her expectantly.

"Start stocking up on guns and ammo."

* * *

On the drive home from Barbara's, I greeted with suspicion every aircraft in the sky, every stop light at every intersection. By the time I walked in the front door of my cozy home in Maple Leaf, I was in a doomsday frame of mind.

My husband Bob was busily wallpapering the front parlor. He was also refinishing the hardwood floors and whipping up a batch of coquille St. Jacques. He had bathed the children and put them in their pajamas - even though it was only noon - even though it was only noon - and he'd taught the dog how to dial 911 in an emergency.

"Hello, darling," he said when he saw me. "Why the long face?"

I told him my troubles, and about the excellent scones I'd eaten at Barbara's.

"Your sister is a superb pastry chef," Bob said thoughtfully. "And a brilliant thinker. But just this once, she's wrong."

"Tell Barbara - tell everybody - not to worry. Tell them they're all invited to our house for New Year's Eve. The only Y2K precaution this family is taking is to lay down enough French champagne to float Elizabeth Taylor."

He went over to the stereo. "There's but one way to meet the new millennium," he said, putting on some salsa music. "And that's with a party."

Suddenly, he turned the volume up REALLY LOUD. Then he grabbed my hand, pulled me close, and bounced us both out into the living room. My hips were going up and down faster than Amazon.com, my head was dizzier than Congress, and, just like that, I could feel my troubles vanishing more rapidly than affordable housing in Seattle at the close of the Twentieth Century.

"Sweetheart!" I exclaimed, as we formed a conga line of two, "I know it's early, but - Happy New Year!"

This is the second Jane Explains in the series, which will run before the conclusion of this millennium. Jane Lotter is a Maple Leaf resident.