Volcanic activity damages wells.

Offshore Oil & Gas News: Some Cook Inlet wells may no longer produce.

Eric’s Web

A very interesting article on how geology affected the outcome of twenty-five Civil War battles.

Civil War Geology | History & Archaeology | Smithsonian Magazine.

Eric’s Web

There are already many alternative vehicle fuels.  They don’t all make sense, but some of them may.

Alt Fuels Reality Check - Ethanol, Biodiesel, CNG, Propane and Diesel at Alternative Fuels and Vehicles Conference - Popular Mechanics.

Eric’s Website

An interesting article with geologic implications.

ONGC finds heavy oil in Persian Gulf - Offshore.

Eric’s Website

So do I, so do I!

OPEC wants oil to reach $70 a barrel

Eric’s Website

Gondwana Press announces its 1^st Annual Route 66 Writing Contest.  For complete rules, go to the Gondwana Press website.

Gondwana Press

Interesting.

WELCOME TO YEAR OF SCIENCE 2009!! - YOS Home.

Here is a wonderful recipe, perfect for the holidays.  It’s courtesy of Sue Ellen G. Butler in her cookbook, Louisiana Entertains - a complete menu cookbook.

8          sweet potatoes, cooked peeled and mashed
¼        pound softened butter
2          cups brown sugar
1          teaspoon allspice
1          teaspoon nutmeg
1          teaspoon cinnamon
½        cup bourbon
½        cup flour
2          tablespoons butter
1          cup chopped pecans

Combine sweet potatoes with softened butter.  1 cup brown sugar, spices and bourbon; mix well.  Pour into a buttered 2 quart casserole.

Cut the 2 tablespoons butter into flour with a pastry blender until crumbly.  Add remaining cup of brown sugar and pecans and blend well.  Sprinkle on top of potatoes and bake at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes.  Enjoy.

Eric’s Website

An amusing and informative compilation of oilfield jargon.

http://energyscout.ning.com/forum/topics/oilfield-slang-got-any-more

Eric’s Web

Interesting court decision involving drilling for coalbed methane.

http://www.forbes.com/feeds/ap/2009/04/21/ap6314474.html

Eric’s Website

Viktor watched the old man's cold, dark eyes, alive inside a gray face that seemed a coffin encasing a spirit not quite ready for the tomb.  Out of respect, he waited.  Yevgheny and Angelina didn't bother.  Laughing and happy, they ate, ignoring the old man's silent presence.

            "You must be very happy to have both your sons home at once, Aneliia," Angelina said.

            Smiling, the old woman nodded, answering with her mouth half-filled with food.  "I worry every day for my Yevgheny, alone and in constant danger, for fourteen months."

            Viktor nodded his agreement. "We are glad you are home and safe, Yevgheny."

            Like a schoolgirl, Angelina rested her chin on her palms and gazed into Yevgheny's deep blue eyes.

"What was it like?"

            Yevgheny placed his fork on the table and leaned back in his chair.  "It was a desert."

            "Did you kill anyone?"

            Aneliia glared at her pretty daughter-in-law. "Angelina!  What kind of question is that for a returning hero?"

            Viktor pretended not to hear, but Yevgheny grinned.  "I flew assault helicopters.  If you can't see the enemy die, you haven't really killed him."

            Angelina giggled.  Viktor raised an eyebrow, and Aneliia frowned and continued eating.

            "Yevgheny is a warrior," she said between mouthfuls.  "I am proud of him."

            "Are you not equally proud of Viktor?  He is a physician."

            Aneliia neither smiled, nor directly answered Angelina's question.  Instead, she conceded, "He has a good job.  He can support your child."

            Viktor didn't look up to see his mother's rapt frown.  Quickly finishing his food, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

            "You must excuse me.  I have night shift at the clinic."

