Philip Emmons Isaac Bonewits, October 1, 1949 – August 12, 2010

Isaac sits with the Shining Ones and eats from Dagda’s Cauldron. The mortal world is a poorer place without him.

There will never be another Isaac. Those of us who knew him well could easily think of him as just Isaac: Character, goofball, ladies man, punster, life of the party, pain in the neck, singer, priest, friend and ex-husband (in my case). But Isaac was so much more than that.

The press release gives you an inkling of his importance to the world. One of my favorite memorial posts comes from The Wild Hunt:

[The] vision of the ADF, written by Bonewits nearly thirty years ago, captures what was so vibrant and vital about him. The audacity of expecting excellence and success from himself, his coreligionists, and his peers.

“Audacity of expecting excellence”—O, yes, that’s Isaac.

I cannot begin to say how much I loved and love Isaac. As a husband, he drove me crazy. I don’t regret ending our marriage, and I know he was very happy with Phaedra, whom he married in 2004. He loved her very much and I am so happy he had that. Still, Isaac and I were married for ten years (1988–1998), and I’d qualify nine of those years as happy ones; only at the end did things break down, and our unhappiness was short-lived; we quickly became good friends.

Isaac was a wonderful, loving, proud father. He had a perverse sense of what made a good lullaby. Certainly, the baby slept better for him than for me, despite being sung to sleep with “The Internationale.” As Arthur grew, Isaac always treated him as an intelligent being and spoke to him with a rich vocabulary even when he was a toddler. In the end, it was Arthur caring for Isaac. I am proud of my son, and I know that Isaac was and is as well.

He was an extraordinary High Priest in the Craft, as well as a Druid. He had a unique ability to move energy. When he called the Gods, They came. I was already a High Priestess of the Craft, albeit a young one, when we began dating in 1986, but I consider that only half my training was done. The rest I learned from him. He was a gifted teacher, exploring the nuances of every aspect of ritual and worship. Elements of Ritual could not exist without Isaac’s influence.

What Isaac loved the most was serving the Pagan community. He loved a good fight, he loved to get down and argue, to make trouble, to stir the pot. And he did it, always, on behalf of the community. He did it to make the world better, and more Pagan, and to serve the Gods. His love of the Gods was always at the forefront of who he was. His service to the community, to the Gods, and to his work as a priest was in every decision he ever made.

In the end, I look at Isaac, and I look at someone who was fundamentally good. He was not without his flaws, but he was without moral blemish. Isaac was honest, kind, charitable, generous, forgiving to a fault, open to new ideas, tolerant, attentive, amiable, and selfless. I assure you, I have thought over every one of those adjectives carefully, and every one applies to almost every moment of Isaac’s life. I could list negatives if I wanted to, but none of them are moral failings. I believe, truly, that the Gods will look upon this man and embrace him as one of their own.

It was a privilege, Isaac. I hope we get to do it again.

Someone sent me a message today…

on Facebook, asking when Isaac Bonewits died.

Isaac is still alive, thankyouverymuch. He is dying, and we are giving love and care to the extent possible, and the family is gathering, and there is a lot of sorrow in my heart. We are doing what we can to prepare for the end. Phaedra and Arthur are exhausted and yet…I am so proud of my son, who is so good and kind to his father, even when he’s losing patience and his temper with this terrible situation.

And I got that message asking when he died.

I’m sorry if I’m not as kind and good as some people might be, but immediately after answering, I unfriended that person. I think people should pretty much stand up and applaud me for not also cursing her out.

Please continue to send light and peace and love to Isaac, Arthur, and Phae. Please pray that his siblings, who are on the road right now, arrive in time to say their final goodbyes.

That was not a good idea

Sometimes I wear my hair up in a clip. Sometimes when I’m driving with the sunroof open, my hair comes flying out of the clip. So I take the clip out, clip it to my shirt front, fix my hair, and put the clip back.

Except I was wearing a low-cut shirt. And clipped the hair-clip to my chest.

Not a good idea.

Kitty!

I got a kitten.

Okay, so the Gang of Two is now a Gang of One. Mingo has run off. I still hope he returns, but it’s been three bleak months of Mingolessness. Fanty is lonely. I’m lonely. Arthur has moved in with his dad, and a single woman with just one cat, who happens to be an annoying and no-fun cat, is just not working for me.

So on Saturday Fanty had her annual checkup, and there was a big crate o’ kittens. Six in total, four of whom were solid black. Solid black=very appealing to Witches, but I finally got smart and chose based on personality rather than looks. My little one-eye is funny looking but the only calm, sweet, social one in the bunch, the only one who wanted to cuddle. As Roberta said, “In a crate of kittens, the one-eyed kitten is king.”


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Monday Movie Review: Inception

Inception (2010) 7/10
Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) leads a team of dream extractors, who use cutting edge medical technology to manipulate shared dreams. The team is hired to attempt “inception”—creating, rather than extracting, an idea. But Cobb is haunted in dreams by the presence of his late wife (Marion Cotillard), endangering the team. Written & directed by Christopher Nolan.

There is no question that Inception is a would-have-could-have-should-have movie. It screams from unrealized potential. At the same time, it’s smart, beautiful, and enjoyable. Arthur and I have been talking about it for a week, and that’s a lot of engagement for one movie.

