Order your tickets now at nariofidaho.org, or call 208-322-8191 for more information.

The homes are only open for these two days because PEOPLE LIVE IN THEM!  What an amazing opportunity to see remodeling dreams come true and to inspire you.  Open 11:00am to 5:00pm for you to take a look.

The most talented and experienced professionals in the valley worked with these homeowners and you can talk to them in the best living example of their work. Because Idaho is one of the few states that does not require contractors to be licensed, it’s important for customers to understand who they’re hiring and what kind of work they can expect.

Tickets cost $5 and can be purchased online at http://nariofidaho.org. Or for more information, call 208-322-8191.

My eye sight is now failing somewhat and it has caused me to see things more clearly.

As for my hearing, well, it has failed in my one ear and that has taught me to listen more closely to others

Surgery of my lower back has facilitated working smarter not harder.

The spring in my step, yea, you guessed it, has sprung. That which has slowed me down, but has never stopped me.

The ‘Golden Years’ do suck a little, but there are a few things, just a few mind you, that have worked out pretty darn good.

Now, looking back , low the many years, to my high school time, there was advice given at which I would always laugh. After two heart attacks, I’ve come to take that advice given by Alfred A. Newman, “What, me worry.” My trigger initiation point for anger has lowered quite substantially in these subsequent years. I now give individuals much greater latitude when dealing with them, thereby lowering the blood pressure of us both.

So, growing older is not yet fatal, and along the way I’ve learned a few things. I’ve been enlightened to clean up my usage of the four-letter word utterances. My substitute words number but two. They are ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’

Then there was the time when I had finished painting my 63 model car with Enamel # 444 color. The paint had been curing for about six hours, when I backed out of the garage to remove the tape and paper. I stepped from the car, turned to walk away, when a Seagull dropped a load, Kerplunk, right square in the middle of the trunk panel. I grabbed the water hose and proceeded to rinse off that glob of brackish, gooey gift. To my utter amazement, the paint stripped off clean down to the primer. The evacuation of that bird made a round hole as of a coffee cup ring in my beautiful paint job.

I had taken on a contracted job of field fence with one strand of barbed wire down along the Snake River. The field in which I was working was an old alfalfa field, now being used for cattle grazing. As I walked through placing T-Post, up jumped Pheasants every now and then, along with bunches of Quail at one time. As I was busy driving this one particular post, I heard a crackling noise and a distinctive pop. Looking around, trying to locate the source, I scanned the skyline. There on the High-line of a power pole, frozen in a Dante type statuesque pose, was an Eagle holding onto a Pheasant. His talons of his left leg were buried deeply into the back of his prospective supper, namely the Pheasant. With his right leg’s talons permanently attached to the power line, they just were hanging there upside-down. Evidently the Eagle and the prize he had captured and carried struck two phases of high lines, thus killing both. When I completed my work for the day, they were still in that grotesque position.

A grand-slam, but in a bad way; I added a 20 x 12 ft. extension to our living room, plus four windows and an entry door. The main window measures 6’ 6”, with sliders . That window is a magnet for birds. Numerous times the birds would fly at full speed into the glass. Some would shake it off and fly away. Others, however would not. In particular, the wax wings most always died. On one occasion, a wax wing just knocked himself a little goofy and was flopping around on the grass, trying to revive.  About the time he came to his senses, a Kestrel swooped out from above and snatched him up.  Finally we came up, or I should say, Pat came up with a solution. Pat propped an oven rack on the window sill and the carnage ceased.

Years ago our neighbors boy, about eight, came running to our front door in a panic. he was talking so fast that I missed most of what he was trying to tell me.  I finally gathered that there was a bird tangled in fishing line and stuck in the top of our tall elm tree.  Being the fool that I am, I climbed that 30 ft. elm to facilitate a rescue, but mostly to shut up that little boy.  The bird, a robin, was hanging upside down by a broken leg. He also had the fishing line wrapped around both wings.  Now, I don’t normally like robins very much because they are always stealing from our garden. They follow you down the row that you are planting and pop the new seeds right out of the ground. Any new seedlings sticking up their little sprouts, is considered fair game to robins.  Well anyway, back to the story, with my trusty Barlow, I proceeded in cutting him loose from the branches. Once back on the ground I removed all traces of the line.  The robin’s right knee was separated and hanging only by a small patch of skin. I used my knife to remove the lower portion of his leg. I sealed the wound with ‘New Skin’ product.  We, the neighbor boy and I, placed the robin in a safe area while he recouped. He seemed to revive from his ordeal in an hour or so and began to hop around, or a least, he tried hopping around, but not too well. Later he flew away.  That same bird came back to our yard the very next year.  It seemed to me he was showing his gratitude by coming back home to let me know that he was ok.

