With the end of July and our family reunion here over, I went on vacation with daughter Donna, her husband Jon and five-year-old great-grandson Jack, heading for the redwoods in Northern California. Son Gary from Oklahoma and seven of his family followed in their RV.

In Oregon, we met up with granddaughter Fawn, her twins Heliegh and Kathryn, plus camping gear in their car. It was quite a caravan. The family agreed: “Forget the highways. Let’s see some real scenery and small towns.”

One little berg had an old-fashioned country store that just had to be inspected. The group bought what they wanted and returned to their vehicles, while I stayed to wait for Jon, who had taken little Jack to the one-party restroom.

While standing near the door, I heard a sexy voice behind me: “Whew — wow — what do we have here, little lady?!”

Since there was no one else around, he had to mean me. It was my first verbal pass in more than a decade or two. Wearing sage green Capri pants, white tennis shoes, a bright tank top, loop earrings and fancy sunglasses, with tinted blonde hair, he must have thought I was about 30 years younger from the back.

So not to embarrass him or myself, I pretended I didn’t hear his remark and moved a little further into the store. When I turned around, he was gone.

Donna came back in, asking if Jon was still in the bathroom with Jack. I told her yes. She went over and pounded on the door loudly, telling him to hurry up, it was getting hot out there. He yelled something back. She waited and I told her about my encounter. She laughed.

Again, she walked over  to the restroom, banged on the door and yelled for him to hurry up. A voice screeched and she said she thought it didn’t sound like him.

Again she asked, “Are you sure they are still in there,” and I said yes. She tried once more and a screaming came from the room. She ran over and said, “I don’t think that’s Jon,” and went out to look in the RV. She came back, grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s get out of here. They are in the RV.”

As we all but ran out the door, I looked back to see my redfaced almost-boyfriend, ready to knock heads together. We were still in giggles a half-hour later. I have been teased about my almost love affair ever since.

One late night after driving through the redwoods, we were too tired to continue on to the next large town where our reservations were. It was decided the two cars would try to find a couple of rooms, while the RV would pull into a rest stop. Always, the reply was “filled up.” At last, we found a cheesy motel with vacancies but with an unusually high price. Tired and desperate, we did not fuss. Fawn and I took a room. What a dump, but it had clean beds. Donna, Jon, the twins and Jack took the room to the right of us on the ground floor, open to the parking area.

All night long in the room on the other side of Donna’s, doors were slammed, drunken brawls broke out, people laughed and argued over money. Fawn and I slept through it all.

It seems the motel was a working establishment for ladies of the night.

I told Jon later, while getting away from there as quickly as we could, that when he said two cars of ladies needed two rooms for the night, the illicit manager must have thought we were a working group. Complaining, Jon did get 20 percent back on each room. Upset at first, we then went into laughing fits thinking and retelling the tale of our now sullied reputations.

I did enjoy every moment, except for the drive over Grants Pass, Oregon, coming home. We saw no fires, only smoke so thick that you couldn’t see across the fields. The more miles ahead, the worse it became, then slowly it dwindled away. Another adventure to put in my journal to remember.

— Contact Jacque Thornton at jacquejt@     centurytel.net.