Opting out of the scanner inflicts punitive measures on the traveler. I speak from experience.

Recently, I flew out of Atlanta and ended up in the “random pick” line for the Nude-o-scope (or porn-scope, as some people call them). I told the TSA barker that - due to personal and religious beliefs - I wanted to opt out.

She rolled her eyes and told me to step around the machine. In a strident voice, she then screeched, “I need a female attendant for a pat down!”

This was my first time dealing with this new technology, but I’d decided months ago that I was NOT going to be microwaved on “medium defrost” *and* have my 51-year-old body ogled by a TSA employee.

So the angry TSA attendant parked me next to the scanner and told me to stay still (as though I were a trained dog). I kept looking at the scanning device and and hoping that the Plexiglas shroud would effectively block the machine’s radiation.

Meanwhile, my personal belongings hit the end of the conveyor belt, but parked in my spot beside the scanner, I could barely see the gray bins containing my brand-new Toshiba laptop, my small leather wallet, my cell phone and my keys.

I literally pleaded with the TSA attendant to allow me to retrieve my personal possessions and she refused. I was traveling alone (as I often do). I then pleaded with her to allow me to at least be in the line of sight of my things and she again barked that I was to remain still.

“Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to your thangs,” she said, obviously annoyed.

“This is what happens when you opt out,” I thought to myself. “You lose your wallet and your laptop. Very, very effective.”

I watched the hordes of travelers moving through the “traffic lanes” of the security line, retrieving their personal items and realizing, anyone one of them could easily lift and pocket my things and no one would be the wiser. I was sick with fear. There were no TSA agents near my belongings (which I now realize was a blessing). No one watching out for them. All my things just sat at the end of that conveyor belt, about 20-25 feet away from me.

The minutes ticked by. I kept edging over a little more and a little more until I could at least SEE my personal things. The angry TSA agnet would periodically screech, “I need a female attendant for a pat down.”

Each time she screeched, I watched dozens of heads turn in the long line, eyeballing the crazy woman who’d been removed from the regular line and set aside. I served as an excellent example. While I dutifully waited for a female TSA attedant, not one other soul opted out of the scanner.

Dozens of passengers went by as I stood there, moving so close that they literally brushed past me. Finally, after a 30+ minute wait, a female appeared and moved me several feet away to another area. Now, I was closer to my things and could at least keep an eye on them.

The attendant started patting me down. She offered to allow me to do this in a private screening area, but I had declined for fear of losing my wallet, my cell phone and my laptop. It was a helluva bad spot to be in. Which was worse - this intense public pat down or having my things stolen? I opted for “b.”

Next, she ran a circular pad all over my clothes and then put it in the sniffer. This is where I nearly threw up with fear. Last time I’d gone to the target range with my .38, I’d worn these jeans. After firing the weapon, I often wiped my right hand on the right thigh of my pants. I wondered if the gunpowder residue would show up on that sniffer.

It was terrifying. I was nauseous and started to feel light-headed and faint.

Finally - 45 minutes later, it was over.

The entire affair was very punitive, and humiliating and time consuming and emotionally distressing. When I retrieved my things, I walked into the women’s restroom and wept.

Make no mistake - this was intended to be misery. I opted out. I’m a rebel, and judging by the TSA’s behavior, I must be punished.

To read the letter I wrote to my politicians, click here.

A few days ago I was hiking through the woods around Pilot Mountain State Park and thank goodness I had my camera with me.  Look what I saw!

Its the Niveus Ursus Americanus Waynus. This specimen seemed mature, well-fed and surprisingly tame. He approached our cameras with little or no trepidation.

Look closely at the above photo and you’ll see a spot of blue walking toward the camera.

Here he's emerged from the woods to explore the lake

Despite their natural tendency to stay away from flash photography, this Niveus Ursus Americanus Waynus continued walking our way.

Here's he returned to his native element

And here's a kindred spirit - Ursus americanus cinnamomum - delighted to see Waynus returning home.

Last week, I spent countless hours bundling up the children and getting them ready for their new homes. Shipping books is a lot of work and time-intensive, and standing in line at the Milan Station (Norfolk Post Office on 38th Street) is a foretaste of hell, but…

It sure is fun to think about this book - Montgomery Ward’s Mail-Order Homes - leaving home to be enjoyed by others. Dale Patrick Wolicki and I spent five years researching and writing this book, and it’s new research on a new topic. As I’ve told my husband and my friend Dale many times, this book will still be in use as a reference work many years after we’re all gone from this earth.

If you’d like to learn more about Wardway Homes, click here.

If you’d like to give your friends and relatives the perfect Christmas present, click here.

And if you’d like to support your local library by donating a copy of Wardway Homes, click here.

Wardway books leaving home

Handsome hubby poses with the new book. Two cuties together in one photo!

Friday afternoon, my newest book (co-authored with Dale Wolicki) came home. This is my seventh book but it’s always so exciting to see a long-awaited dream come to fruition. Dale and I toiled over this book for five years. Hopefully, we’ll sell out that first printing within 90 days or so. It’s a beautiful book (347 pages!), filled with photos, vintage pictures, facts and details on the kit homes offered by Montgomery Ward.

To buy a copy, click here.

To read more about Wardway Homes, click here.

Teddy stands guard over the new books in my hallway

She was especially interested in the chapter on Neo-Tudor homes

The Wardway Newport caught her eye.

The cover of our new book.

In the mid-1880s, while working as a railway station agent in Redwood Falls, Minnesota, Richard Warren Sears paid $50 for a shipment of watches that arrived at the train station and had been refused by a local merchant. Selling them to other railway agents and passengers, Sears turned $50 worth of watches into $500 in a few months.

His timing could not possibly have been any better.

With the advent of the steam locomotive and reliable passenger rail service, people could now travel hundreds of miles each day, but there was a problem with all this expeditious movement. In the early 1880s, the United States had 300 different time zones. You read that right: 300.

In November 1883, railway companies established four time zones to help manage and standardize the complex train schedules. As folks adapted to the new time zones, watches became a hot commodity.

In 1886, 23-year-old Sears invested his $5000 cash profit into a new watch business and called it the “R. W. Sears Watch Company.” He advertised his watches in regional newspapers and in a short time, he moved the business from Minneapolis to Chicago.

Around 1891, Sears and Roebuck published their first mail order catalog, offering jewelry and watches within its 52 pages. By 1893, the little watch and jewelry catalog had grown to 196 pages and offered a variety of items, including sewing machines, shoes, saddles and more. One year later, another 300 pages were added, creating a 507-page mail order catalog.

On November 1, 1908, 44-year-old Richard W. Sears emerged from a terse closed-door meeting with his business partner Julius Rosenwald and announced that he would resign as President from his own company. Sears’ reason for retiring: He “didn’t see the work as fun anymore.” A short time later, Sears sold his stock for $10 million dollars. There was another reason for his departure. Sears wanted more time to take care of his ailing wife, who had suffered from ill health for years.

In September 1914, at the age of 50, Sears died, having turned $50 worth of pocket watches into a multi-million dollar mail order empire. His estate was valued at more than $20 million.

Richard Warren Sears at his office at 925 Homan Avenue, Chicago, IL