With 1,377 miles between Canton and Denver, it made communication betwixt Dad and us difficult.  Dad was working in Denver at the time, when I was placed in isolation lock-up.  My folks would correspond on a daily basis, numbering each letter as to keep them in progressive order.  Dad said that he would only telephone in the event of some difficulty.  Well, as soon as I was diagnosed with Scarlet Fever and quarantined, Dad called home wanting to know what was wrong. This was the first time that I became aware that some things are beyond reasoning or explanation. Weird things always happened to Dad, as I was to find out later

Some years later, one of Dad’s strangest events happened. This particular occurrence took place in the middle of the night. Dad sat bolt up in bed and was talking to Aunt Mable.  Mable was assuring Dad that everything would be alright and not to worry. This occurred at the time of Aunt Mable’s passing.  Is this strange enough for you or what?

Here’s another;  This happened while visiting my folks back in Dalton over the 4th of July. After going to bed one evening, I kept hearing a screen door banging shut. Pat heard it too. There would be a pause of maybe five minutes or so, then it would start banging again. The banging came from the house next door, which was the only other house on the street. Finally, I had had enough and went over to investigate. I could not figure it out for the house next door was unoccupied at the time. The two spinsters who lived there had died and the house had laid empty for a while. Anyway, when I reached the back door, I checked the screen door and found it to be well secured and locked tight. Standing there looking things over, the door started banging again but without moving. Now, that’s the kind of thing that will make your hair stand on end. And believe me, it did.

Pat and I purchased our home in 1971 late July.  We had no history of the previous owners, but for the fact that the house had laid empty for a few years. Everything was in disrepair and it had been vandalized. This house really had a history, but the price was the determining factor of our procurement. After months and many hours of hard work we finally made it livable. One evening while sitting back relaxing in front of the TV, I saw her.  She, being a diaphanous, wispy apparition that appeared drifting down the hallway in my direction. As soon as I looked directly across the room, she vanished. This specter would always show up in the later hours of evening. She appeared many times in the succeeding weeks and always just drifting along the hallway. I had never commented or mentioned to Pat of my experiencing this abhorrent phantom, until one morning while at the breakfast table.  “Pat have you ever seen……….She stopped me in my tracks and said……..a white lady in the hallway.”  Pat had never said anything either for fear of me thinking her nutzoid.  I made up my mind that we needed to evict this unwanted sojourner resident infesting our comfort zone. Later on when she next appeared, I loosened my tongue and spoke at that puff of smoke.  “You can just leave now, you don’t live here anymore, we do.”  She was gone. We never saw her again.

This next installment happened early one morning as Pat was preparing for work. Pat had just opened the back door to place some trash into the garbage can when Ann called out Pat’s name. There, in the cover of the carport next door, stood Ann and her husband. As Pat was eager to reply to the greeting, both individuals faded from view. The only problem with that was, Ann had just passed away recently and her husband had passed many years before.  We guessed they just wanted to say goodbye and take a last look around the house they had built together so long ago?

The sixthly entry for this composition of strange, unusual, bewailed and unexplained incidences, which should have left everyone questioning and or paralyzed, follows next.

After rebuilding the carport and the adjacent wall on the West side of the house, it was time to paint.  Incidentally, painting is one of my least favorite things to do.  I’m good at it, but I just hate doing it. Anyway, I was bent down painting the bottom lap boards of the afore mentioned wall, when I got a cold chill.  A shadow passed over the wall from left to right at ground level. I turned around to see who was watching me paint or whatever. There stood Mr. Nobody.   Not a soul,car or black helicopter to cast a shadow.  So, I shrugged it off and went back to the job at hand, painting.  Progressing up the wall, I was making good time, and yes, I know that one is supposed to paint from top to bottom not bottom up, but I’ve always done stuff my own way. Standing there with brush in hand and a slack jaw, it happened again. This time the shadow was of an out-of-focus figure of a man. The arms, legs and head were clearly recognizable on that projection on the newly painted surface. When I turned, of course there was nothing to be seen, but the shadow remained still.  I quit painting that day.

