Happy garden

I'm back from a few days visiting my aunt in Phoenix. We went to a ballgame -- the Diamondbacks absolutely stink, so suddenly and completely that the people still haven't learned how to boo -- and to see "About Schmidt." I echo the comments I read in reviews that say no matter how well done everything about the movie is, you never forget for one second that it's Jack Nicholson up there. I wonder if previous generations had the same trouble with Cary Grant or James Stewart. (John Wayne, on the other hand, never pretended to be anyone other than John Wayne, whether he was playing a cowboy or a soldier.) Contrast this with Nicholas Cage's twin performance in "Adaptation;" not only did I forget it was Nicholas Cage, but I forgot that it was the same actor playing both twin brothers.

Obligatory Iraq-related links: Scott Rosenberg ponts out in his Salon blog that the U.S. was certainly quick to protect the Iraqi oil ministry while looters sacked every other public building. He links to this excellent Washington Post article from Sunday:

"The bombing was terrible for sure, but it is not ruining our city like these looters are," growled Sherko Jaf, a dentist, as he watched a band of young men hauling rolls of carpet out of the 10-story Foreign Ministry building and placing them inside a yellow dump truck. "How will this ministry ever work again? You know, even if we don't have Saddam Hussein, we will still need a foreign ministry."

...Some Iraqis, however, question the allocation of U.S. forces around the capital. They note a whole company of Marines, along with at least a half-dozen amphibious assault vehicles, has been assigned to guard the Oil Ministry, while many other ministries -- including trade, information, planning, health and education -- remain unprotected. "Why just the oil ministry?" Jaf asked. "Is it because they just want our oil?"

After coming back from morning prayer, I spent an hour in the garden reading the paper and pacifying the cats. I had brought the cordless phone down there in case someone called, and it was a good thing. My mother rang, wanting to know the lowdown on my aunt. She wants my aunt to move to Portland because she judges my aunt's situation in Phoenix not to be good. I kind of agree but told my mother it wouldn't help to pressure the aunt (her half sister), that she had to reach her own conclusions about where to live. She agreed but is fretful; it's her personality. I owe my fretful bossiness to my mother and my judgemental side to my father; between the two characteristics, it's a wonder anyone can live with me. After the call I just sat down there enjoying the beautiful garden, including the cherry trees that Cris planted for my last birthday. One is doing better than the other, but I finally got the second one to start budding again.

In a little while I'll go to talk to someone about a job. I'm not saying any more for fear I'll jinx it.