            Donning his white smock hanging by the door, Viktor hurried into dusk, edged with crimson on the horizon.  Angelina helped the old woman clear the table while Yevgheny smoked and the old man remained silently seated at the table.  When they finished, Aneliia grabbed Aleksandr's elbow and led him from the room.

            "Come, Aleksandr.  Old bones must rest."

            Aneliia shut the door behind them.  Grabbing Yevgheny's hand, Angelina pulled him outside to the small yard behind the house.  Beyond the flowered meadow, last glimmers of daylight expired in vivid crimson on the horizon.  Angelina smiled and held Yevgheny's hand in the warm muted darkness.

            "I missed you, Yevgheny."

            "And I missed you, beautiful Angelina."

            They embraced without speaking as an explosion shook the ground beneath them.  Yevgheny's back straightened, and then stiffened like a rod.  A flash of lightning-like illumination exploded across the sky -- and then another.

            Angelina asked, "What was that?"

            Yevgheny didn't answer.  Releasing her, he backed stiffly away and lighted a cigarette with a palsied hand.

*    *    *

            Leonid, an orderly, opened the clinic door, excited and breathless.  "Viktor, there has been an explosion at the power station."

            "Casualties?"

            "A fire -- people burned."

            Viktor grabbed his bag and drugs, motioning the nurse Sasha.  Sasha followed him outside to the awaiting Riga ambulance.  Less than ten minutes from the power station, they passed beneath a brown cloud of dust along the way.

            A guard stopped them at the gate.  "Where are you going?"

            "The fire."

            "Why haven't you any special clothing on?"

            Viktor glanced first at Leonid and then at the guard.  "But how were we to know we needed special clothing?"

            Shaking his head sullenly, the guard let them pass.

            Silent, peaceful and starry was the night.  As they parked the Riga, Two firemen dragged an injured man, chest crushed and badly burned, out the front door.  He died as they put him into the ambulance.  Amidst a steady barrage of small explosions and

the ominous hiss of burning gases fracturing the solitude of the night, the roof of the tall structure burned.  Viktor smelled smoke and felt the super-heated air as they entered the reactor's control room.  What they found resembled a battlefield hospital.  Injured people lay in rows along the floor.  Viktor, Leonid and Sasha immediately began administering assistance and hurrying the casualties to the ambulances already arriving from town.

            "What happened?" Viktor asked.

            Burned but lucid, the injured man answered, "The reactor exploded.  Much of the roof has collapsed."

            "How did it happen?" Viktor said, shaking his head in disbelief.

            "We shut down the reactor for routine maintenance.  All systems were inoperative."

            "Even the fail-safes?"

            "Yes," the man said, breathless as orderlies carried him in a stretcher to an ambulance.

            As the man had described, much of the roof of the multi-storied building had collapsed.  Steel beams and girders protruded from the walls and ceiling like crumpled pretzels.  Wispy fingers of gray smoke snaked along the hallways and from beneath the closed metal doors.  An earth-shattering shake had damaged the reactor's computer beyond repair.  Engineers and technicians, assigned to the plant's night shift, hurried about the large alcove, desperately trying to regain control of the unleashed demon.

            Viktor dispensed iodine, encouragement, and little else to the radiation-weakened workers and firefighters, apologetic for their nausea.  Within the hour, he also began to feel the sickening sensation of radiation poisoning.  Someone touched Viktor's shoulder.

            "We must go, Viktor.  Ambulances will bring the casualties to the clinic."

            "No, Leonid.  Firefighters are risking their lives.  I can't let them think we are deserting them."

            Blaring sirens shattered the false serenity of the night.

            "Firemen from as far as Kiev are arriving, Viktor.  They will put out the fire.  The radiation level is very high, Viktor.  We can't help them if we are as sick as they."

            "There are six men on the roof, Leonid.  Go back to the clinic.  I will stay here until they come down."

            Leonid glanced at Sasha.  Quickly averting Leonid's questioning stare, she remained on her knees beside a badly burned man.  Leonid nodded knowingly and left without another word.  A firefighter in a mask and protective suit entered the front door and made a perfunctory check of the casualties in the control room.  When he saw Viktor, kneeling beside an injured technician, he hurried to his side.

