Kevin Courtney

Century Napa Valley doesn’t get much business from me. I like small movies on small screens.

There is a possible serious downside to writing this column. It may label me as an all-time office crank.

Wouldn’t we all like to have figured out our income taxes by now and have big fat refunds coming our way?

Chaos reigned at my house last Monday morning.

I’m an asphalt-loving guy. How else to explain the joy I experienced in June 2010 while covering a paving celebration in north Napa.

A year ago this month my neck locked up. Practically overnight, I lost the ability to look over my shoulders. Even changing positions at night on my pillow became painful.

Jonquils, lilies of the valley, daffodils, quince — all of them began to flower in our yard before January ended.

Morning routines at the Courtney household are carefully calibrated affairs. Merely switching cars for the day can create chaos.

I was excited to finally meet my 3-month-old granddaughter for the first time. Then again, the drive from Napa to Long Beach is a long haul to view a kid who’s all flopsy and can’t even begin to say your name.

The new Netflix series, “Tidying Up With Marie Kondo,” has the power of revelation.

One definition of bliss is snuggling up at home on a rainy day and indulging in books or movies or whatever it is we don’t normally have time for.

My brother Joe in Indiana visited Napa just once. The year was 1973. When he died in October, he had gone 45 years without making a return trip.

This has been an unexceptional year. The Courtney family’s daily routines of 2017 continued through 2018. No changes in jobs, homes or cars. No health drama. This column managed to appear on each of 52 consecutive Sundays.

There’s an upstairs to our house — two bedrooms, a rec room and a bath — that I won’t go anywhere near.

My annual moment of athletic glory, the Davis Turkey Trot, got postponed three weeks due to bad air from the Butte County megafires.

My former Napa Valley Register cohort Doug Ernst is facing a medical calamity. He was diagnosed last summer with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. By October, when he sent out emails notifying the world of his situation, he needed a power wheelchair. Now he…

I’ve never held Long Beach in high regard. It’s ranked near the bottom of places that I would want to visit on a SoCal vacation.

Much is written about guys who shirk their responsibilities at home.

Garages are notorious junk magnets. Unless you’re vigilant, they fill with everything but the vehicles for which they’re intended.

You would not have wanted to walk in my shoes in recent days. I was in an uphill fight to be serviced by our local pharmacies.

I woke up this spring to the fact that my U.S. passport had expired. And not recently, but years ago.

With housing affordability roiling Napa and coastal California, I look at my own situation with a measure of guilt.

The whole world was at Napa Valley Expo having the time of its life last weekend. Cheryl thought we should have been at BottleRock too.

Elvis and I go way back.

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.