Thinking of ways to lighten our impact on the Earth is nothing new for the Stanford Terrace Inn. Six years ago, we became the first hotel in Palo Alto to receive a Green Business Certification.

So let us pamper your visitors and bestow the gift of time to you, and the gift of green to Mother Earth. Check with us in regards to what select weekends this is available.  Please check with reservations for availability at 800.729.0332.

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The rubber duck was the reference to the TV show,“You Bet Your Life“, a famous radio and TV show with Groucho Marx that ran from the late 1940’s to the early 1960’s. On the show was a rubber duck wearing glasses and a mustache just like Groucho’s. Before a contestant came onto the show, the audience would be told a “secret word,” which was a common, everyday word, such as car, clock or can opener. Groucho would then start interviewing the contestant and would often introduce a topic in which the word would be appropriate — and the audience would be rooting for the person to stumble across it. Then, if the contestant happened to say the secret word, the duck would fall from the ceiling with a prize attached to its dilapidated body (If you are interested in watching old episodes, Youtube has a number of the episodes for free!.

I’ve told my story the same way for many years, but in the last telling I was embarrassed by the response I received. Together, we used to joke about people who only had 10 stories, which you would hear again and again. Here I am… I had become that joke, and this made me explore what I was trying to communicate by the telling of the story.

My cousin and I are 5 months apart, and until we were three we lived in the same house, “playpen mates,” as my uncle tells the story.  Even after our parents moved to separate homes we spent a lot of time together. Not daily, but holidays, holiday preparation, birthdays, and, often, vacations. We were like brother and sister; the only children of our parents - until we were nine and my aunt had another child. We had many stories worth telling, but the story that I always happen to tell occurred many years later, when I began living with my cousin again, to complete my final year of high school.

Even though we had been far apart for many years - not only in miles, but also in connection - I felt strongly about my cousin.  I looked up to and admired him; he was smart, funny, athletic, and seemed to know exactly what he wanted and where he was going. I, on the other hand, was completely opposite. He was the Valedictorian - I barely made it through.  He was the star center on the basketball team - I sat on the bench.  As I tell the story, my claim to fame was actually just being his cousin, and although no one actually knew my name, they very much admired my connection to him - especially the swooning girls (did I mention he was good looking too?).

Instead of directly telling him how much it meant for me to be his cousin, how I admired him and loved being accepted by him and a part of his world, I instead chose to speak about his one flaw (which in fact was not his fault at all).  He was all of what I described and more, and did all of this….. but with the worst attire ever.  I don’t know why, but for some reason getting pants that were the proper length for my 6’3” cousin was *not* in my aunts’ radar.  When others would have crumbled at the mere idea, my cousin traveled the halls of our school with high water poly plaid pants, seemingly unaffected by this fashion faux pas. (In modern day, he is very stylish - now that he buys his own clothes).

…….. And here he goes again teaching me a life lesson - to be clear about what I am trying to say, and to expand my story repertoire.  He was and is awesome, and I wish that I could see him more often.

Understanding the needs of our guests at the Stanford Terrace Inn is based on our ability to listen to the story our guests are telling.  We pride ourselves, in this Palo Alto Hotel, to respond as best we can, to make our guests’ experience a positive one that they will remember.  Maybe someday, we can be part of your repertoire of stories.

Peace,
Barbara

In those early years, turning my living environment into my home meant doing some of the things that my Mom had done.

In my early 20’s my roommate and I took a summer road trip to the Okanagan Valley. At the time it took six hours (now shorter because of the Coquihalla) and took us to the land of Ogopogo and acres of orchards.

Orchards meant fruit; that year we arrived for peach season. On the way back to Vancouver we stopped at a stand and although we were only going to buy a few peaches, we ended up purchasing an entire flat - because we were offered a very reasonable price. Our idea was to jar those peaches, just like Mom used to do.  *I* must have been the impetus for this project, because, when we got home, my roommate felt no need to assist.  The real definition of “what a great price for the peaches” actually was, “you need to do something with them immediately” - which turned into a daunting project.

Had I been Mom, I would have taken care of this right away, but I had to get the jars, lids, and what ever else I needed for this project; so a day or two might have passed before I started. (My Mom, although celebrating her 80th birthday this year, has more energy then most of the people I know. She was a hard act to follow then, just as she is now.) All the while, busily preparing, I imagined a winter filled with my very own canned peaches, ahhh…. “home”.

