RINGING IN THE NEW YEAR WITH BACKWARD LOOK

The leather strap with bona fide jingle bells attached has been removed from the knob of my platform rocker and replaced by a semi-rusty cowbell tied on with a perky red bow.

Even though visitors might have seen the jingle bells hanging on the knob, it always startled them when they sat down in that chair. The merry, silvery jingling was usually accompanied by the exclamation, "Oh," in some decibel of surprise.

When the cowbell rings, as they now sit in the same chair, they may say nothing at all, being too good-mannered to express wonder at my idea of interior decoration. So I feel compelled to explain. "It's old Star's bell."

Some, without any other comment, just jump right into a peremptory discussion of Inman's coming confirmation, where Adid is and Senate Bill 380 or some such contemporary issue.

Eventually, when conversation lagged between one visitor and me, I expanded. "She was our biggest one. Red all over, even the hair on her belly."

The chair-anchored bell gave a sharp clang as the visitor, whose mind was still wandering about amongst Annenberg, Zhirinovsky and Kevorkian suddenly sat forward and demanded, "Who?" in wide-eyed and incredulous wonder. Red hair on her belly, indeed!

"Old Star. That's her bell," I went on with my own avenue of thought. "Must be 78 years old."

"Old Star?" The red bow quivered.

"No. That's her bell It's about 78 years old. Cows don't live that long, only memories of them and their bells." I motioned toward the thus-far visitor-ignored bell.

"Oh."

Since the "Oh" was tinctured with not much interest, and since I'm not too much interested in where Adid is, I felt it my duty to fill gaps in the bovine education of my visitor at the risk of being a tacky hostess. I passed some cookies and coffee and began with lessons in Cowbells 101.

"I put the cowbell there just about every New Year's to ring in the new with something old. But, like the two-faced Roman god, Janus, for whom the month January was named (one face looking forward, one looking back), I look a little back, too, in remembrance."

"Of what? an old red-bellied cow?" The bell rings again in what seems to me bored annoyance as I attribute its tone to that of my visitor.

"Well, yes, an old cow. She taught me patience and to listen for leadership."

"How's that?"

"Before modern dairy farms," I began, on mental page one of Cowbells l0l, "and when cows had open range (I pause to see if there is going to be any questions about what open range is, then continue) owners, after much study of their herd, picked out their most dependable cow on which to put a bell. A bellwether, if you please (another pause). She was the leader. Others fell into line, followed her, fed in the green pastures where she led them, found the best watering holes in the rivers and creeks. I admired old Star for the responsibility that fell around her neck, so to speak."

"Are you saying you want to be a leader cow?" The chair bell rings, not without humor.

"No. I want to listen closely for bona fide leaders, ferret them out, follow them. Whenever I was sent to fetch the cows at summertime eventide, I didn't have to ramble through cockleburs, stinging weeds and prickly pears to find them. I merely walked to the top of nearby Strawstack Hill and listened for old Star's bell and followed the path she and her followers had already made to some mountain top or river bottom pasture. It was a short cut to my wandering about. So it is with life.

"As for patience, if, somewhere along the trail, old Star decided to graze on just a few more buttercups or blue-eyed grass, I waited. It gave me time to learn about and smell the bergamot and bluebells along the way and appreciate what we now call "life in the slow lane."

REJOICE!