            "You must leave, Doctor.  I am in charge here."

            "What about the men on the roof?  What is happening on the roof?"

            When the man removed his protective hood, Viktor looked into his sad eyes and sensed his hopeless bewilderment.

            "The fire is burning at five thousand degrees Fahrenheit.  Roofing material is flowing like a molten river."

He paused to catch his breath and wipe away an errant tear forming in the corner of his eye.  "Water from their hoses turned to radioactive steam as they doused the fire.  Still, they stopped the building from burning to the ground.  My men are bringing them down now."

            "And the reactor?"

            "Radiation has been released into the atmosphere by the accident.  God help those beneath it when it comes down."

            As he walked away, the man looked like a beaten prize fighter.  Viktor's throat constricted when the men in protective clothing finally brought the six injured firemen into the control room.  He and Sasha cut away a young man's rubber coat -- a man

no older than twenty-five -- and administered morphine and iodine tablets.  Turning his head away -- hair singed and face blistered puffy red -- he vomited on the floor.  Covering his mouth with a badly blistered hand, he turned his head away, embarrassed.

            "I'm sorry."

            "No matter," Viktor said, consoling him.

            A steady parade of firefighters and plant workers passed their station, disoriented, vomiting and muscles weakened.  At two-thirty, an ambulance driver brought more drugs from the clinic.

            Firefighters and plant workers continued, unfalteringly, to fight the blaze.  And so did Viktor and Sasha.

*    *    *

            A knock on the door startled Yevgheny and Angelina from their moment of bliss.  Yevgheny hurriedly climbed out of bed and put on his pants before the knocking disturbed Aneliia and Aleksandr, revealing their infidelity.

            "Are you Yevgheny Ivanisevic?"

            "I am," Yevgheny said.

            "An emergency.  Your assistance is needed.  Please come with us."

            Angelina watched Yevgheny finish dressing and leave with no further explanation from the intruder.  Wide awake, she put on her robe and put a kettle of water on the stove to boil.  Aneliia soon joined her.

            "Who was at the door?"

            "I don't know, Aneliia.  A man came for Yevgheny."

            By the light of the kitchen's single bare bulb, they drank tea in silence.  At dawn, another loud knock disturbed their silent thoughts.  Aneliia went to the door and found two soldiers waiting.

            "There has been an accident at the power plant.  We are evacuating the village."

            Angelina followed Aneliia to the door and grabbed her arm.  Mouth open and a look of sullen horror on her face, the old woman just stood there.

            Angelina asked, "What accident?"

            "We don't have time to tell you," the man said.  "Take only what you can carry in one bag.  Buses will leave in an hour."

            Aneliia's face went white.  A shrill wail began deep in her lungs, issuing in wheezing bursts from her quivering lips.  She buried her head in her shaking hands, revealing decades of suppressed pain in her bony old body.

            Angelina shook her back to consciousness.  "Aneliia, it's all right.  Awaken Papa and pack a bag.  I'm going to the clinic.  Viktor will know what has happened."

            Leaving the old woman, almost catatonic and trembling in the opened doorway, Angelina went to look for Viktor.  Frantic people crowded the square, many reacting as Aneliia to the evacuation announcement.  Soldiers were everywhere and hundreds of buses lined the narrow streets.  A hysterical woman grabbed her arm, desperate for reassurance. Angelina pulled away and hurried through the crowd.  In the distance, a giant cloud of smoke issued from the reactor.  Thoroughly frightened, Angelina found Leonid, eyes red and expression haggard, when she reached the nearby clinic.

            "Leonid, where is Viktor?"

            Leonid shook his head sadly.  "He is sick, Angelina.  They took him to the radiation hospital in Moscow."

            "Radiation hospital?  What happened to him?"

