I discovered this anomaly while exploring a Central New York library.
Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates.
In this case, one little e makes a big difference, as this should be Oates, like Joyce Carol Oates or Hockey Hall of Famer Adam Oates. Not like Quaker Oats. But the little misspelling doesn’t diminish the quality of the book. Once the reader opens it, the person will get lost in the masterful storytelling and prose of JCO.
Happy Halloween everyone. I want to share some good news. I wasn’t going to post anything about this, but then I thougth: you have to celebrate the little victories because they don’t come along that often.
Our Syracuse University Marketing video team won an Emmy over the weekend at the 66th annual New York Emmy Awards ceremony in Manhattan.
The Emmy-winning Syracuse University Marketing video team. From left to right: Amy Manley, Joseph Heslin, Shane Johnson, Tom Colling, Joshua Waldby, Francis DiClemente, and Bob Gerbin. Not pictured: Alex DeRosa, Mary Kasprzyk, John Caiella, and Dara Royer.
Our video, Rise Beyond: Syracuse University, earned the honor in the category of Branded Content (Short or Long Form Content). The piece highlights the amazing faculty, students and alumni who pursue excellence on the Hill and beyond; in the aggregate, their individual achievements— along with the strong bond of the Orange community—define the Syracuse University brand.
Photo by Shane Johnson.
This marks my second Emmy. The first was for co-writing, producing and directing the indie documentary short The Real Bedford Falls, It’s a Wonderful Life (Honest Engine Films, 2020).
I’m happy to announce that my indie documentary short Ralph Rotella: The Sole of Syracuse, co-directed by my talented Syracuse University colleague Shane Johnson, will premiere at the Redhouse on Friday afternoon as an official entry of the Syracuse International Film Festival.
As many people in Central New York already know, Ralph is an amazing character with a generous heart, and it was a blast learning more about him.
After walking past his shop almost every day for the past few years, I felt compelled to go inside and talk to him. Inspired by Studs Terkel’s book Working, I wanted to do a mini doc to answer two questions: 1) Do people still get their shoes repaired in the 21st century 2) Can this man actually earn a living through shoe repair alone (taking into account the high cost of a downtown office building lease)? Or does he need an alternate income to survive?
Ralph Rotella hammering a heel. Photo Credit: Shane Johnson.
Ralph was a tough interview, and it was a challenge stringing together a narrative based on his terse sound bites, quips, and comedic digressions. And the film I thought I was making turned into something slightly different. But that’s the beauty of documentary filmmaking; if you take the time to pay attention to your subject, the story will reveal itself to you.
Photo Credit: Shane Johnson.
And through Shane’s fine cinematography—as we observed a “day in the life” of the shop, cinema verité style—we captured authentic personal moments that illustrate the bond Ralph shares with his customers on a daily basis.
This is Ralph’s work bench. It’s my favorite frame from the film. Photo Credit: Shane Johnson.
And here’s a little teaser we prepared in anticipation of the premiere.
Today marks two months since my transsphenoidal brain surgery to remove tumor regrowth. I’m happy to report I’m getting stronger every day. I’d say I’m about 80 percent back to normal. I have returned to work and jumped back into the maelstrom of marketing projects, deadlines, and responsibilities.
Eight weeks post-surgery.
My nose still throbs, and I needed a round of antibiotics for a recent infection of the cartilage. I had a follow-up appointment with the ENT surgeon; he mentioned it will take about three to six months for me to be fully healed—not surprising considering they rolled part of my septum and used it as a nasoseptal flap to patch where the cerebral spinal fluid leaked during surgery. But the good news—the seal at the back near the opening of the sphenoid sinus is holding.
My nemesis: the twice-daily nasal rinse bottle.
I still need to do twice-daily saline rinses and take Tylenol for the pain. I lifted “weights” yesterday for the first time in eight weeks—don’t laugh at my little five-pound dumbbells. I hope to resume heaving fifteen-pounders in a couple of weeks.
Hitting the “weights.”
Two songs have been repeating in my head during my recovery.
Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing.”
And Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life Again.”
And here’s a photo from a Walgreens: the gift of a beautiful sight revealed to me on a mundane Friday night.
Sublime sunset from a parking lot. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
I had a morning eye doctor’s appointment earlier this week. And I had some time to kill before the dilation drops rendered my eyes useless for the rest of the day. After getting off the bus at Washington Street near City Hall, I cut across Montgomery Street while making my way to Presidential Plaza.
St. Paul’s Church. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Brick wall with ivy. Photo by Francis DiClemente.
Along the way, I snapped a few photos with my antiquated, battery-challenged iPhone 8, jotted down a quick poem about some feathered denizens of the Salt City, and captured a moment of tranquility on a sunny morning downtown.
I felt grateful for the opportunity to capture a myriad of sights and sounds the universe sent my way. It was another reminder to always pay attention to my surroundings and be on the lookout for creative inspiration. Here’s the poem I wrote. It required significant revision as it made the transition from my pocket notebook to my computer.
Three pigeons
perched on a wire.
