Article November 21, 2005 Issue

Nothing can separate you from your true home

By Harriet Schupp

MY mother once wrote of the place in which she lived alone in her later years, "This little house is not my home; it couldn't hold the half of it."

I found that expansive concept of home very freeing, and, more recently, thought about it many times in the five weeks following Hurricane Katrina—when I moved 11 times. During much of this time, I didn't know that had happened to my house and its furnishings in New Orleans, or to many other things that meant a lot to me.

From time to time, I would learn of new situations that posed a danger. If the house survived the wind, then there was the possibility of flooding. If that didn't become a problem, then there was the fire in the neighborhood that burned five houses next to and behind mine. And then there was the looting. The feeling of vulnerability was widespread. I found that getting one or more good reports from various sources didn't remove my fears and uncertainties.