The impetus for this thesis occurred last evening at 8:30 pm 5 May 2013.  I was walking from the kitchen back to the living room when I noticed a black dog at my feet.  It was traversing down the hallway to my left. The black dog made headway along the hallway of about 6 feet before vanishing. He just wasn’t there anymore. The only thing remaining was the hair standing upright on my forearms and neck.

I make no claims of knowing what this all means. It’s just one of those weird, odd and unexplainable things that happens.  By-the-way……..weird, odd and unexplainable, kinda describes me.  Hahahaha !

You’re sitting there quietly drinking your first cup of coffee of the day when your wife hits with her new project request.  “ I think I want a nice wood privacy fence in the back yard. What do you think?” You think to yourself ‘Oh boy, here we go again, another Martha Stewart idea.’  But, you say,”Now, how much is this going to cost me?”  She says that she doesn’t know, but she called a guy and he’s going to be here in an hour or so to give a bid.  Great, just great!

Enter the fence man. This guy looks as if he is on his last leg. He is a sun-beaten grizzled old guy, but with a bright smile on his lined-wrinkled face. He walks around the property, takes a few measurements, then hands you the bid.  The bid, my Lord, does he want to settle the National debt with this one job? He’s polite enough, but gee whiz, that’s a lot of money. You tell him that you and the wife will have to talk it over for a while. He thanks you politely and says to call him at your convenience, then leaves. As he pulls out and down the drive, you tell your wife,”If you want a fence so badly, I’ll just build it myself. I know I can do just as good and a heck of a lot cheaper.”

The preceding is my general impression of a few customer reactions that I have dealt with in the past.

So, you’re going to do it yourself. Well, let me give you the skivey on the how and whys: ——————

First off, after you have cleared all your stuff from the back line, find all of your property pins and establish your boundaries. Stake out all corners. Then go in the house and call 811.  If you don’t call 811, then make sure that you designate a friend or neighbor to call 911 in the event of something going wrong.

Next, while waiting for Dig-Line, ‘811’, order your supplies. Generally, the wait is no longer than two days.

After Dig-Line has marked everything, proceed with the digging of the corner post holes.  Please do not accomplish shovel sets.  Only use a post hole digger.  The depth should be 20 inches minimum.  For a 4×4 cedar post, the hole should have a 7 or 8 inch diameter at the top.  The bottom, however, needs to be of a larger diameter to prevent any frost heave.  Select a good straight post for the corners.  Place a couple inches of gravel in the bottom of each hole for the post to foundation on solidly.  This will prevent any water damage by affording good drainage.  Proceed by setting posts with concrete or post mix while squaring sides with each line.  Always, I mean always, dome the top of the set for water drainage.

Oh yes, what to do with the dirt from your digging?  Well, haul it out front of the house and make a pile out of the way on the driveway.  I’ll tell later why.

Now comes the time for the line posts.  It is 8 ft. on center as recommended by most.  Never stretch that measurement beyond 8 feet.  I have always marked out to 7 ft. 11 inches so as to have a little wiggle room.  After digging all of the holes for the line posts, you find that you’re running out of daylight.  You figure that you can finish tomorrow, but wait, you have to go to work tomorrow.  You think to yourself, “ well, I’ll finish up in the evening after work.  Boy, this is taking longer than I thought.”  The following evening, you find that, sometimes a crooked post will throw your measurement off.  Any post with a slight curve should be placed with the curve facing in line with the run.  That is why you need a little wiggle room.

While the line posts set, now is the time to get out your masonry [nylon] string.  Firmly attach string to opposing end posts and pull taut until it sings in the breeze.  Temporarily tack up any sags in the string with a nail.  Stand back and eyeball the general overview of the ups and downs from one post to the other.  Make adjustments to the string on each post until your eye appeal is satisfied.  Then mark each post and cut the top off flat at the markings.  The flat top will make for a good surface to enable the placing of the top rail. { * }—The same string process applies in the placing of the pickets.

{ * }—The post height should never be any less than 63 inches top to bottom.

Next comes the rails.  I always use three fir 2x4x8 rails.  Place one flat on top of the posts.  This gives shear strength against buffeting winds.  Place two rails vertical, ‘skinny side up’, between the posts, with one close to the bottom and the other halfway between the other two.  Doing this prevents sagging of each section.  The bottom and middle rails should be set into fence clips.  Simpson makes a good bracket for this purpose.

Oh yes, I hope you didn’t forget to dump the dirt onto the driveway.