What are they
talking about
on this bright,
sunny morning?
But their conversation
is restricted—not for
human interpretation.
And the chatter ends
when the birds
lift from the wire,
taking off in formation,
flapping their wings,
and sending feathers
twirling to the ground.
I was flipping through one of my older poetry books—Dreaming of Lemon Trees: Selected Poems (Finishing Line Press, 2019)—and I came upon “Jumpcuts of Thought.” I like the stupid absurdity of it, and I thought I would share the poem, since many people have not read it in book form. It’s also one of the only poems I’ve written that employs the use of rhyme.
Jumpcuts of Thought
Clorox shine
and Rust Belt mine.
Ruddy hue
and Spade gumshoe.
Tootsie Pop
and soiled mop.
J.S. Bach
and Shakur, Tupac.
Codeine high
and ham on rye.
Minnie Mouse
and adobe house.
Petrie dish
and sardine fish.
Rockwell print
and strand of lint.
Ruby Dee
and Wounded Knee.
Swollen lip
and radar blip.
Clark Gable
and Aesop fable.
Toilet seat
and sirloin meat.
Shower stall
and Camus’s The Fall.
Mustard green
and college dean.
Lowell, Mass.
and Namath pass.
The odd pairings
go on and on,
in this celebration of incongruity—
a verbal exercise
to stimulate the mind.
I just want to share that I have a short essay published in the literary magazine The Bookends Review. You can read the piece here.
Today marks one month since my brain surgery. My recovery is going well, but I’m still not back to full strength.
I’ve been walking in my neighborhood to build up my stamina. I’m still using the cane I received when I was discharged from the hospital, but I hope to ditch it soon.
When I walk, I don’t listen to music or podcasts. For safety reasons, I need to hear cars approaching, and I also keep my ears open for stimulating sounds—birds, wind chimes, children playing, etc.
A lot of times, I get ideas for poems while out on my walks. Often, one line will pop into my head and start me down the path of writing a poem. Recently, I was walking and thinking about the end of August, and this line came to me: It’s always sad when summer ends. I jotted the line down in the small notebook I carry with me. After some work, this is the poem I produced:
It’s always sad when summer ends.
But avoidance of the inevitable is impossible.
And in this season of life, a little winter must come.
So I tell myself to stop being disgruntled
by summer’s death and autumn’s arrival,
and instead get to work—starting with
descending the cellar steps and bringing up
the long johns, flannel shirts, and heavy wool socks.
It’s not the greatest poem in the world. But I like that I followed the trajectory the poem wanted to take—starting with one line, then others scribbled in my notebook, followed by revisions on the computer.
So I recognize the importance of awareness and paying attention to both external and internal stimuli to use as raw material for poetry (and stories, etc.).
And this reminds me of a line from the Grateful Dead song “Scarlet Begonias” (thank you, Robert Hunter):
Once in a while, you get shown the light
In the strangest of places if you look at it right …
I celebrated my birthday yesterday by relaxing at home with my family. As kids are wont to do, my son, Colin, blew out the candle on the cake, so we had to light it twice.
Colin Joe getting reading to blow out the candle.
I snuck in a couple of wishes, but mostly I felt enormous gratitude for still being here for another day and another year.
The night before I reflected on my recovery from surgery and my birthday, journaling for a few minutes while standing near my bedroom dresser. I am not a habitual journal writer, but I have notebooks scattered throughout the house to be available when the urge strikes me. Often my journal entries—which I always convert to a long-running Word document—contain mundane facts and banal thoughts with no potential to become raw material for a poem, story, or essay. However, sometimes the act of moving my pen on paper will lead me to a line that initiates energy.
And this is what I came up with the other night. It’s not a great poem, but I was happy I wrote it in a spontaneous burst and finished it in one draft.
On the Eve of My Fifty-Fourth Birthday
There has to be more
to this life than
just what we see.
Or else there isn’t—
in which case
death won’t be
so scary.
It’ll just be a
harmless place
devoid of life.
And you and I
can handle that, right?
I just wanted to give a quick update on my recovery. More than two weeks have passed since my brain surgery.
I had a follow-up appointment with my ENT surgeon yesterday. For the endoscopic debridement with suction, they stick a probe up your nose and suck out the junk, but I’ll spare you the gory, bloody details.
The last time I had this in-office procedure after the same transsphenoidal surgery in 2011, the surgeon maneuvered the probe too close to my brain stem and I suffered the worst headache of my life.
It felt like a gorilla had grabbed my head and shook my skull like a coconut—side to side and front to back—until my brain swished around and undulated on the waves of cerebral spinal fluid. I almost couldn’t drive myself home afterward.
Hence, I was anticipating a similar experience yesterday. But after Dr. A. performed the procedure, I had only a mild headache throughout the day and into the night.
He also saw no signs of a CSF leak, so I feel incredibly grateful. Although my right peripheral vision loss hasn’t improved yet, I am getting stronger every day and anticipate returning to work before the end of the month.
Thank you very much for the kind words and continued prayers—they are helping me!
Francis DiClemente 