            "He and Sasha stayed at the power plant to assist the firemen and plant workers.  They took a large dose of radiation."

            Angelina stared in disbelief.  "Is he alive?"

            "He is strong, Angelina.  I'm sure he will survive, but you must leave here quickly," he said, glancing at the noticeable bulge in her belly.

            Angelina's face grew bright red.  Her eyes began to tear and she grabbed Leonid's arm as he turned away.  "What will happen to Viktor?"

            Leonid supported her shoulders as he spoke.  "Viktor took a very large dose, Angelina.  His hair will fall out and his internal organs will swell and cease to function.  Radiation will destroy his body's ability to create white blood cells.  He will be open to opportunistic infection."

            Angelina wrenched away from Leonid's grasp and rushed outside, not stopping until she tripped and fell on her face on the sidewalk.  A passing soldier helped her to her feet and brushed her off.

            "What is happening at the power plant?  Will it explode?"

            He shrugged.  "The firemen and helicopter pilots have the blaze under control.  They are dropping sand, cement and boron on the reactor from the air.  Once they extinguish the fire, they will encase it in a shroud of concrete to halt the reaction."

            Angelina's face went white, her hand to her mouth.  "Yevgheny!"

            Nodding solemnly and knowing who she meant, the soldier felt her concern.  "The two emergency pilots have been in the air for several hours now."

            Angelina grabbed the man's arm and dug in her nails.  "Radiation must be intense over the reactor."

            The soldier flinched, but didn't move his arm away.  "There was no one else.  Replacements are on their way."

            Angelina released the man's arm and ran down the street, avoiding people frantically loading the buses.  She found Aneliia, holding a single bag, waiting at the front door of their house.  Her entire body shook with wounded and bleeding emotion, but she was no longer crying.  She put her arms around her daughter-in-law for support and Angelina could feel the frail old woman's trembling fear.

            "Angelina, I can't find Aleksandr."

            "Where could he be?"

            "I don't know.  Maybe on the hill behind the house."

A soldier approached from behind and took Aneliia by the arm, pushing her roughly toward the bus.

            "Please.  We have no more time."

            "I'll find Papa," Angelina said, hurrying away through the crowd before the soldier could react.

            Angelina ran through a grove of trees beginning to green, across the rolling meadow alive with yellow wildflowers.  Pausing at the base of the hill, she caught her breath before hurrying through the tall grass moving in synchronous waves in the gentle breeze.  At the top of the hill she found the old man, crouched on his hands and knees on the bare earth.

            Angelina took his arm and pulled gently.  "Papa, we must go.  The buses are waiting."

            Sorrowful tears clouded the old man's dark eyes.  "I won't go.  They can't make me leave my home again."

            "It's all right, Papa.  It's only for a few days."

            Aleksandr shook his head.  "That is what we heard when the Nazi's invaded, and it was three years.  I won't live three more years."

            Angelina tugged more forcefully on his arm.  "Please Papa."

            Bending forward, the old man rested his head against the

earth and refused to move.  Angelina knelt, crying as she touched his shoulders, feeling the weight of his pain.

            "My brother died in the war.  My family.  My friends.  It's not fair," he said, bitter tears burning his eyes.

            Buses had begun their long journey -- a seamless, bumper-to-bumper procession winding like a drunken snake for thirty kilometers before disappearing into the distance.  Overhead, thick cumulus clouds were forming and the sky grew ominously dark.  Lazy drops of rain fell on Aleksandr's back and Angelina's shoulders.

            She left the old man on the hill.

            Stopping once and turning around, Angelina's tears mingled with the rain.  In the distance, a brown helicopter was dropping cement on the smoking dragon still threatening to engulf the Ukrainian springtime.  Touching her belly, she hurried away down the hill.

            Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.  Somewhere far away a child played.  Everywhere, air remained fragrant with pink and white blossoms of apple and apricot.  But in the village all was silent except the dripping of bitter tears and muted shriek of an angry demon, encased by the feeble walls of a concrete sarcophagus.