In this past apartment, I thought it was a good idea to cover my, perhaps, not-so-attractive kitchen floor with one-foot square grass matting - the type you can find at Cost Plus.  One day after work, I enthusiastically began my project of canning those peaches, and soon realized that the time for peach sections had passed - and peach sauce might be in my future (they make apple sauce don’t they?). Needless to say this was very juicy, messy work and as the afternoon turned into late night my enthusiasm and my ability to complete this task were tried to the max. I was tired and sticky and pushing to get this done. I still do not have a ton of canning experience but one thing I know now and I knew then: cleanliness, sterilization and organization are key factors for the success of such a project.

I did not take the garbage of pits, skins and bad portions of peach out that night - but left it there in a garbage bag, on the rattan floor covering, to be taken out in the morning.  It had been late that night, and in the morning I was tired - and that garbage stayed put until I got home that evening. When I got home, the juices had leaked, and the mess I faced was smelly, wet, sticky, and just overall - disgusting.

I cleaned up, feeling sorry for myself, and made some mental notes about decorating. Then I waited patiently for those jars to seal, which should have only taken the time it took for them to cool. Calls for advise to my Mom pretty much confirmed that I should have called sooner. That evening, as I contemplated the possible demise of my canning project, I heard a loud popping coming from the kitchen - My beautiful jars of peach sauce were exploding!  They had started to ferment, creating pressure in the jars, and the peaches just pushed their way out, shooting sauce to places I would not discover until weeks later. There I stood facing what might have been good peach schnapps, but which was really an awful mess, and a huge reminder I was a long way from home.

This attempt at making a home for myself by recreating a piece of my past was just one of many; some with better results, but none that took quite so long to clean up.

As the general manager of a Palo Alto hotel I know that I cannot be home to everyone.  Home means different things to different people.  What I can do is make the Stanford Terrace Inn as comfortable, friendly, and helpful as possible, and most of all - welcoming.

Shanti,

Barbara

Here is the video from the event… a special moment for Barbara, the team at Stanford Terrace, and Palo Alto in general! =)

Thank you for everyone who made this possible.

That was four years ago, and although I said I would never let myself gain weight, I am faced with the reality that my mind played yet one more trick on me. I hadn’t been holding myself accountable.

This tricky business in not new to me, in fact when I was young and skinny I saw myself as fat. Admittedly I did not look like the icon at the time, Twiggy, but fat was the least likely adjective that would have best described my body.

Holding myself accountable means standing on that unbiased scale everyday. Clothing can be deceiving, and keeping track of my intake is not always dependable, oh the tricks I can play on myself!!!

So, dutifully each morning I perch upon it and wait patiently for the numbers to stop their dance and announce how well I have managed my day. Some days even though I have done everything right the scale tips disappointingly upward, and other days it moves, happily, downward. What I am learning is that I must stay the course - although I might waiver. Coming back to the course will give me the results I am looking for; face the tiger, so to speak.

At the Stanford Terrace Inn we like to be accountable to our guests. I have been in the hotel business for a long time and until recently, getting significant cross section responses from guests rating their experience has been difficult. Now we send out electronic comment cards monitored by a third party; Market Metrix.

Just like standing on the scale the morning after a food extravaganza, it is not always easy to look at the ratings that we are given by our guests. In most of the surveys we rate between 90 and 100%. However, there are guests who, for various reasons, do not have an optimal experience. I respond to every guest survey, but these are not always easy to face. It is as if the guest was telling me that my child was not good enough. I am challenged to see our hotel and staff through their experience, and that isn’t always something I am prepared for, but know I need to be accountable to it.

I take a deep breath and see this as an opportunity to succeed, and I see the comments as a gift from another set of eyes making it an invaluable tool to help me tip the scale for our Palo Alto hotel.

Namaste!

Barbara

HAPPY EARTH DAY!!!!!

Please check out their recent newsletter here: http://www.canopy.org/CanopySpringNwslttr10.pdf

Also… in the subject heading I mentioned “Permaculture”.  At Stanford Terrace Inn, we are firmly committed to being “green” - and that extends well past the word, or methods marketers are currently using to promote themselves without really being dedicated to the environmental awareness movement that is happening… and has been for decades.  When our General Manager, Barbara, started at the Inn nearly 20 years ago, she almost immediately started a recycling program… unheard of at the time.  Since then we became the first and only certified Green Hotel in Palo Alto.  Now, as we move into the future, we believe that green is much more than a program, or small donation; it’s the way we do business, and the way we comport ourselves in our roles within society.

That being said, permaculture is a vital aspect of this awareness, and we invite you to learn more about it, how it effects us, and what we can do to help the process.  Here’s the wikipedia page.   It’s defined as “an approach to designing human settlements and agricultural systems that mimic the relationships found in natural ecologies.”  You can read much more about it on wikipedia, and hope this is an enjoyable, if not vital, read.

