Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. For extra coziness, follow us
Speaker 1: on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook, and you can always learn
Speaker 1: more or get yourself a cozy Nothing Much Happens Howdy
Speaker 1: at Nothing Much Happens dot com. Let me say a
Speaker 1: bit about how to use this podcast. I have a
Speaker 1: simple story to tell you to help you relax and
Speaker 1: drift off to sleep. Not much happens in it, and
Speaker 1: that's kind of the idea. It's just a cozy place
Speaker 1: to rest your mind. I'll read the story twice, and
Speaker 1: I'll go a little bit slower the second time. If
Speaker 1: you find yourself still awake at the end of the
Speaker 1: second telling, don't worry. That is sometimes how it goes. Relax,
Speaker 1: walk yourself back through whatever bits of the story you
Speaker 1: can remember, lean into them, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed and calm. This
Speaker 1: is a kind of brain training. We're training your brain
Speaker 1: to follow along with the shape of the story, like
Speaker 1: an upturned leaf floats along the surface of a river.
Speaker 1: Each time you use a story to settle your mind,
Speaker 1: it will happen more quickly and with more ease. So
Speaker 1: have some patience if you're needed this now, it's time
Speaker 1: to tuck in, turn off your light, put down all
Speaker 1: of your devices, stretch deep into your sheets, and settle
Speaker 1: yourself into your favorite sleeping position. Whatever you have done today,
Speaker 1: it is enough. There's nothing you need to keep track of.
Speaker 1: You can. Let go. Take a slow breath in through
Speaker 1: your nose and sigh it out of your mouth. Nice.
Speaker 1: Let's do that again, Breathe in and out. Good. Our
Speaker 1: story tonight is called Touchstone, and it's a story about
Speaker 1: finding something unexpected in one's path. It's also about the
Speaker 1: way we think as children, thunder and lightning, and what
Speaker 1: we find when we keep our eyes open. Touchstone. There
Speaker 1: are certain objects which seemed to land in my hands
Speaker 1: over and over. I have a friend who finds feathers
Speaker 1: wherever they go, stuck between the pages of a library book,
Speaker 1: under the windshield wiper of their car, in their mail
Speaker 1: box among the bills and letters, different kinds from different birds,
Speaker 1: Some big and old, as if they'd come off a
Speaker 1: lady's hat from the twenties, and others tiny and light,
Speaker 1: freshly fallen from a fledgeling, but always feathers. Maybe this
Speaker 1: has happened to you. You might find keys in the
Speaker 1: pockets of thrifted jackets, or foreign coins from countries you've
Speaker 1: never visited in the back of your dresser drawers. Maybe
Speaker 1: its fountain pens, and they show up in the pencil
Speaker 1: cup on your desk, even though you're sure you didn't
Speaker 1: put them there. Or perhaps when you open your glove
Speaker 1: box and rummage around for a napkin, you come away
Speaker 1: with a handful of tokens from an arcade that closed
Speaker 1: when you were too young to see into the game cabinets.
Speaker 1: For me, it's stones. Ever since I was a child,
Speaker 1: they have shown up. I'm not just in the garden
Speaker 1: where you'd expect to see them. I found them in
Speaker 1: the toes of shoes i'd worn just the week before,
Speaker 1: on window ledges in the back corridors of libraries, and
Speaker 1: once when i'd reached up into the lamp shade of
Speaker 1: a reading light on the screened in port of a
Speaker 1: little rented cabin by the lake. A smooth, flat circle
Speaker 1: of stone fell from where it was balanced somewhere near
Speaker 1: the bulb, right into my hand. When I was young,
Speaker 1: I'd heard the word touchstone and taken it quite literally.
Speaker 1: I had interpreted it through the lens of kid logic
Speaker 1: and felt sure it must mean a stone that when
Speaker 1: you've touched it, gave you some sudden burst of knowledge
Speaker 1: or power, or transported you in an instant to a
Speaker 1: faraway place. So whenever i'd find another stone popping up
Speaker 1: in my path, I'd wrap my hands around it and
Speaker 1: close my eyes and wait to see what happened. And
Speaker 1: I must say that, even though I was never swiftly
Speaker 1: gifted with a superpower or opened my eyes to find
Speaker 1: I'd traveled at light speed to a market in Marrakeche
Speaker 1: or an empty moor in Scotland, I did always feel
Speaker 1: I'd learned something. I've never been much of a collector,
Speaker 1: preferring the feeling of letting go to that of holding on.
Speaker 1: So most of the time when I found a stone,
Speaker 1: i'd carry it for a while. I'd hold it like
Speaker 1: I had as a child, and wait for it to
Speaker 1: tell me its message, and then I'd leave it in
Speaker 1: some out of the way spot where I thought it
Speaker 1: might catch the eye of someone who had an eye
Speaker 1: open for it. I feel like it was meant for
Speaker 1: them to find, which, of course it was. Often it
Speaker 1: spent just a few hours in my pocket as it
Speaker 1: went from the library window to the top of the
Speaker 1: letter box by the park, but some journeys were longer.
