Skip to main content

Gem Geeks

Admittedly, it's a little geeky (A person who is single-minded or accomplished in scientific or technical pursuits but feels socially inept), wandering around Tucson, Arizona, pawing gingerly through boxes of terminated quartz crystals, looking for that remarkable specimen . . . or was it Tiger Iron?

Indeed, when Gemologists converge on Tucson, the socially inept are unreservedly transformed!

Lori Tucson 2013
In February 2013, gemstone and mineral aficionados converged once again in Tucson, Arizona, to play in the desert. Cold mornings, warm afternoons, the glow of sunrise on the mountains, magnificent golden, green, and orange hues, the fresh smell of the dry desert air, and, of course, the majestic
Carnegiea gigantea (Saguaro) Cactus.

In years past, during economic prosperity, finding a room in Tucson during this show would not have been possible. Fortunately, we found a comfortable room. Granted, it was seven miles from downtown. Yes, we waited until the very last minute to reserve our room.

“It's been a long time since we’ve had to scrape ice from our car windows,” said Lori. Since 1987, Tucson has had an annual trip for work. My renewed joy was an opportunity to spend quality time with good friends after a three-year sabbatical.

We made a three-day weekend out of it. The relaxing drive from Southern California took about seven hours. For the gem dealers, it's all about business; for the gem geeks, it's about socializing. In the world of gems, there is no single show on earth where so many people from around the world converge to share stories, show samples, lick agates, dance the night away, and simply throw caution to the wind.

It is amazing what gem connoisseurs will spend money on, present company included. This year's big purchase was a slab of Tiger Iron (geeky stuff) from the Pilbara region in Western Australia. After seeing many beautiful species of gems, including my favorite, a stunning 23-carat Cats-Eye Chrysoberyl ($83,000.00), for some strange reason, this material would not let me pass it by. That piece now inhabits the fireplace mantel in our home.

Maybe that’s what the Tucson Gem Show is really about. Gemologists who secretly love to pull baubles from their pockets and engage in conversation about the clandestine world of gems and minerals . . . just ask anyone,

“What special piece did you find?”

Comments

Anonymous said…
Ha! I finally had to have some Ethiopian opal. :)

Blaire, aka Gemgeek!
Patrick B. Ball said…
Good for you Blaire, it's all about the unusual gems anyway!

Most Popular of All Time

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . .  Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...