We had a wonderful vacation that year in Arizona, visiting my parents and my sister-in-law and her family. We saw the desert arboretum, Indian cliff dwellings and generally enjoyed summer weather in March.

Because we hated to say good-bye to the good times we stayed until the last minute. On the road home we drove too long and when we finally started looking for a motel there was nothing. Exhausted and hungry we were feeling desperate by the time we got to Albuquerque. That's when we saw a motel with a lighted vacancy sign. It was a busy street on the truck route, but after all most motels are the same, aren't they? We were so tired we could sleep through anything -- at least that's what we thought.

We rented a room and went to eat in the cafe. That place should have had a danger sign on it. It was the original Greasy Spoon. I ordered breaded veal cutlets and when I got them they had a strange sour taste. One bite was enough for me. The rest of the food was just as bad. None of us were hungry anymore; we'd lost our appetites. Well, it was late, we could wait until morning to eat.

A good night's sleep was what we really needed so we went back to the motel.

As soon we got in our room we noticed a strange, heavy, sweet smell. We opened the windows to air out the sickening odor and all of us went to bed. The girls were asleep and we were dozing off when the phone rang. My husband answered it.

"Is Flossie there?" A deep voice asked.

"No," Earl said and hung up.

We had almost made it to slumberland when the telephone rang again.

"Flossie there?" A raspy voice inquired.

"No," Hubby snarled. Just our luck to get into a room where Flossie had been operating her business.

After the third time my husband called the desk clerk and told them to stop putting through calls for Flossie. So we finally got to sleep.

But not for long because the next thing we knew someone knocked on the door. This was getting downright irritating. "What do you want?" Earl demanded.

"Flossie?" A tipsy voice called.

"There's no Flossie here," my husband barked.

"Sorry," the voice slurred.

Then we were invaded by motorcycles. We must have been sleeping in a racetrack because they began driving through the motel circle. Things finally quieted down early in the morning but by that time it was too late, we just wanted out of there. We got in that car and drove away quicker than a hound could chase a stray cat up a tree.

After our greasy spoon experience we were hungry so the first thing we did that morning was look for a nice -- very nice - restaurant so we could eat breakfast. Imagine our surprise when two or three miles down the road we came to lovely, calm countryside and there was a beautiful Holiday Inn. We stopped for breakfast. When we looked at their rates they were comparable to the price we had paid for Flossie's room.

We learned that all motels aren't alike, especially if you happen to pick one like Flossie's room.