Here’s how it happened. I once said it would be nice to have a yellow diamond, or as they’re now called, a fancy yellow diamond. I say a lot of things, but my husband heard this one. With no prompting from me, he decided I should have yellow diamond earrings, and asked a wholesale dealer to… Continue reading The Normandie
For someone who owns a lot of jewelry, I wear pathetically little of it. I stalk it, I buy it, I swoon over it, I take it on a little honeymoon, and then I go on to the next infatuation. If I behaved the same way with men, I would be one tired and jaded… Continue reading But Will I Wear It?
Diamonds shouldn’t be confusing, but they are. Or at least the diamond market is confusing, a minefield of prevarication and hype. I know this because I’ve just been doing a little diamond shopping, more out of curiosity than the itch to buy. Though I do frequently have that itch. Diamond, my favorite gem, is made of… Continue reading Carbon Taxed
It was always hard to know what Mother wanted—though in certain respects she made her wishes clear, mostly having to do with cleaning up some mess or getting the hell out of her way. When I was a child following her around the kitchen, she’d say, sharply: ‘Get out from under my feet!’ She said it so… Continue reading Mother’s Tourmalines
When I got engaged, sometime in the last century—1984, which really does seem like a distant era—I was presented with the requisite diamond solitaire ring, a one-carat stone in the plainest possible four-prong setting. I can’t show it to you because I eventually got tired of looking at it and had the stone reset. To go with… Continue reading A Familiar Ring
In a poem that confused me in high school—many poems confused me in high school, and many still do—Edna St. Vincent Millay describes the pain of an old love affair as something ‘clear and diminished like a scene cut in cameo’: ‘O troubled forms, O early love unfortunate and hard Time has estranged you into a jewel… Continue reading Oh Chalcedony!
I’ve always been a little afraid of opals. They’re temperamental: brittle, heat-sensitive, easily scratched. They contain water, and someone once told me they should be stored in damp cotton to keep them from cracking. (This is usually not necessary.) Oh, and it’s supposedly unlucky to wear opals if they’re not your birthstone. (Opals are October. I’m June: pearl, moonstone, alexandrite.)… Continue reading The Opal