END

Fiction South

A very interesting slide show.

http://www.reuters.com/news/pictures/rpSlideshows?articleId=USRTXCJVW#a=1

Eric’s Website

Oil deals are being made out there.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124017352252132653.html?ru=yahoo&mod=yahoo_hs

Eric’s Website

A primer on mineral law for the novices out there.

http://geology.com/articles/mineral-rights.shtml

Eric’s Website

Interesting reading from the Department of Energy.

http://www.fossil.energy.gov/news/techlines/2009/09024-Shale_Gas_Primer_Released.html

Eric’s Website

Want to improve your blood sugar? Here’s a Mediterranean diet-type recipe that will help you do the trick.  Try this recipe from eatingwell.com.

This garlicky hummus is the perfect dip for pita crisps. To make the crisps, simply bake triangles of pita bread in a hot oven until they are golden, about 8 minutes.

1 clove garlic

1 19-ounce can chickpeas, rinsed, or 2 cups cooked chickpeas

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 tablespoon reduced-sodium soy sauce

1 tablespoon tahini (sesame paste)

2 tablespoons water

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley plus a sprig for garnish

Salt to taste

Paprika for garnish

1. Preheat oven to 425°F. Remove the loose papery outside skin from the garlic head without separating the cloves. Slice off the top 1/2 inch. Wrap in a small square of foil and roast until the garlic is very soft, about 40 minutes. Unwrap and cool slightly. Separate the cloves and peel.

2. Puree the garlic, chickpeas, lemon juice, soy sauce, tahini and water in a food processor. Add more or less water as necessary to make a fairly firm dip.

3. Transfer to a small serving bowl, stir in parsley and season with salt. Garnish with a sprig of parsley and a sprinkling of paprika.

Nutrition Information: Per 2-tablespoon serving: 47 calories; 1 g fat (0 g sat, 0 g mono); 0 mg cholesterol; 8 g carbohydrate; 2 g protein; 1 g fiber; 121 mg sodium; 74 mg potassium.1/2 Carbohydrate ServingExchanges: 1/2 starch

Eric’s Website

Even more horrible economic news for the energy industry.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123957686061311925.html

Eric’s Website

A wealth of information compiled by the EIA.

http://www.eia.doe.gov/oiaf/aeo/index.html

Eric’s Website

U.S. largest oil field declining.

http://www.reuters.com/article/rbssEnergyNews/idUSN1051046620090411

Eric’s Website

Another excellent USGS article, this one on oil shale.

http://geology.com/usgs/piceance-basin/

Eric’s Website

Unlike most other shales, the Bakken produces mostly oil and not gas.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24057222/

Eric’s Website

Just one of a plethora of shale articles.

http://oilshalegas.com/woodfordshale.html

Eric’s Website

A must-read article for all of you shale people.

http://all-llc.com/shale/GWPCMarcellusFinal.pdf

Eric’s Website

Naomi (Shu Chen) is my accountant.  This week, she made her very own vegetarian chili and brought some to the office for all to try.  Very nice.

2 Cans chili with beans, no meat

1 Can tomato sauce

1 Yellow bell pepper

1 Red bell pepper

1 Cucumber

1 Cap cooking wine

A sprinkle of Parsley

Shredded cheddar and mozzarella cheese

Combine ingredients in a baking pan.  Sprinkle cheese on top then bake in the oven at 375 degrees for 25 minutes.  Simmer in a pot on the stove and add parsley just before taking the chili off the stove.  Enjoy.

Eric’s Website

A mysterious black panther is a principal element in my new novel in progress, Bones of Skeleton Creek.  It seems impossible that a large black cat, an animal not native to North America, is prowling rural Logan County, Oklahoma.  Buck McDivit learns the impossible is true, and that the supernatural may be involved.  Here is a short, largely unedited excerpt from murder mystery Bones of Skeleton Creek.

