Monday, February 29, 2016

Random Update Of Recently Completed Zavanna DUC -- February 29, 2016

This well is still shown as a DUC at the NDIC site, but FracFocus says it was fracked 9/11-24/2015:
  • 28432, SI/NC, Zavanna, Tomahawk 10-3 3H, East Fork, 11.7 million gallons of water; 5.7% by weight of sand; no test date, cum 36K 12/15:
PoolDateDaysBBLS OilRunsBBLS WaterMCF ProdMCF SoldVent/Flare

Notes to the Granddaughters

I keep a list of words that I come across in my reading to share with Arianna, in preparation for the tests she will be taking a few years from now. Two things happen, and I think the first happens to everyone. When one discovers a new word, the word seems to start popping up everywhere.

Years ago, I first came across the word flaneur at a time in my adult life when I was doing lots of walking. I mean lots of walking. I was in northern England, single or at least alone, and I had nothing to do for long stretches at time, except to read and walk. I remember starting my walk some days at 7:30 a.m. and not returning home until 8:00 p.m. Some evenings, I honestly felt I could not walk another step and I had a real fear I would not make it home, falling from exhaustion. I honestly did not think one could become exhausted by simply walking, but one most assuredly can. I associate a flaneur with an urban walker, especially one who walks, not as a tourist, but as lifelong resident of a large city, like Paris, for example. Today while reading Sue Roe's The Private Lives of The Impressionists I was reminded (if I ever knew before, I can't recall) that Edouard Manet was a wealthy painter who loved to walk the streets of Paris. He was a flaneur.

The second thing that happens is I come across words that I use in everyday speech or grew up using but words that I never really stopped to think about.

Butte, for example.

I don't think I ever thought about the etiology of the word butte.

In that same book, just a few pages later:
He lunched every day at Tortini's on the boulevard des Italiens....and appeared again in the Café de Bade. This district, at the foot of the Butte -- hillside -- of Montmartre was where for half a century writers and artists, diplomats and financiers had gathered.
I never realized butte was a French word, but perhaps I was the only one. Whatever. Merriam-Webster spells the french word with one "t": bute

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