Kevin is the Napa Valley Register's city editor. His personal column about the adventures of everyday life in Napa runs every Sunday. 

One of the best things about the Register’s newish Soscol location is our redwood grove. It’s small — just three trees and a picnic table bordered by sidewalk— but surprisingly lovely.

  • +2

What a nightmare! The local radio station invited me to sit down with a talk show host and blather for a solid hour about myself and 2018’s likely big stories.

  • +2

We are city residents. We live on a city lot, not in a forest, yet our tree issues are endless. The last few years they’ve kept Cheryl awake at night.

  • +2

You would think that the Courtneys would have had their fill of home improvement projects after living above their garage for more than a year while the back of their house was rebuilt.

  • +2

Runners are always breaking down. Last winter was my worst malfunction ever. I lost three months of jogging because of a sore knee that refused to heal.

  • +2

After our October trial by fire, I’d say Napa’s return to normalcy is still very much a work in progress, never mind this weekend’s rain.

Last spring Cheryl announced that several girlfriends from her childhood in Southern California — people I had virtually no knowledge of — were planning a three-day reunion, possibly on a houseboat on Lake Shasta.

I’m a bi-coastal guy. Whatever exists between the East Coast and the Bay Area, I’ve been content to fly over.

After several years of being a California homebody, I took to the air two weeks ago for a family visit to southern Indiana and my first exploration of Chicago, a great city that’s also America’s murder capital.

There we were, my doctor and I, chatting all friendly about my diet and the amount of exercise in my life and I was thinking, Good job, Kevin. You’ve aced another annual physical.

In my columns, I probably come across as a cultural sophisticate. All those mentions of nights at the opera and such.

As last weekend’s Big Heat was building, I scurried home to water the fuchsia that hangs outside our kitchen window.

In my spare minutes I’ve been putting together an upcoming attraction for that we hope everyone will find irresistible.

Bob is my oldest friend. We met as college freshmen in New Jersey more than a half century ago. Though we have lived a continent apart since, we have managed to meet up a time or two each decade.

Our yard never looked better than this year. The peonies, azaleas and rhodies really outdid themselves.

  • +2

The New Yorker magazine is known for its covers. They can be whimsical, downright pretty, sometimes somber as was the ghostly depiction of the Twin Towers following 9/11.

You never know where a conversation with your dentist will go. When I went in for a checkup this month, Dr. Gittings wanted to know where I was 50 years ago during the Summer of Love.

After living in the trenches of a home improvement project for a year and a half, we’re just beginning to come up for air and rediscover ordinary life.

Another lunch hour. Parked in the Register lot, facing Soscol, I’m reading news on my iPad mini while eating my sandwich. Occasionally I take breaks to watch the traffic go by.

I wasn’t particularly impressed by our remodeled home when we fully moved back in last month after living for 15 months in our garage.

I have reporters checking in with me all day long. That’s mostly what being a city editor is all about — availability.

Come lunch time at work, I really don’t know what to do with myself.

Unintentionally, Cheryl and I have found a way to determine what possessions are essential in life.