What Inception does right is commit fully to its concept. Yes, it’s exposition-heavy, but it grips its dream reality with two hands and doesn’t let go. This is a smart, well-made movie by a master of movie logistics. It doesn’t falter in its delivery of Chris Nolan’s theme, the theme of all of his films: A haunted man struggling with the unreality of a life transfixed by grief. Whether that haunted man is struggling with memory loss or insomnia, whether he’s Batman or a magician, Nolan’s motif is pretty clear, if not always successful.
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Monday Movie Reviews: The Italian Job (x2)

In both the original and the remake, a master thief is killed, and his final plan carried out. In both cases, and famously, the final caper involves Mini-Coopers going up and down stairs, through tunnels, and other places where only Mini-Coopers can go. Surely the remake was inspired by the re-introduction of the car in question.

The Italian Job (1969) 6/10
Charlie (Michael Caine) was in prison when the failed job took place, leading to the death of his mentor. He is financed through a crime lord, Bridger, who is not at all slowed down by being in prison.

This is a very weird movie. » Read more..

Monday Movie Reviews: Macho Men in Tough Situations

I’m going to be doing some shorter reviews of multiple movies to get myself caught up here; it’s been a long time.

Breaker Morant (1980) 9/10
Harry “Breaker” Morant and two other Australian officers are court-marshaled in an act of scapegoating during the Boer War.

This true story of honorable behavior in insane circumstances is told without sentiment; harsh, rough, and compelling. If you know Edward Woodward best as the weaselly cop from The Wicker Man, his dignity and strength here may surprise you.

The Hill (1965) 8/10
During World War II, a military prison is run with the harshest possible discipline and sadistic punishment.

An early Sean Connery attempt to break free of James Bond typecasting, this is a difficult movie to be with. Evil Prison Guard is as macho a story as can be told, so in that way, it’s still an expected Connery movie, but his Joe Roberts is no 007. Director Sidney Lumet does a remarkable job of portraying heat, exhaustion, and the physical effects of abuse.

Apache Trail (1942) 6/10
An Arizona outpost throws people together when the Apaches are on the way.

This is the Stagecoach model of Western—a bunch of people, some good, some bad, some destined for romance, are stuck together because of Indian attack. It’s Western as Lord of the Flies, with everyone revealing themselves as the plot unfolds, and it’s the revelation, not the plot, that’s the point.

It’s a middling movie but entertaining.

An odd sighting

Turns out bathing suits have a lifespan. Who knew? I took my favorite out of the drawer and the elastic made a crackling sound. So, off to the mall, which is the point of this story.

So, I’m walking in the mall with my new, highly overpriced bathing suit, and I see these two identically-dressed men. One of them appeared to be about 50, and white. The other appeared to be mid-30s, and Asian. The white guy had a child with him. The two men were just far enough apart that one could not tell for sure whether they were together or just walking down the same hall at the same time.

Except they were identical. Both short-ish (5’6″ I guess), they were wearing seafoam green polo shirts. White guy was wearing beige shorts. Asian guy was wearing washed-out desert camo shorts that gave the impression of being the same beige. Both were carrying Target bags.

It wasn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen at the mall. But it was odd.

I’m back! I’m back! I’m back!

:::happy dance:::

I hope that Monday Movie Reviews and other posting will resume apace. YAY!

Monday Movie Theater Review: Love, Loss, and What I Wore

Love, Loss, and What I Wore
An intimate collection of stories by Nora & Delia Ephron
10/10

Love, Loss, and What I Wore is presented as a theatrical reading: Five chairs in a line on the stage, with lecterns in front of them. Oh, geez, I thought, I’m seeing this? I’m not even seeing a play? I needn’t have worried. The show is presented with a rotating cast of 28, and every cast, as far as I can see, is stellar. We saw Carol Kane, Jayne Houdyshell, Fran Drescher, Didi Conn, and Natasha Lyonne.

Stories, anecdotes, and characters are presented through the context of clothing and accessories. We open with Gingy (Carol Kane), who decided during (an illness? insomnia?) to sketch outfits she remembered. As she showed each outfit, she reminisced. From Brownie uniforms to bridal dresses, Gingy told her life through clothing. None of the other characters stay on-stage past individual tales, so that all five are voicing many women, but every woman’s memories are intertwined with what she wore.

We left feeling like we had shared in a full range of woman’s lives. Houdyshell even presented a character who has just never related to or remembered clothing. Only one item of clothing ever stuck in her mind, and yet that item moved us to tears.

I don’t do the “sisterhood” thing very well. I don’t find myself on board with a lot of what passes for sharing women’s experience or women’s empowerment. As often as not, I feel marginalized by it. But here, honestly, I felt so connected to other women, to being a woman, to sharing womanhood through the vehicle of this text and these performers.

Mostly we laughed. We laughed a lot, and loudly, and sometimes we spontaneously applauded, but yes, there were tears. These were stories about loving black, and hating your purse, and wrangling with your mother over what you’re going to wear, and buying a bra in anticipation of breast reconstruction, and maternity dresses, and prom dresses, and these are women who love and hate their mothers, their bodies, their men, and their lives. Unsurprisingly, these women skew heavily towards Jewish New Yorkers like the Ephrons, but characters portrayed also include a lesbian and a Latina, and in the joys and laughter are also stories of rape, the loss of a child, the loss of a parent, and really bad therapy.

Much more laughter than tears, though. I have a bad laugh. I have a series of bad laughs: Snorts and barks and squeaks and guffaws that burst forth from me at inappropriate moments, and the theater audience got to share every one of them. And I shared theirs.

Fran Drescher kind of stole the show. Everyone was great, but the revelations were Drescher and Lyonne, both of whom had more raw performance power than I could ever have anticipated. Drescher owned. Drescher cracked the other women up so they momentarily lost their places. What a pleasure!

So, on I go to Amazon to buy the original book upon which this show is based, and if I find a text of the play I’ll buy that too, because I want to experience these stories over and over. While wearing black.