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  I just moved a few weeks ago and I'm finally feeling settled in my new house. Don't get me wrong, I still have unpacked boxes and I don't know where a lot of things are, including most of my pots and pans.
In fact, the spare bedroom looks more like a rent-by-the-month storage room than a place actual people live. The mattress is leaning against the wall, boxes are stacked one on top of the other, and the closet has become a shove-everything-in-it space.
But my pantry is stocked, my fridge is full and my computer is hooked up. I'm a single man and we're simple like that. Give us the basics and we're generally happy.
I've even changed my address with my bank and my credit card. Unfortunately, the bill people also have my new address.
I've also cooked a few meals there, if you can count throwing Hungry Man frozen dinners in the microwave for 4:00, stirring and then nuking them for another 1:00. Don't knock it, they've got some great stuff out there now. It's no longer scrawny chicken legs and yellow corn or salisbury steak and mashed potatoes. I had a Mexican dish the other day that was pretty darned good.
I've also washed a few loads of clothes at my new place and I'm happy to report, all my socks came out in pairs.
I've done three dishwasher loads of dishes. Not because I ate there that much but because it's easier to get that newspaper ink off with a dishwasher than by hand. Oh, and it's lazier that way.
There are a few things, though, I have yet to do.
I've not cleaned my bathroom at the time of this writing but it will be guaranteed that by the time you read this, I should have. But it probably still won't be done.
I've also not cleaned any part of my house except for the kitchen counters. The place is mostly hardwoods and there hasn't been enough time for dust to accumulate into bunnies yet. That's how I know it's time to clean. When I walk through the house, the house follows me.
I've not decorated much. I have some things on the walls but most of my décor is lying around on the floor or dining table while I decide where best to put it.
There are questions that have begun to occur to me. Such as where the nearest pizza joint is? How many boxes of Pop Tarts can you fit on a single shelf? And just when did my house become my "home?"
Was it the first time I took a shower? Or the first time I made a real meal with actual pots and pans? Or the first time I watched a movie stretched out on the couch? Or maybe the first time I wrote a check for the electric bill?
No, I don't think it was any of these.
My house became a home the first time I woke up in the middle of the night, walked to the bathroom with one eye barely open and didn't need to turn on a light. Home may be where the heart is, but more importantly, home is where your toes always feel safe.
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Ross Cavins