Now for the pickets.  Make sure to select each picket from a different stack, for they come in pairs and make for mirror images.  It is well advised to paint the bottom end grain of each picket with a good sealer before assembly.  Nail or screw with galvanized or stainless steel hardware.  Each picket should have at least six fasteners, two into each rail   Don’t place the bottom of the boards touching the ground if at all possible.  I’ve always used a nail gun with 1 and 7/8 inch cement coated ring-shank nails.  They just will never pull out.

After a period of time passing as to allow boards to dry out sufficiently, apply a good quality sealer.  Messmer’s UV-Plus, Flood CWF-UV or equivalent.  Just make sure the product that you select has a UV blocker additive.  It is imperative to seal the top of each picket’s end grain with a sealing agent.

Finally, done.  Done did it done!  But, was it worth it?  It would have been a lot easier to have had that old grizzled, sun-whipped, wrinkled faced fencer contracted for the job.  But then, you’re happy and most importantly, your wife is happy.  So, feeling good over a job completed and everything accomplished to satisfaction, sit back and relax.

Oh, yeah, that pile of dirt out there in the drive—now that’s your brag.  Every time a friend, neighbor or relative comes by, they will ask, “What’s that pile of dirt for?”  That gives you the opportunity to tell your harrowing story of your fencing adventure and accomplishment.  Then you can show them all your hard work out back.

PS—That old grizzled guy—well, that’s me.

On rare occasions. when called upon to bid a prospective job, I would rather forget about it and just walk away.

This particular instance happened when attempting to follow through with a lead and for a local lumber yard. A lady called asking to have a chain-link fence placed on the back property line of her yard. She said that she was not getting along with one of her neighbors and to solve any forthcoming troubles, she wanted the fence erected immediately.

That same day, I received a phone call from a very distressed and irate lady. This lady said that she was having trouble with a neighbor and wanted a fence put up  immediately, a wood fence. I had my suspicions, but wasn’t sure.

Well, let me go back to the first lady. The woman worked at the local hospital as a nurse and was on duty when I called on her request. She said that she had put the dog up and just go ahead with the bid and place the paperwork in the screen door. The lady lived at the far end of a well landscaped cul-de-sac, with flowers blooming in all their glory and manicured shrubs in each and every lawn. I stepped around from the side yard heading to the back with my tape and bid sheet, but stopped in my tracks. There, the back yard was completely different from the front. Below my feet was the most disgusting ‘land-mines’ that I had ever encountered, a veritable carpeting for my eyes to behold. There was no square foot of lawn that was not covered in dog waste. There was along chain attached to a post somewhat in the center as to allow access to every inch of that disposal site. I backed out of there, jumped into my truck and left that place. All the way, as I was leaving, I kept thinking of that poor dogs’ living condition, but most of all, I kept saying to myself, ‘and this lady is a nurse’!  Disgusting !  I left her a phone message, saying that I would have to charge three fold to complete her wishes or standard billing if she cleaned the area.   A case for—- [just walk away.]

As I had surmised, the second ladys’ phone request was from the neighbor to the first. She was complaining of the path her neighbor had worn into her grass and she wanted to put a stop to it by placing a Cedar fence along the back of her property. It seems that her neighbor walked through her yard every day on her way to work. Living on a cul-de-sac required the first lady to walk around the block, but cutting through the back yard required a lot less effort.

I informed the second lady that I did not want to become the buffer between the two of them. Being lodged between two women who are in disagreement is no place that I want to be.  Boy, talk about being between a rock and a hard place.  The second lady understood my unwillingness to get involved with this particular predicament of theirs. I told her that once their differences were resolved to both of their satisfaction, I would gladly do the job.

At this point, ladies and gentlemen, I just walked away!

The year———-1957

The place———-Massillon Ohio

The occasion———-To see a film

The movie———- Boy on a Dolphin

The reason———-Sophia Loren

Well, you know how teen aged boys are. We all had seen Sophia in Playboy and could not wait to view her on the big screen.

Dale Martin parked the car in the parking lot of the shopping mall just a short distant around the corner from the movie theater. There were four of us running and almost tripping over each other getting to the door of the theater. We made it inside, sat down with great expectations and waited in the dark for the film to start.  I don’t remember much of the film, but for Sophia.

