Psalm 62: “In you alone is my soul at rest. My help comes from you.”

San Francisco, July 2018, Part 3

At Mass on July 11, the Feast of Saint Benedict, the presider Fr. Tavella stresses how Benedict made communal prayer, work and community life the earmarks of monastic life. -- My driver to coffee is Ibr, born in Yemen, and we commiserate about the sad situation in Yemen. -- Later in the day Sha is the RH driver, probably the most entertaining and witty I have ever had. He left Iran four years ago and has been driving for two. After my saying that he is Persian he explains that the term is often used now to cover people from that area and to put distance between them and the present government. Apart from driving, he tutors in math, has studied at culinary school and would like to start a restaurant.

A driver with the name Parmenides deflects my guess at his Greek origin to say that he is Filipino and does not know why his mother gave him the name. -- Another driver that day, Anw, is unique, the only Libyan I encounter. -- My driver back to my residence is Bat and I correctly guess that he is Mongolian. He has been here a few years, is unmarried, the only one of six brothers to emigrate. Very friendly, smiling, but of limited English. He says there are about 4,000 Mongolians in the Bay Area. He had a video going on a monitor in front of us of a program called Bizarre Foods, presided over by an American chef. This episode was taking place in Mongolia where a goat was being slaughtered and then prepared, using every bit of it, for a meal.

Moving around with my walker at Greco is always a challenge. While talking with some of the regulars I repeat, “The first 90 years, etc.” and tell them my age. They: “You look great.” In response I say: "Well, I'm very happy." One of them in reply: "If you weren't, you wouldn't be your age." -- A morning driver, Ad from Nepal, offers a short homily within a minute of my getting into the car. The content delivered smiling: “A lot of misery comes from letting small things become big things. You can’t do that.” -- On July 12 taking RH car to Market Street my driver is Dan; he has been here eight years from China, has a wife, and their two children are in school. His mother provides inexpensive daycare. He is very soft-spoken and thoughtful, talks about going to college; I encourage him in that. I think he finds confirmation for his dream from an older man very reassuring.

A driver by the name of Issa tells me that is Jesus in Arabic, and that he is a Palestinian who has lived most of his life in Jordan. He left that part of the world to get away from the constant war and unending enmities. A rosary on his rearview mirror tells me he is a Christian; he attended a Catholic school as a child. -- Many a day in July in San Francisco is what I call a “good, old-fashioned” one: the fog comes rolling in over North Beach at 6:45 p.m. making uninformed tourists remark how cold it is. A few hardy souls are dining outside the restaurant under heaters above in the awnings. -- Dun, though he has a Scottish name, is of Chinese origin. He is fluent in English, Spanish and Chinese. My walker use prompts him to say: “Who taught you how to use RH?”

Another interesting RH driver is Ben, a black-bearded and very affable 29-year-old, fresh from national service in Israel and about to enter UC Berkeley. -- Another very personable driver is Nes from Afghanistan. His English is halting but made up for by his eagerness to practice it. -- In San Francisco in July the visitors are as diverse as the drivers. As I was about to get up from a rather plush seat in a restaurant a German-speaking man with a woman and two teenagers helps with a strong arm and a smile. Moments later as I was crossing a street, a young man ahead of me drops back from his companions and makes sure he is walking with me, making pedestrian presence more obvious in the face of auto traffic.

A driver from Algeria, very personable and talkative, says the French built the Eiffel Tower and all of Paris with wealth extracted (plundered?) from Algeria. All this on Bastille Day! -- On Sunday, July 15 my friend Mike is thrilled that in this final soccer game his favorite Croatia is playing France. Simultaneously Nels, Alissa and 1-year-old Solveig and I are enjoying brunch at Café de la Presse while an adjoining room is packed with French fans screaming as France wins the cup. After brunch we go, unprepared with sun protection (thus a red head later), to the Botanical Gardens. They are beautiful, and teeming with the Sunday afternoon crowd, drawn also by pianos situated throughout the gardens to be played by pianists of varied proficiency.

The following day I have a most interesting American driver named Law who had just come back from a vacation in Portugal. The most unexpected thing about him was that he tells me he is about to read a new translation of Gilgamesh, an 18th century BC epic story! Students of the Hebrew Scriptures would have encountered this-–but the rest of us? Why would he tell that to an elderly American? -- Emi is an RH driver who came here two years ago from Turkey. He tells me with considerable emphasis that he is determined to perfect his English and eventually take the bar exam. We must do a Fist Bump over that! -- Two drivers from Cambodia agree that government corruption is the big issue there. On a more immediate level one of them surmises that I have reached my age because I have work I love. Right!

Psalm 27: “I believe I shall see the Lord’s goodness / in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord; be strong; / be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord!”

Reply to Fr. Don at: DTalafous@csbsju.edu

Watch Daily Mass online at: SaintJohnsAbbey.org/live

Send your prayer requests to the monks