By now, the rain and wind had reached storm levels.  If Buck could have found a way through the fence to the lease line road, he would have taken it back to Clayton’s ranch.  He could not.  His only recourse was to find shelter beneath the leafy overhang that roofed Skeleton Creek.

       Central Oklahoma soils that provide such firm footing when the weather is dry quickly become treacherously slick when rains begin.  Buck realized as much as he started the ATV and tracked his path back to Skeleton Creek.  The creek’s formerly gentle flow had riverted to a swirling torrent of rushing water.  Only a few feet of earth remained above the flow on either side of water turned suddenly violent.

       ATVs are sure-footed vehicles, the one Buck drove no exception.  Still, when he pointed the front wheels down the slope, he knew instantly that he had made a mistake.  The front end slipped sideways, out of control, then flipped over, dumping Buck unceremoniously into the slick mud.

       The work someone had done to lessen the slope into the creek had also compromised its integrity.  Water poured down the opening, washing away any traction that may have existed.  For Buck, it didn’t matter as he tumbled toward roaring water, the heavy ATV tumbling on top of him.

       The weight of the ATV carried him into the roaring waters of Skeleton Creek, its rushing force propelling Buck rapidly downstream.  He had swallowed lots of water and his muscles felt like warm putty when he finally grabbed a log, lodged against the bank, and pull himself up the slippery slope and out of the water.

       Rain continued but the brunt of the rapidly moving storm had already passed over.  Buck lay in the mud for a while, spitting up water and trying to catch his breath.  When some of his strength finely returned, he found he had another problem.

       Mud was so slick that it sucked one of his boots right off of his foot.  When he tried to stand, his feet came out from under him and he plunged back into the muck.

       Buck’s struggle continued for the better part of an hour.  When he finally reached the relative stability of a red sandstone boulder, he stretched out on his back and drew an exhausted breath.

       Rain had finally ceased but now it was replaced by darkness, the creek bed almost like the inside of a cave.  Using roots and rock, he finally managed to work himself above the rushing water.  What he found was a game trail, established by decades, maybe centuries, of wild animals.

        Supported by rock and roots, the narrow pathway provided Buck’s first sure footing since he exited the oil lease.  Still, all was not well.  He was drenched, his cap gone, along with one of his favorite boots, and he had to pick his way along the trail because it was too dark to see.  He also had the uneasy feeling that something was tracking him.

Eric’s Website

My business partner Ray and I had a meeting today with a law firm that does oil and gas work for us.  They have a new (at least to them) two-story office building in a part of downtown Oklahoma City known as the Deep Deuce.

In years past, mostly black Americans populated the “Deuce” and it was a business and cultural center.  Ralph Ellison, author of Invisible Man, wrote a poem about the Deep Deuce titled Deep Two.  It was also the purview of legendary musician Charlie Christian.

The area fell into disarray in the sixties, remaining that way until a decade or so ago when the advent of Oklahoma City’s Bricktown returned the area to prominence.  Our attorney’s building is a beautifully restored brick structure that exudes history.  As Ray and I left the law office and headed north on the Broadway Extension, we both noticed the gray haze of the sky.

“It’s probably airborne dirt from the plowed fields,” Ray said.

Winds blowing and swirling at high speeds caused our vehicle to sway as we proceeded on our course.  I worried about Marilyn, on her way to Ardmore to pick up daughter Katelyn for the weekend.  She called, telling me that a fire in the Arbuckle Mountains had shut down traffic on I-35 and she was detoured down Highway 77, through the little town of Davis.

Ron, my son-in-law’s plane, coming in from Kansas City, could not land at Will Rogers Airport because of strong crosswinds.  He is spending the night in Dallas.  Flames raked Stepson Shane’s farm near Wellston.  His horses and dogs survived, the grass on his property cut low, but his wooden fences burned.