It was a cold evening, but when we left the theater late that night, it had turned frigid and the wind was unbearable. When we arrived back at the parking lot, we found the one and only vehicle left there was that drab green 55 Plymouth which Dale had driven. We all rushed toward it in hopes of getting out of the wind. Dale inserted the key, struggled with the lock, but the lock was frozen. Try as we might, it simply would not open. There we all stood in that huge and empty parking lot as shakes took over. Someone found a pack of matches in their coat pocket and with them, we formulated a plan. With the key inserted into the lock, we all gathered around and huddled together to form a shield to block the wind. We held matches at the ready as Dale struck one, placed it strategically below the inserted key in hopes of thawing the frozen lock. As soon as the first match went out, another was struck and applied to the key. Boy, this would have been a good time to ‘flick my Bic’, but they didn’t come out until 73.  Anyway, this procedure continued until the door lock finally relented and allowed access. When we unfurled from our bundled windbreak position, I found that we had company.

There,standing behind and to the side, two police officers in a crouched posture and looking menacing in their manner. Now, I can imagine what it looked like with a small group of hooligans surrounding the door of a lone car.  They told us not to move and to put our hands on our head.  We did not move, however my shivering and shaking worsened quite a bit. With the proper accompanying paperwork from the jockey-box, it didn’t take long to provide proof of ownership of that Plymouth. We explained to their satisfaction that we had just left the theater and were headed home.  At this, the cops said goodnight and to drive safely.

All this transpired because some teenagers wanted to see Sophia.

There are many unexpected events in our daily lives which get turned around backwards.  Sometimes they are topsy-turvy  and place you flat on your back.

It seems, no matter how well you plan your day, delays are unavoidable.  I was running late because of a last minute material pickup.  Starting out at 10:30 for the job site is not my idea of being punctual.  But, still another delay was in store, as I drove down one of Caldwell’s side streets.

A small group of individuals standing in the roadway garnered my attention initially.  As I advanced slowly, I could see the reason of the gathering.  There had been two cars coalescing at the intersection.  The subsequent collision was between David and Goliath, only this time David lost.  Goliath was an older Buick and David was a VW Hatchback.  The Buick sustained very little damage, probably because it had a REAL BUMPER.  The VW had been T-Boned and had rolled over onto its top.  When I pulled over and stopped, I jumped out to assess and assist in helping.  The small crowd of people were hanging well back from the scene.  One of the observers yelled out, “Watch out, there’s gas all over the place.  We called the cops and she’s not hurt, so you better get out of there”.  Ignoring his warning, I ran to the car.  The lady indeed seemed uninjured, but was highly agitated.  I tried to open the nearest door, but could not.  She confirmed that she was fine and dandy.  She just wanted out.

My innate Samaritan trait kicked in and  drove me into action.  I ran back to my truck, grabbed the 6 ft. digging iron.  I jammed the chisel blade into the edge of the car door and was about to give  leverage.  “STOP, don’t hurt my car”!  I almost laughed.  Here she was, in a wrecked car, the whole side caved in and sitting on its top and she didn’t want me to cause any damage.  “I think I can get out the back”.  She squirmed around like a little kid would do and made it to the back.  I tried to open the hatchback, but to no avail.  She, with her skirt up where her neckline should  be, and with a bad hair day, placed both feet against the glass.  Pushing with all that was in her, straining red faced, she popped the hatchback open.  As she was crawling out, I took hold under her arms and helped her to her feet.  By now she was crying in a deluge of despair.  I told her that everything was okay and there was no reason to continue her crying for if she didn’t stop, she would get her shoes all wet.  Not nearly as funny as I thought it would sound.

All this time, that small group of folks never made a move to offer any assistance whatsoever.

It seemed to me that everything was playing out in slow motion, but of course it was not.  All the emergency agencies seemed to appear at once; Police, fire and ambulance.  The EMT  personnel and Fire rescue were extremely efficient and attended to the lady without hesitation.  As they were placing the lady on the Stokes, she went into shock and quickly passed out.  She sustained no injury at all and recovered before they pulled away.

I arrived at the job site late.

Being an older, easy mark grandpa, does not negate my empathy for young children. I know of the things that small ones enjoy and find thrilling and adventurous.

In the days of yore, while trekking across the prairie, young ones liked riding up front alongside dad while he was driving the team of horses. Sometimes they would climb upon the back of the old milk cow tethered behind the Conestoga wagon. Kids would always find something to do that was fun and perhaps a little dangerous. Children have always wanted to see what was going on and be involved with whatever the activity was. Many times you would see a young one holding on for dear life on top of a fully loaded hay wagon. Riding that wagon out of the field was a great thrill and adventure that they just had to try. When fields were being plowed with a tractor, you could always find a young child was riding on the back hanging on with pure delight and laughter.

