When I was nine I remember going with my family to the airport in Vancouver, B.C., the town in which I grew up. This trip included my Aunt Frieda, my cousin Herb, my parents and myself. We were there to pick up my Oma (grandmother) who was flying in from Germany. Back then it was a very long flight, which I think included a layover in Iceland or Greenland, because those propeller planes could not fly the entire route without stopping to refuel.
It seems to me we waited a long while for her to arrive, perhaps there were delays, perhaps we came too early, but we waited, flowers in hand watching for the arrival through a gigantic picture window that looked out onto the tarmac she would eventually walk on to get to the terminal. When she did arrive she could see us almost immediately as she descended from the plane.
I remember being anxious and worried, because although this was my paternal grandparent I had never met her before this day. As it was, she was always my favorite, for no other reason then she accepted me for who I was and always reassured me that I was just fine.
This past November I traveled to Charlotte, N.C. I flew from San Jose CA. My daughter unceremoniously dropped me at the curb; I checked my bag and dragged myself into the long, spider like, security line at 5am. Although there are many that travel more frequently then I do, I have traveled enough to know the drill. That day the loud, scary, TSA agent let me know that I know very little about what I needed to do, when she came yelling at me for failing to do the “right“ thing when going through the security line.
She rattled my chain. I then stood in another very long line to get a cup of coffee, lined up to get on the plane, stood for what seemed like forever in the narrow aisle of the plane to get to my seat. I listened to the passenger in the seat over from me, talk the entire way to Atlanta. I then traipsed from one end of the airport to the other to get the correct gate for my connection to Charlotte, repeated the boarding and aisle line and arrived in Charlotte hours later with only a pretzel or two to sustain me the entire day.
It is no surprise that a guest arriving at the hotel might be a little bit grumpy and very ready for everything to go smoothly and their stay to be comfortable.
I believe that at the Stanford Terrace Inn we take care of our guests in a way that lets them forget the trials of getting to their destination. We are there to receive them, make sure everything is taken care of, and give them a respite from which they can start their days rested, nicely fed, (with our great complimentary continental breakfast), relax in the afternoon with a freshly baked cookie and coffee, and of course give them a ride to wherever they need to go within Palo Alto.
We do this because hospitality is our business. Too bad this concept did not start from the curb at the airport. I am sure it would make travel so much more pleasant. But… that’s what *we* do. =)
Namaste!
Barbara
that works to inspire, educate and engage the community as stewards of young and mature trees. 
