Kevin Courtney

When I get into my car to go to work, my windows are generally covered with dew. Heaven forbid someone’s in my path as I back up and out of my driveway.

Napa is changing. More affluence, yet more people struggling to make ends meet. Last weekend I got to sample the glitz, then the acts of a man desperate to earn a dollar.

I moved around a lot as a kid, I didn’t make friends easily. No one from grades K-12 is still in my orbit.

While some Napa County residents debate the future of our oak woodlands before voting on Measure C this June, another tree debate has been going on in the Courtney house.

Most days my neighborhood looks quiet enough. Lots are larger than the city average. People have room to flex their muscles, run cattle, grow grapes, whatever.

Having survived a rare April “atmospheric river,” all kinds of people were strolling on my street last Sunday, enjoying the sunshine.

Dig into old newspaper archives and there’s no telling what you will find.

I was probably one of Vallerga’s worst customers.

I’m a newspaper guy. I start my day early.

I won’t lie to you. I was feeling punchy after working two long days covering the unbelievably sad events at the Vets Home a week ago.

Normally I don’t have sleep issues. I’m not saying I sleep like a baby, but I do sleep.

I entered the Army as a second lieutenant in October 1968, the year that America’s involvement in the Vietnam War reached almost a half-million troops. I rejoiced when I was assigned to train on Nike Hercules missiles, even then an obsolete air defense system. There were no Nikes in Vietnam.…

Let’s talk cats.

Last week’s column on my response to being panhandled while eating lunch at a Register picnic table created something of a stir.

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.

Cheryl and I were playing Santa Claus. We were giving away stuff so we can begin a badly needed makeover of our living room.

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.

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.

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.

I had an exceptional Christmas. I managed not to go into my traditional holiday funk.

I’m not fanatical about home upkeep. I tolerate spider webs until they seem about to hatch babies. I can go weeks between vacuumings.

Cheryl and I had an urgent need for a staycation day. Our brainstorming came down to one close-to-home possibility: di Rosa.

I must say, the old Register building was looking surprisingly youthful last Tuesday afternoon.

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.

You’re going through life feeling pretty good, but how healthy are you really?

In my spare minutes I’ve been putting together an upcoming attraction for napavalleyregister.com 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.

I haven’t slept well for two straight nights. I’ve lain awake thinking of my veteran coworker Pierce Carson who died last weekend. When I write his farewell, how do I do right by him?

How do we feel about murals in public places?

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

I am not a germaphobe, I swear I’m not.

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.

You think doing your taxes is a soul-sucking experience? Try retirement planning.

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.

What stories do we tell ourselves about ourselves?