Recently I made an apple almond cheesecake.  It was a recipe that my aunt had sent in a recent note. “Oma’s (Grandmother’s) favorite”, it had said at the top.  Technically she isn’t the grandmother to my kids.  She is my aunt, my godmother and someone who took these titles seriously enough to be there for me when I really needed someone, and when it might not have been so convenient or comfortable for her to take me into her family.  The cake was easy to make and a huge hit in the family taste test.  I wanted to call her and let her know the results and my appreciation, but when I formulated in my mind the words that I would use to tell her, I was flooded with emotion.

At the age of eighteen my energy was almost completely devoted to separating myself from my family. I wanted to be on my own, take care of myself, a right of passage that I couldn’t wait to begin and a road that I was ill-equipped to travel.

If I had to describe myself at eighteen I would have to say… a hard shell, protecting, often unsuccessfully, a sensitive heart. Most certainly the importance of relationships was often distorted by my own ego disguised as a self-assured young woman.

So why after all these years would I be full of emotion about something as simple as the sharing of a recipe?  I just *have* those moments now (perhaps because my own daughter will leave home shortly).  I look at my aunt and realistically I have only a dozen more years of her company, an amount of time that will pass at breakneck speed.  We don’t live close; moving away seemed like such a good idea.  She has visited twice in the 25 years I have lived in the States and although I travel north more often now, it is the thought those moments of unsolicited closeness and sharing bring, that I miss, and that make me melancholy.  Those long cups of tea or coffee, the planning of a quilt, the cooking of dinner, the day-to-day connection and involvement that I sorely miss.

I thought nothing of those times when I was younger, even as a young adult having my own family. Retrospectively, thinking of theses moments and realizing they may not always be there, gives me the understanding of how important each moment with another truly is.

Relationships are built over time and in a moment. I believe that we at the Stanford Terrace Inn have a strong understanding of the importance of relationships. As one of many Palo Alto Hotels, we pride ourselves foremost in building and keeping relationships with our guests.  Not just for business, but because these relationships define us.

Namaste,

Barbara