It’s curiously simple. There are people in the world who bring light and people who take it away. Some people make you smile, and some people never do.

Some people make our lives fun and brighter and inspire us to smile and laugh; I saw two of them this afternoon. People like that are the chosen ones.

The Two Katies, as we call them,  run the Cambridge Food Co-op, where we went today to ensure we have enough cheese, popcorn, and fruit to get through the supposedly massive storm blowing our way.

They have done a great job.

When I lived in New Jersey, my first wife Paula, a reporter for the Washington Post,  and a pioneering feminist, often had to rush into New York City to cover a story.

I did most of the shopping and cooking, which I loved. I got to understand what a good father is.

 

When storms were predicted,  the homemakers and househusbands of New Jersey would flock to the supermarkets in a panic to get milk and bread, as if it would no longer be available if two inches of snow were on the ground.  If you dallied, there would be no place to park, no carts to push.

If you didn’t get there before noon, the shelves would be almost empty, the milk and bread all gone. Everyone survived the storm, of course, but that urgency sometimes creeps out of my consciousness when a storm is coming. There is no evidence any child in my town ever went a day without milk.

I told Maria we needed to get to the Co-op after lunch today; the forecasts were ominous. She agreed. But storms do not impress her or scare her in the least. I just bugged her.

Sometimes, I was one of those nervous parents, but when I moved up here, I saw no storm or panic in my town of Cambridge. Storms in the winter were a part of life, just like warmth in the summer.

They are not a big deal unless they are huge.

Farmers laughed at weather predictions; people always drive around in tiny cars with no snow tires or four-wheel drive. They have no fear of it.

No one (but me sometimes) gets too excited about it, and the Co-Op is never flooded with anxious moms and dads. I still like to make sure the shelves are stocked.

The two Katies are fun; we laugh and yak and gossip, and going there is a pleasure, not a chore.

Kate the Elder and I talk about our dreams and callings. She has some excellent plans for her life.

Katie, the elder (not old, just older), is the manager, and Katy, the Younger, is an assistant manager.

It is always fun to go in there; both of them are people to spread light and love. I always end up laughing, and what a gift that is in our grumpy and hostile world.

It is fun to go good shopping, a new thing for me; the people in the supermarkets in New Jersey were not especially friendly. They were grim and irritable.

These two love what they do, and it is contagious.

Maria, settling up with Katie the Younger.

Katie (the younger) and I are pals now, and I wrote recently about her proud identification of herself as a “Jersey Girl,” a culture of tough, outspoken, take-no-prisoners Jersey shore women who have become famous for their grit and who even have an MTV show made after them.

Several women who call themselves feminists immediately went after me for using the term “girls” in “Jersey Girls” and said it was another example of my demeaning women. My crimes were adding up.

This happened twice before – once when I befriended Moise, my Amish friend, and a Patriarch, and when I quoted a new dog groomer in town as a farm girl who grew up with animals. I was, therefore, both a sexist and an enabler of patriarchy. Neither was a forgivable sin.

So I became a target, and not for the first time.  I sometimes feel like a digital dartboard. We are a nation of victims, desperate for pity.

I riled them again when I quoted Katie The Younger as saying she was a proud “Jersey Girl,” the way she introduced herself to me when we first met.

I replied that this mind and word control (both ignorant and arrogant) was a new form of acceptable social fascism, now the tools of the far left and extreme right. There is hardly any difference between them.

I’ve been writing online for decades; I doubt there will be a day when someone is not telling me what to say, think, or write, or accusing me of one insensitivity or another. There is even a new language for victimization, since we are all victims in one way or another.

A pox on all their houses.

I recommended a unique Mussolini Biography to these angry people. They were not pleased. It was three strikes, and I was now the official sexist excrement of White Male Privilege.

Yes, I admit it was fun; God help me. Eventually, they all go and hide. Sticking up for myself is something I only learned to do recently. I like it.

It is a perverse pleasure for me to go after people like that, although I am working hard to purge myself of that unfortunate habit. It is not a healthy habit or one I am proud of. It doesn’t help anyone; it’s not who I wish to be.

For some reason, they didn’t like my Mussolini comparison or my use of words and insisted that Katie would never use the term “girl” to describe herself. There was much outrage and sputtering.  I must be lying, they said.

Katie got a good laugh out of that. And then she spoke like a true Jersey Girl (not repeatable.)

 

(Co-op Manager Katie the Older)

I told Katie about this curious flap – I suggested that women had the right to call themselves anything they pleased, and it was no one’s business but theirs. Amen, she said, and a few other things.

It’s never a good idea to tell a Jersey Girl what to call herself or tell them what to do.

They live for that.

Katie has a great sense of self and the Jersey Girl idea. I dated several Jersey girls and almost married one. I think I didn’t dare. Katie and her boyfriend are coming to dinner.

This is how Katie and I first connected – this sense of the sanctity of self.

We recognized this in each other immediately; I am a lifetime older than she is.

I went to high school in New Jersey, was a reporter, and lived there for 26 years.

Jersey girls are true feminists, proud, outspoken, and determined to define themselves. They take no prisoners, especially men.

Good for them. I never expected to run into one up here. They are instinctively urban. Katie, like Maria and me, stands out. But we all love it here.

I admit to having less patience than I ought to have; strident people on social media tell me and others what to think and feel and do all the time, and usually, they are full of shit.

I’ve always seen calling them out as a civic and moral duty, but I am also weary of arguing about anything these days and am working hard to focus on trying to do some good.

It’s healthier and more humane.

Both women I married are strong and empowered, and so is my daughter. I am proud of all three.

And I understand how much farther men like me still have to go and will always have to go.

I think men can support feminism, but I’m not convinced that most men genuinely understand women and what we have subjected them to.

Men have so much to answer for.

I never tell other people what to think and feel. And I never permit anyone to say to me.

The two Katies are an inspiration for me.

They work hard and are uncomplaining, warm, and helpful.

The Co-Op is a great place to shop and buy good and healthy food.

They have great popcorn as well. And it’s an excellent place to work. People who work there are respected and treated well.

The staff will never be rich, but they do seem happy.

They do a great job together and appreciate and respect one another. And customers like me.

Thanks to them, I can eat healthy food and largely avoid corporate supermarkets and processed food.

That is a real blessing.

The two Katies also love to laugh. In that sense, they are my sisters.

For a Jersey Girl, Kate the Younger can be pretty sweet. But don’t try to tell her or the other Katie who and what she is and how to describe herself.

That won’t go well.