Sometime, I\'m not sure when, our house became a home. For a while after Katrina there were no walls, no roof, no smooth wood floor to call ours, just other people\'s couches, beds, school room carpeting, hotels, motels, and so on. When we moved back to New Orleans we moved into a tiny condo on the other side of town. We bought it with the money we had saved to buy our dream house on Banks St., before it fell over and broke the house next to it that is. Our new house was empty and univiting. I wanted it to smell sweet, like our house in Mid-City did when I discovered clove scented Raid at the Sav-a-Center and sprayed it everywhere all summer long, but it did not, and I couldn\'t find my Raid at the store anymore. \r\n\r\nThe events of the following months are too many to list and sharing them serves no purpose other than to encite pitty. What I will say is that home was a lot further away then we imagined when we piled into the car, with our celebratory cigars, and headed back to the city.\r\n\r\nTwo years have passed and our house, despite constant issues, is much more inviting these days. My plants cover the porch in their colorful clay pots, our dogs are always there to greet us, and they started selling my Raid at the store again. I can\'t tell you when it happened, but somewhere in some moment, our house became a home and I am grateful.\r\n