Today is the anniversary of Pearl Harbor, but it's also the anniversary of one of the oddest days in my life. In 1991, when I was still in high school, the house next door to my parents' exploded. Thankfully there was no one there because the family had moved and was in the process of trying to sell the home (I'm pretty sure there was a long investigation into that.)
I was inside our house when I heard an unbelieveably loud noise and the whole house shook. I ran outside and saw flames next door taller than the fully grown trees. It took the firefighters hours to get the blaze under control. The next morning, when we could see everything in daylight, we couldn't believe our eyes. Part of the neighbor's roof had landed on my brother's car. There were curtains up in the trees. There was a shard of wood that had been thrown so forcibly from the explosion that it was wedged into the telephone pole. There was broken glass EVERYWHERE. My parent's garage was blown off of it's foundation. It was just unbelievable.
I've got to dig through my old photos and see if I can find any of the aftermath.