I was interviewed by one of the local newspapers the other day. It was on the phone, though, so apparently when I was using the word “communal” and “communality” the reporter was hearing “commonality” which is fine, because there is that shared-ness in the word “commonality” that works just fine for the meaning I was trying to get at, too.
I like the picture of me and my books. The photographer was an older fellow who’s been a photographer on staff for decades, he said, and hadn’t been on my street in years. “I love these old North Side homes,” he told me, and promptly went to my dining room where he found the best lighting like a dog sniffing out a foxhole.
Less than a week to go. Fingernail-biting begins.