My father had trucks as part of and for his business. As a young boy, dad would let me ride along while he made his deliveries. The old Mack truck had only the drivers seat so I would upend a crate to sit on. That way I could see out through the windshield and view down the road towards the next great adventure that surely was to pop its’ head. There was always a new adventure just around the next corner. And, with every corner turned, that old crate would slip and slide on the steel floor. With every stop dad made the crate would tip forward making like a carnival ride. One of the other trucks was a cab-over GMC Delivery van. It too had only a drivers seat, so I would sit on the engine cowling.

Traveling in the family sedan was another adventure happening. I would most times get car sick when riding in the back seat. I would convince mom and dad that I had to ride up front. Going to church, the grocery store or just out for a short trip, you would find me hanging out the window playing airplane with my hand in the slip stream. Great fun!

Not so much fun today for young ones. We tie them down in a straight jacket then throw them in the back seat. With little ones, we even make them ride backwards. So much for fun. It would not surprise me that one of these days, when children are unruly, we will place them in a closet for a time out.

Rules, regulations, laws and common practices may be the safest way to protect our children, but what do they lose in the process? Over regulation takes away experimentation and examination of possibilities. Sure,  kids do some dumb things, but through making mistakes they learn a lot of life’s lessons, and the thrill of knowledge acquired on their own.  I, as a grandparent, want to protect all of the young ones, but let us not go overboard.

A man could lose an eye with the errant trajectory path of a food ladled fork. Lasagna is not prevalently known as a hazardous weapon, nor is the lowly fork, but this time, they were close. The explosion was so startling and unexpected that I almost skewered my eye.

Coming home for lunch was not the norm, but because the job-site was so close by, I figured ‘why not.’  Pat had placed a plate of last night’s lasagna in the fridge and knowing it was there prompted my sojourn home. I was about to take the first bite when the explosion precipitated my heart stopping fright.  The large boom was deep and throaty and the shock wave rattled the windows. I could feel the floor shutter under my feet. The blast was louder than that of an aircraft breaking the sound barrier.  I jumped up, ran to the back door as to investigate what had just happened. I could find no smoke, no fire or any apparent damage in my back yard. I investigated everything with a fine toothed comb, but found nothing out of the ordinary. I stood there in a stationary freeze for, I don’t know what, for the longest time. Eventually I went in and finished my, now cold lunch. Shrugging my shoulders, I went back to the job-site with trepidations still running through my thoughts. When I had finished with my work for the day, I headed home. I still knew and heard nothing of what had transpired earlier in the day. Later, just before dinner, I received a phone call from Bill.  Bill asked if I wanted a small repair job to do on his garage. I said, why not, and told him that I would come over after I had finished supper.

Now, Bill resides only two blocks from our place, so I didn’t mind going over there on short notice. When I arrived, Bill told me to follow him to the back.  As we got around to the garage, I stopped short, with my jaw agape.  For there, what did my wondrous eyes should appear, but a white water tank stuck through a hole in the roof.  That white visitor had punched a nice round hole through the sheeting, breaking a 2 x 4 rafter, teetering back onto the upper wall plating and crushing the garage’s corner eave.  It laid there in silence, balancing on the wall.  “Where in the world did that come from”?, I asked.  Bill pointed, “over there”.

“Over there” was the house across the alley.  It had been vacant for many months, maybe over a year or so.  Anyway, when the Realtor was to show the house that day, he turned on the power.  When they left the premises, they didn’t shut down the [Square D] breaker box.  Now, I don’t know the whys and what-for’s that caused the water heater to build all that pressure, but nevertheless, it became an intercontinental ballistic missile.  It tore through the ceiling and ripped open the roof like an old sardine can, peeling it back onto itself.  In it’s flight, it sheared branches off the tree in the back yard.  It ripped through the power lines, taking one line down.  Then the water tank plowed into the garage roof next door.  If it had not been for all of the obstructions in it’s path, it possible could have landed into the gymnasium of the Adventist School, which was only 30 feet further along.

Steam is a powerful energy source.  Remember, folks, a drop of water expands 1700 times when turned into steam.  Graphic.  Very graphic as seen on T.V.’s Myth Busters of late.