ODE to Gemology

G. Robert Crowningshield

For over 60 years students of Gemology have struggled with spectrums; bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochrosim. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology re-discover natures gifts all over again, every day.

The following is reprinted with very minor edits from The Loupe, vol. V, No.2, Mar-Apr, 1953 p. 3.

Courtesy of the Richard T. Liddicoat Gemological Library

Dedicated to G. Robert Crowningshield, Bert Krashes, & Bill Jean

ODE to Gemology

By a GIA On-Campus Student

Dispersion, fire, aventurescence,

Orient, sheen, or iridescence—

Refractive index—high or low—

The luster should indicate that, you know.

Polarization—double or single—

What to do now! They intermingle!

Pleochroic colors you really should see;

Was that only two, or actually three?

Birefringence should help you a lot—

Use your polarizer, and watch the spot.

Now did it jump most, on low or on high?

Sure you can get it; if you really try.

Your liquids should be an aid, I think.

Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink?

Just use your imagination now—

(He doesn’t see me wiping my brow!)

Solid inclusions, or only bubbles?

Huh! They brush right off! I still got troubles—

Look for crystals and fingerprints—

Are the striae straight or are they bent?

You finally make your indentifications—

“You only missed one! Congratulations!

You’re doing fine! It’s just speed you lack!”

(I feel like using a well-placed tack.)

This scientific approach is tough

And you feel like shouting, “I’ve had enough!”

But, sooner or later, you see the light

And you know that this approach is right.

So to all who have helped us may we humbly say,

“Thank God, we had you to show us the way

To a life that is full of the things that are real—

And the appreciation you’ve taught us to feel

For the things which Nature so graciously gives—

You’ve given us something by which to live.”

“Anomalous”

Comments

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

The Big Rip and the First Tee

The telescope (Celestron) sits quietly under its cover, temporarily blinded by Southern California's annual meteorological hostage situation – June Gloom. Somewhere above that thick gray ceiling, photons that began their journey before humans appeared are streaming across the cosmos, only to be intercepted by a marine layer that seems to have veto power over astronomy. Instead of observing the universe, I find myself imagining – The End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking) by physicist Katie Mack. According to modern cosmology, the universe may eventually end in a Big Rip, a Big Crunch, Heat Death, Vacuum Decay, or some other catastrophe that sounds suspiciously like a rejected heavy-metal album title. Astrophysicists spend their careers calmly discussing the possibility that reality itself could suddenly cease to exist because a quantum field had a bad day. It's a remarkable way to start a Saturday morning. One moment you're contemplating the ultimate fate of spacetime...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...

On The Fly

Search This Blog