We're Fine. No, Really.
So, for those of you who don't live in Pittsburgh, which is most of you -- especially all y'all in Turkey (I still don't know why the hell fully a third of my hits every day have come from Turkey, and I'm coming to believe I'll never find out, which makes me Nervous) -- the area has been heavily mined.
Heavily, I tell you.
So heavily that there's a website one can go to in order to discover if the ground underneath one's home has been mined, which it probably has, and then one can buy mine subsidence insurance in case the mine collapses and damages one's home.
Now, our home, the ancient and quirky historical landmark called Bear's Retreat, is in Pleasant Hills, which is ENTIRELY undermined, and indeed a house a few blocks away fell right in a big ol' hole a few years ago and now it's not there.
Last October, the little shopping center about two blocks away had a bit of mine subsidence, and there were cracks in the parking lot and in the dry cleaners and what all, and we got all nervous.
So we went on line to see if indeed there was a mine under our house -- which there is; it's Montour #8, abandoned in the '50's -- and we bought mine subsidence insurance, and now we're just sitting around waiting.
We figure that if indeed Montour #8 collapses, we're probably in somewhat better shape than our neighbors in the cookie cutter houses in the development around us, cause our house, being built by hand, naturally has more "give" in it. (Hence all the ventilation, of which Ms. Beecher would approve.)
And if it gets hurt, we can use the insurance to fix it.
And if it gets destroyed, then we're the last family to live in the beloved Bear's Retreat, through no fault of our own, and we mourn and grieve, and then take the insurance money and go buy another house.
Someplace else.
Last week, 18 houses, again about 2 blocks away, had their gas turned off, and everybody had to go shack up with the Red Cross, because of mine subsidence, though it doesn't look like the houses are lost.
Next, the borough will be deciding whether we want to spend the money on pumping stuff into the mine to fill it up.
I'm in favor of this, actually, as it sounds sensible. What it is we pump in, though, I do not know. Probably not foam pellets, though that's what I imagine.
In entirely different news, oh my dear cat fanatics, who are legion, and maybe even based in Turkey, who knows, the kittens survived their surgeries. Chanthra has a little cape thing to wear so she doesn't mess up her incision -- the cape is useless, though, I think. She's a Siamese. Hello. She figured out how to crunch up the cape so she could get under it.
Here she is:
She's fine now; she's happy and gets lots of pets and is cheerful.
But her brother, Dara, is so deeply freaked out by the cat-eating device she's sporting that he has spent the last three days hiding out. And then running frantically away if he comes out to eat or pee and sees his sister.
Apparently the kitty devouring cape is catching.
So we're ok, but you know, we would be grateful if the kitten came out of hiding.
Oh, and we'd like the supports of Montour #8 to hold. Forgot about that for a minute.
Heavily, I tell you.
So heavily that there's a website one can go to in order to discover if the ground underneath one's home has been mined, which it probably has, and then one can buy mine subsidence insurance in case the mine collapses and damages one's home.
Now, our home, the ancient and quirky historical landmark called Bear's Retreat, is in Pleasant Hills, which is ENTIRELY undermined, and indeed a house a few blocks away fell right in a big ol' hole a few years ago and now it's not there.
Last October, the little shopping center about two blocks away had a bit of mine subsidence, and there were cracks in the parking lot and in the dry cleaners and what all, and we got all nervous.
So we went on line to see if indeed there was a mine under our house -- which there is; it's Montour #8, abandoned in the '50's -- and we bought mine subsidence insurance, and now we're just sitting around waiting.
We figure that if indeed Montour #8 collapses, we're probably in somewhat better shape than our neighbors in the cookie cutter houses in the development around us, cause our house, being built by hand, naturally has more "give" in it. (Hence all the ventilation, of which Ms. Beecher would approve.)
And if it gets hurt, we can use the insurance to fix it.
And if it gets destroyed, then we're the last family to live in the beloved Bear's Retreat, through no fault of our own, and we mourn and grieve, and then take the insurance money and go buy another house.
Someplace else.
Last week, 18 houses, again about 2 blocks away, had their gas turned off, and everybody had to go shack up with the Red Cross, because of mine subsidence, though it doesn't look like the houses are lost.
Next, the borough will be deciding whether we want to spend the money on pumping stuff into the mine to fill it up.
I'm in favor of this, actually, as it sounds sensible. What it is we pump in, though, I do not know. Probably not foam pellets, though that's what I imagine.
In entirely different news, oh my dear cat fanatics, who are legion, and maybe even based in Turkey, who knows, the kittens survived their surgeries. Chanthra has a little cape thing to wear so she doesn't mess up her incision -- the cape is useless, though, I think. She's a Siamese. Hello. She figured out how to crunch up the cape so she could get under it.
Here she is:
She's fine now; she's happy and gets lots of pets and is cheerful.
But her brother, Dara, is so deeply freaked out by the cat-eating device she's sporting that he has spent the last three days hiding out. And then running frantically away if he comes out to eat or pee and sees his sister.
Apparently the kitty devouring cape is catching.
So we're ok, but you know, we would be grateful if the kitten came out of hiding.
Oh, and we'd like the supports of Montour #8 to hold. Forgot about that for a minute.
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