IT’S SONOMA VALLEY’S HIDDEN JEWEL. It’s Bill Stallings’ “Tasty Nuggets,” a decades-spanning flashback every Friday morning. (It’s also his prog-rock “Rocks Files Radio” on Saturday nights and every-hourly :20 weather forecast.) It’s Tuesday night’s “Big Fish,” surveying and promoting the Valley’s eclectic music scene. Speaking of eclectic, it’s “Kitchen Sink,” Sooth Slinger’s weekday wakeup at 7 a.m., followed by “The Morning Show” from 8-10. It’s Mike Ryan’s never-miss two Thursday-evening hours of punk, New Wave, and assorted indie rock. It’s the “K-Pop Hour” (I mean, who else brings you an hour of synthesizer-rich Korean popular music?) It’s the hyperlocal focus. It’s “Jeff’s Joint,” a lively 1920s-40s Monday retrospective. It’s Thursday afternoon’s “Sonoma Valley Interfaith Radio Hour” (full disclosure: I engineer and cohost). It’s the Latinx, French, and Sinatra programming. It’s community-sponsored and -supported. It’s the passion and dedication of mad wunderkind, blazing electric guitarist, and chief-cook-and-bottle-feeder Bob Taylor as well as the kind attentions of Ronny Jo Grooms. It’s forces-of-nature George Webber’s and Butch Engle’s “Radio Theater of the Wild West.” It’s the coffeehouse sounds of “Coyote Road,” “Nowsville Junction,” and “Uncle Dirtbag.” It’s Chef Marco’s, Sheana Davis’, and Kathleen Thompson Hill’s culinary insights. It’s the varied weekday tuneful and topical offerings of “Guys at Five.” It’s the breaking disaster-news of fires and floods. (It’s also the endless calendars of events.) It’s having to forego in this brief synopsis many, many other important and diverse musical, cultural, community, sports, business, personal, and political shows. And it’s literally the only radio station I listen to — at 91.3 FM or streaming live at ksvy.org.
Tag: Sonoma
The town, the people, the vibe – and the sheer joy of living here.
A Better, More Accurate Substitute for “Have a Nice Day”
ENJOY YOUR TIME.”
— Preferred parting sentiment of a well-known Sonoma shopkeeper
Know Thy God^H^H^H Self
If I feel threatened by another’s faith tradition, it only reveals how uncomfortable I am with my own.”
— the Rev. Peadar Dalton
Sacred Comedy
LAST WEEK AT THE GROCER’S, the guy ahead of me in line is good-naturedly chatting up the sales clerk when he catches sight of my yarmulke.
“What happened to the rest of your hat?” he asks.
Without missing a beat, I reply, “It fell off.”
His “damn! he got me!” gesture punctuates our mutual laughter. I love it when we humans play.
Blades Runner
THIS IS THE TALE OF a third-degree separation from two of the most prestigious knifemakers in Europe.
In addition to regular sharpening and honing, home cooks are supposed to have their knives professionally sharpened once yearly. Thus, one recent Friday, I dutifully handed over two 8″ chef’s knives (a thick one for meats, a thin one for plants) to our beloved local kitchen-supply store. Having received and paid for the knives the following Sunday, I brought them home, washed them off, gave them the thumbnail test, and set about chopping an onion for chicken soup. Continue reading “Blades Runner”
Prophylaxis
THE MISSIONARY AT THE DOOR was polite but insistent as she tried to hand me a tract.
I bowed my head and pointed to my yarmulke. “No thank you,” I said.
Her eyes widened and her mouth made a little “o” of consternation as she backed away. “Thank you for being so courteous,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I said, and closed the door.
Usually, my “yarmie” acts as a lighthouse for interesting conversations. It’s good, and a little sad, that it can also act as a conversation stopper.
Birds of a Feather
THE SMALL BOY AT SONOMA Plaza came running up to the ducks.
Great, I snarled to myself. Just what we need — another damn kid chasing the local waterfowl. Why can’t they leave the birds in peace?
As I considered this, he turned from the flock and ran to an old woman in a wheelchair. “Would you like to feed the ducks?” he asked with youthful enthusiasm, offering her two slices of rye bread.
Some days, crow doesn’t taste half-bad.
Keep It Under Your Hat
IT PAINS ME ON SEVERAL levels to do this, but I am currently wearing a tweed cabbie cap over my kippah.
The reason is simple — a dear friend sincerely and greatly fears for my safety in an era where Jews are being harassed, attacked, and beaten on the world’s streets. I respect her opinions and feelings. So I am honoring them.
In truth, I am of (at least) two minds about this issue. I first donned a full-time yarmulke in March of 2000 for a variety of reasons, one being my belief that, following a local antisemitic incident, we needed to become more visible, not less. I still feel that way. Covering my headgear feels a little like “letting the terrorists win.” Continue reading “Keep It Under Your Hat”
Jedi Wisdom
OVERHEARD IN THE GROCERY CHECKOUT line, the following exchange between tall father and fidgety small son:
SS (holding a 2021 Star Wars calendar): Look! It’s Darth Vader. And Luke Skywalker.
TF: Luke is a Jedi, right?
SS: Right.
TF: Jedi are very patient. Do you know what Luke does every morning?
SS: What?
TF: He takes deep breaths.
SS: Oh.
TF: Will you take five deep breaths with me so we can be patient too?
SS: [unintelligible]
TF: …how about three breaths?
Boulevard of Broken Animals
FIRST, THERE WAS THE ONE-legged California towhee.
She didn’t actually start out as one-legged. But when we first noticed her in the backyard, one of her legs was badly withered. It eventually dropped off. We named her “Tikvah” — Hebrew for “hope” — and loved her for some years from afar.
After she died came the one we called “Noisy Evans.” California towhees (Melozone crissalis) are known by their one-note “pipping” calls as well as a rapid cascade that conjures up images of an ice-crystal fountain. Continue reading “Boulevard of Broken Animals”
The Mask by the Side of the Road
SONOMA IS A SMALL TOWN: small enough to be intimate, but also large enough to have its share of common human misbehaviors.
Take the occasional gutter-detritus. The first time I saw an empty bottle dumped near a Sonoma curb by an unseen hand, I was surprised (and a little delighted) to see that it once held a rare French wine rather than the malt liquor I had come to expect in more urban settings. Over the years I have witnessed a variety of dry-land jetsam: smoked-oyster tins; car keys; take-out containers from upscale restaurants; and once, a $20 bill. But in the past two weeks (at this writing, 8/4/20), I have been happening on objects more timely and topical — viz., abandoned COVID-19 masks. Continue reading “The Mask by the Side of the Road”
Highways and Thyways
The road to a friend’s house is never long.”
— Dave Chavoya