Speaker 1: Once on a beach on another continent, at the base
Speaker 1: of a cliff that held a tiny town a thousand
Speaker 1: feet above the sea, I'd found a piece of smooth
Speaker 1: ceramic painted in the bright yellows and blues traditional to
Speaker 1: that place. I'd carried it till a year later on
Speaker 1: a hike in a dry canyon that had been cut
Speaker 1: from the mountains in the Paleozoa era, where I found
Speaker 1: a small cave in the chasm wall that was just
Speaker 1: a few feet deep. I left it with its painted
Speaker 1: side turned down to the red dust, wondering what someone
Speaker 1: would think when at some point it was picked up
Speaker 1: and turned over. Was there a better gift to give
Speaker 1: someone then a moment of wonder? It cuts through the
Speaker 1: blurry static of background thoughts and gives you a genuine
Speaker 1: experience of surprise, and that's a rare and lovely thing.
Speaker 1: A dozen years ago, in the middle of the summer
Speaker 1: and late at night, it had begun to storm. Rain
Speaker 1: poured down, and thunder drummed through the woods at my
Speaker 1: back door. I watched from the window in my dark
Speaker 1: bedroom as a jagged leg of lightning reached down and
Speaker 1: pointed its toes into the forest. The next day, under
Speaker 1: dripping ranches, but now a clear blue sky, I tromped
Speaker 1: out in my hiking boots, and after a long walk
Speaker 1: found a tree split and fallen on a ridge. The
Speaker 1: ground around it was singed and cracked open, and I
Speaker 1: squatted down to look into the earth. There was a
Speaker 1: craggy uneven stone as big as my palm and heavy.
Speaker 1: I lifted it out, and stuck to one side was
Speaker 1: an old steel nail. Loadstones are magnetized clumps of mineral,
Speaker 1: and while they sometimes occur naturally, they can also happen
Speaker 1: when a piece of magnetite is struck by lightning, as
Speaker 1: it had here and the broken dirt in the woods.
Speaker 1: I had heard the word before loadstone, and had thought
Speaker 1: that the meaning had something to do with direction, with
Speaker 1: being shown the way. I'd tucked a stone into my
Speaker 1: bag and carried it home, where I sat with it
Speaker 1: my Oxford English Dictionary open in front of me, having
Speaker 1: decided not to trust what might again be mixed up
Speaker 1: kid logic. I learned that a loadstone was so named
Speaker 1: as their magnetic properties had helped to make early compasses.
Speaker 1: They'd led sailors out onto the sea and into adventure.
Speaker 1: The word load it had meant at the time, way,
Speaker 1: or course or journey. I wondered if all the stones
Speaker 1: I'd found in my life were trying to point me somewhere,
Speaker 1: or if they were just encouraging me to keep stepping
Speaker 1: out onto the path, to have those moments of marveling
Speaker 1: at the find. I thought it was probably more the
Speaker 1: latter than the former. After all, they were just stones,
Speaker 1: and I was the sailor. When I was younger and
Speaker 1: I found a stone, I looked around, trying to see
Speaker 1: where it had come from and who had left it. Now,
Speaker 1: when I find one, I look for where I can
Speaker 1: leave it and who can be the next person to
Speaker 1: be surprised by the world touchstone. There are certain objects
Speaker 1: which seemed to land in my hands over and over.
Speaker 1: I have a friend who finds feathers wherever they go,
Speaker 1: Stuck between the pages of a library book, under the
Speaker 1: windshield wiper of their car, in the mail box, among
Speaker 1: the bills and letters, different kinds from different birds, Some
Speaker 1: big and old as if they'd come off a lady's
Speaker 1: hat from the twenties. Another's tiny and light, freshly fallen
Speaker 1: from a fledgling, But always feathers. Maybe this has happened
Speaker 1: to you. You might find keys in the pockets of
Speaker 1: thrifted jackets, or foreign coins from countries you've never visited
Speaker 1: in the back of your dresser drawers. Maybe it's fountain
Speaker 1: pens and they show up in the pencil cup on
Speaker 1: your desk, even though you're sure you didn't put them there.
Speaker 1: Or perhaps when you open your glove box and rummage
Speaker 1: around for a napkin, you come away with a handful
Speaker 1: of tokens from an arcade that closed when you were
Speaker 1: too young to see into the game cabinets. For me,
Speaker 1: its stones. Ever since I was a child, they have
Speaker 1: shown up, but not just in the garden where you'd
Speaker 1: expect to see them. I've found them in the toes
Speaker 1: of shoes I'd worn just the week before, on window
Speaker 1: ledges in the back corridors of libraries. And once, when
Speaker 1: I'd reach'd up into the lamp shade of a reading
Speaker 1: light on the screened in porch of a little rented
Speaker 1: cabin by the lake, a smooth, flat circle of stone
Speaker 1: fell from where it was balanced somewhere near the bulb,
Speaker 1: right into my hand. When I was young, I had
Speaker 1: heard the word touchstone and taken it quite literally. I
Speaker 1: had interpreted it through the lens of kid logic and
Speaker 1: felt sure it must mean a stone that when you
Speaker 1: touch'd it gave you some sudden burst of knowledge or power,
Speaker 1: or transported you in an instant to a far away place.