This starts with every single one of us, and whether it’s altering how you recycle, or thinking about a small renovation in a different way…. we all have in our hands the ability to make a difference and a better future.  I know this isn’t about our hotel, necessarily….. we are proud to be sponsoring such a great organization….. but sometimes business is bigger than what we do, and it’s more about how we do it.

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

He told me some of what happened on the day that he married my aunt, to whom he will have been married to for almost sixty years.  They married not too many years after WW II in a very small town in Germany, near the border of the Czech Republic.  My Uncle was from East Berlin, and had found himself far from his home after being a prisoner of war during the war’s final stages.  That, of course, is another story.  The only thing he had in common with the majority of people in this new, small town were his German roots, and they had a very different set of traditions than this city boy was aware of.

Nonetheless, he was marrying one of their fairest maidens.  He picked her up in a horse drawn carriage to take her to the church on their wedding day. “Very cool,” I’m thinking.  After the ceremony, as they traveled to the reception in the carriage they were prepared for the interruption of their journey by a pack of kids that had strung a rope across the road, who were waiting for the shower of coins that the newlyweds would toss, to assure their safe journey on the road ahead.  “Doubly cool,” I’m thinking, ready to hear what happened at the reception to complete the story.   When I inquired about it, “Well,” said my uncle, “I am not going to write about what we ate or did after our wedding; it was just like every other wedding, who cares about that?”  Those were the interesting facts after all , and different to what might happen today.

I felt deflated, I wanted to hear more detail, so I asked my aunt what she remembered about her wedding. Well she said “It was tradition that at the reception the bride would be secretly stolen away from her husband and once he discovered her missing he would search the town for her. She would be taken to another restaurant and of course be easily found and recovered to start her new life with her husband.”

“But”, she continued, “he stuck to me like glue and no one was able to steal me away, I really wish that I could have had that experience” she finished sadly.

“That is not too cool,” I’m thinking.

I was curious - I wondered if my uncle knew about this tradition, so I asked.

“No, I never knew that”, he said.

There are never two weddings that are the same, and everyone has their own traditions and stories and memories and details that come from them.  Each is special in their own way, and it is always fun and interesting to learn what people thought of them.  We love to have wedding guests staying at the Stanford Terrace Inn. They bring with them a buzz of excitement and joy, and we reward them by taking care of the details entrusted to us, with the care and attention they deserve.  Don’t hesitate to let us know your favorite stories… or share a private thought about your own.  Love is in the air, as it reverberates from Valentine’s…. did any of our friends or family or neighbors get engaged?  We hope you celebrated the day with someone you love.  At the very least, keep your ears open and you can learn something new about love and tradition! =)

Namaste,

Barbara

I decided that it might be best for me to change careers and landed as a switchboard operator, in a Vancouver hotel. The switchboard was old; a cord board in fact, like you have seen in those old black and white movies. When the telephone rings you plug one cord into the incoming line slot and the other cord into the extension the person is requesting. You have to pay attention to when the line is no longer active to disconnect the calls. This could very quickly become confusing and frustrating and I was glad when they finally upgraded to a more modern system. It has, however, been a great story over the years.

When I arrived at my first hotel job in San Francisco people would say that I did not smile enough. This as it turns out is a result of being Canadian, although friendly we do not tend to be as externally happy as needed in California. In fact when I first started to practice a bigger brighter smile it felt false and insincere. That was 25 years ago and although I feel very much a Canadian I have developed a great California smile.

So how important is all of this anyway? I have had many opinions over the years. Sometimes when I am confronted with an angry guest I wonder what they must be thinking, “This hotel manager got up this morning and went out of her way to make my life/stay miserable and I am so angry I am going to talk to her in an angry condescending way to make her do something to make it better.”  This, of course, is completely counterintuitive to the word “hospitality”.

Everyone that walks through the door of the Stanford Terrace Inn is very important to the success of the hotel. We want to please everyone and make him or her feel welcome and important. We go out of our way to do what we can to make each stay a great experience.  Does that mean that some people will not like the hotel anyway? Most likely.

What happens when you drop a tiny pebble into a large body of water? It has a big effect. I try to think of this when I am speaking with others. I am important and what I say could have a big effect on them. Do I need to be loud, and rude or demean them to force them to bend my way? My power is in my empathy. I don’t always remember but I am constantly reminded that my importance is connected to my kindness and that is when I make the biggest impact.

How important are you?

Shanti,

Barbara