I Write Howie from TAOS Meeting

Dear Howie,  Sunday:     I may not get to send this until I get back to the airport, because pay phones are the only kind they have here in Menucha.  My cell phone doesn't ring when you call, and I just figured out how to retrieve messages, long distance on it this morning.  I am distressed at the conference attendance thus far.  There were only 15 people here last night compared to well over a 100 at last year's conference.  Of the ones I talked to, three were not members and had no animals in their care, one had rescued 1 cow, and one had 4 chimps. Jan, who I love dearly and admire for all her years of dedication to domestic animal rescue, informed me that the life was just too tough and after spending 3 weeks in Fiji, she realized that this wasn't worth sacrificing her life for, and was going to throw in the towel.  I haven't had time to talk to Craig about his leaving as Director, but I think that has a lot to do with the overwhelming feeling of despair in this group.

 

I started getting down and feeling pressured at that last thought and looked out the window.  My cabin has 3 beds and one is out in a bay window with breathtaking views of majestic trees in every direction.  It was clear when the sun came up, but a mist is now rolling in and looks more Hollywood dramatic than real.  How strange.  How appropriate.  This is a magical setting.  The countryside is so lush and the landscape is awe inspiring, but this little camp is captivating.  If you were here, I might never go home.  The road in wound round and round the mountain giving me the feeling that I was being drawn deep inside the womb of Mother Nature.  When the cabins came into sight, they were surrounded by trees that were laden with bright pink and white blossoms.  The flowers that surrounded them, that dotted the grassy slopes and that clung to the stone steps and ledges could only cry out in weak competition.  It reminds me of Costa Rica where everything is so full of life, except that I don't see squirrels nor do I hear birds.  It's too freakin' cold.

 

The shuttle driver for the 30 minute drive from Portland to the wilderness was a tiny little immigrant from Katmandu named Delipe.  He told me he is the richest immigrant in America because he lives in the most beautiful place in the world and has seen more of America than most of her native inhabitants.  He drives things and people from NY to Seattle and has settled in Portland for the past 4 years giving tours and running shuttle services.  Every free moment he spends in search of some beautiful place he has never seen before.  His enthusiasm was contagious.  He was just astounded at all of the opportunity we Americans let pass us by.  I asked if he thought it is because of him being an immigrant that makes him more keenly aware of the possibilities and he said he thinks it is more of an individual thing.  He said he was the richest man in Nepal too, because he knew how to enjoy himself every day.

 

On the plane from Atlanta to Salt Lake City I sat next to Mike Basile who is the CFO for Great Harvest Bread Company.  It was interesting to hear his version of what is happening since Nido Qubein took over the company.  Mike has been with the company for 7 years and really loved Pete and Laura Wakeman.  He and the COO and some of the other 30 employees had tried to buy the company, but were outbid by Qubein and his partner (whose name escapes me at the moment).  The COO McMakin quit and the company was stunned initially and fearful that the hippie style management they had come to embrace would be dramatically changed by this "big city, buttoned down, motivational speaker".   To Qubein's credit, he didn't try to change something that was already working so well and eventually earned the respect of the management team.  Mike really likes him and got a kick out of hearing how fondly Qubein spoke of the company when he spoke to us a few weeks ago.  There is a store opening