Speaker 1: So whenever I'd find another stone cropping up in my path,
Speaker 1: I had wrapped my hands around it and close my
Speaker 1: eyes and wait to see what happened. And I must
Speaker 1: say that, even though I was never swiftly gifted with
Speaker 1: a superpower, or opened my eyes to find I'd traveled
Speaker 1: at light speed to a market in Marrakesh or an
Speaker 1: empty moor in Scotland, I did always feel I'd learned something.
Speaker 1: I've never been much of a collector, preferring the feeling
Speaker 1: of letting go to that of holding on, so Most
Speaker 1: of the time, when I found a stone, i'd carry
Speaker 1: it for a while. I'd hold it like I had
Speaker 1: as a child, and wait for it to tell me
Speaker 1: its message, and then i'd leave it in some out
Speaker 1: of the way spot where I thought it might catch
Speaker 1: the eye of someone who had an eye open for it,
Speaker 1: and feel like it was meant for them to find, which,
Speaker 1: of course it was. Often it spent just a few
Speaker 1: hours in my pocket, and it went from the library
Speaker 1: window to the top of the letter box by the park,
Speaker 1: but some journeys were longer. Once, on a beach on
Speaker 1: another continent, at the base of a cliff that held
Speaker 1: a tiny town a thousand feet above the sea, I
Speaker 1: had found a piece of smooth ceramic painted in the
Speaker 1: bright yellows and blues traditional to that place. I had
Speaker 1: carried it till a year later on a hike in
Speaker 1: a dry canyon that had been cut from the mountains
Speaker 1: in the Paleozoic era, where I found a small cave
Speaker 1: in the chasm wall that was just a few feet deep.
Speaker 1: I left it with its painted side turned down to
Speaker 1: the red dust, wondering what someone would think when at
Speaker 1: some point it was picked up and turned over. Is
Speaker 1: there a better gift to give someone than a moment
Speaker 1: of wonder. It cuts through the blurry static of background
Speaker 1: thoughts and gives you a genuine experience of surprise. And
Speaker 1: that's a rare and lovely thing. A dozen years ago,
Speaker 1: in the middle of the summer and late at night,
Speaker 1: it had begun to storm. Rain poured down, and thunder
Speaker 1: drummed through the woods at my back door. I watched
Speaker 1: from the window in my dark bedroom as a jagged
Speaker 1: leg of lightning reached down and pointed its toes into
Speaker 1: the forest. The next day, under dripping branches but a
Speaker 1: now clear blue sky, I tromped out in my hiking boots,
Speaker 1: and after a long walk found a tree split and
Speaker 1: fallen on a ridge. The ground around it was singed
Speaker 1: and cracked open, and I squatted down to look into
Speaker 1: the earth. There was a craggy, uneven stone as big
Speaker 1: as my palm and heavy. I lifted it out and
Speaker 1: stuck to one side was an old steel nail. Loadstones
Speaker 1: are magnetized clumps of mineral, and while they sometimes occur naturally,
Speaker 1: they can also happen when a piece of magnetite is
Speaker 1: struck by lightning, as it had been here in the
Speaker 1: broken dirt in the woods. I had heard the word
Speaker 1: before loadstone, and had thought that the meaning had something
Speaker 1: to do with direction being shown the way. I tucked
Speaker 1: the stone into my bag and carried it home, where
Speaker 1: I sat with it my Oxford English Dictionary open in
Speaker 1: front of me, having decided not to trust what might
Speaker 1: again be mix'd up kid logic. I learned that a
Speaker 1: loadstone was so named because their magnetic properties had helped
Speaker 1: to make them early compasses. They'd led sailors out on
Speaker 1: to the sea and into adventure. That word load it
Speaker 1: had meant at the time, way or course or journey.
Speaker 1: I wondered if all the stones I'd found in my
Speaker 1: life were trying to point me somewhere, or if they
Speaker 1: were just encouraging me to keep stepping out on to
Speaker 1: the path, to have those moments of marveling at the find.
Speaker 1: I thought it was probably the latter more than the former.
Speaker 1: After all, they were just stones, and I was the same.
Speaker 1: When I was younger and I found a stone, I
Speaker 1: looked around trying to see where it had come from
Speaker 1: and who had left it. Now, when I find one,
Speaker 1: I look for where I can leave it and who
Speaker 1: can be the next person to be surprised by the
Speaker 1: world sweet dreams