I soon learned that the gray sky was not the result of blowing dirt.  It was smoke.  As I pen this story, fires are burning all over Oklahoma, stoked by high gusting winds.  I could not even call Marilyn, or she me because cell phones do not work in smoke so thick.  Once again, Oklahoma is burning and it reminded me of the Deep Deuce.

Three years ago, I was writing about Oklahoma burning.  The persistent drought ended abruptly with two years of the most rainfall in recorded history for this state.  The Deep Deuce fell into disarray but now encompasses some to the most desirable real estate in Oklahoma City.  Drought that had plagued Oklahoma for years and that seemed doomed by months of ever-increasing rain has returned.

The scenario reminded me that no matter how fast things change, they are cyclical.  Like the rest of the world, we are destined to experience highs and lows, and peaks and valleys.  Fortunately, the bads and the goods never seem to happen at the same time.  If they ever do, I suppose that would possibly signal the end of the world.

Eric’s Website

The Catch 22 of the energy industry: technology that has made us natural gas independent has also resulted in more production than demand, and thus low prices which in turn cripple drilling activity.

http://www.epmag.com/WebOnly2009/item35273.php

Eric’s Website

Today’s economic crisis is old hat for me; I have lived it all before.  Wife Anne and I suffered financially for ten long years after our oil company failed in the eighties.  We somehow managed to pay our bills, mainly because we pared our lifestyle down significantly.  We went to the movies and out to eat once a week, and spent only cash because we had no credit cards.

Despite our spare existence, money was tight, hardly anyone drilling for oil or natural gas, or buying prospects from an independent geologist.  We did not have much in the way of assets, just a huge glass piggy bank filled with coins from years of collecting.

“We won’t raid the piggy bank until we just have to,” Anne said.  “I know there is at least a thousand dollars there and it will last us a while if we need it.”

Things grew tight many times but years passed without the necessity of breaking the piggy bank.  Finally, the fateful day arrived.  The big glass pig had a large cork in its rear.  We removed it and poured the coins into a pillowcase.

We had no bank account because we had legal judgments against us as principles in the failed oil company.  If we had maintained an account, one of our creditors would have garnished the proceeds and taken them.  Because of this, we simply picked a bank at random, walked in with our booty-filled pillowcase and asked a hapless cashier to convert the coins to bills for us.

There was not, much to our dismay, anywhere near a thousand dollars in the pillowcase.  The cashier showed us the printout from the coin counter and handed us two-hundred-fifty-two-dollars and fifty-two cents.  I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut and Anne almost started crying as the cashier counted out the money.

We had no health insurance for years and could not afford to go to the dentist.  If we had a toothache, we just suffered.  It was not that we weren’t making money.  When I was lucky enough to sell a prospect, we were the recipients of lots of money.  Problem is, you never knew how long you had to make it last.  Still, we always seemed to do better than minimum wage.

After finally cracking the piggy bank, Anne told me we both needed to get real jobs.  “Except for oil and gas, you’re not qualified to do anything except maybe teach.  If we don’t sell a prospect in the next ten days, we need to find a job, even if it’s sacking groceries.”

There was a joke going around at the time that went something like this:  When a petroleum geologist applies for a job at McDonald’s, the manager rejects him because, “All our geologists have Master’s degrees.”

I have no regrets toiling in the oil and gas profession.  Oil, quite simply, is the most important commodity, with the possible exception of water, on the face of the earth.  Life as we know it would shut completely down if we had to rely on wind, solar, water or nuclear energy, even for a single day.  Yes, burning oil pollutes the atmosphere and we should stop.  We have better uses for the oil anyway – drugs, plastics and so many other things without which we cannot endure.  Problem is, there is no substitute now.

People that rail against the oil industry are like vegetarians that wear leather belts and shoes. Do you want to stop destroying the ozone?  Quit driving your car.  As a person that has worked in the energy business all his life, I feel much maligned, and think of an eighties bumper sticker that said, Please do not tell my mother I work in the oil business.  She thinks I am a piano player in a whorehouse.