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. Now let me say a
Speaker 1: bit about how to use this podcast. I'm about to
Speaker 1: tell you a bedtime story to help you relax and
Speaker 1: drift off to sleep. The story is simple and not
Speaker 1: much happens in it, and that is kind of the idea.
Speaker 1: It's a cozy place to rest your mind. I'll read
Speaker 1: the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. If you find yourself still awake
Speaker 1: at the end of the second telling, don't worry. That's
Speaker 1: sometimes how it goes. Relax, walk yourself back through whatever
Speaker 1: bits of the story you can remember, lean into them,
Speaker 1: and before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow
Speaker 1: feeling refreshed. This is a type of brain training, or
Speaker 1: training your brain to follow along with the shape of
Speaker 1: the story, like an upturned leaf floats along on the
Speaker 1: surface of a river. Each time you use a story
Speaker 1: to settle your mind, it will happen more quickly and
Speaker 1: with more ease. So have some patience if you are
Speaker 1: new to this, and if you find yourself awake again
Speaker 1: later in the night, don't panic. That won't help. Just
Speaker 1: start back at the beginning of the story, and before
Speaker 1: you get very far, you'll drift right back to dreamland.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to settle in. Turn off your light,
Speaker 1: put down all of your devices. You've looked at a
Speaker 1: screen for the last time to day. Stretch deep into
Speaker 1: your sheets, and settle into your favorite sleeping position. You're
Speaker 1: sending a signal to mind and body that it's time
Speaker 1: to turn everything off. Take a slow, deep breath in
Speaker 1: through your nose and out through your mouth. Nice, let's
Speaker 1: do it again. Breathe in and out. Good. Our story
Speaker 1: tonight is called Spring in the Yard, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about getting outside at the end of a long winter,
Speaker 1: being in the fresh air, and tidying things up. It's
Speaker 1: also about quiet companionship dogs, and the last fire of
Speaker 1: the season. Spring in the Yard, the snow had finally
Speaker 1: gone a few weeks before, and after a few days
Speaker 1: of good, strong wind and sun, the mud was drying,
Speaker 1: and it was time to get out into the yard
Speaker 1: and see what needed doing. I was anxious to be
Speaker 1: out there. It had been a long winter and I
Speaker 1: felt sun starved and mist the feeling of fresh air
Speaker 1: on my face. It was a sunny Saturday and the
Speaker 1: temperature was rising into the fifties. We smiled at each
Speaker 1: other as we put on old boots and found our
Speaker 1: gardening gloves. The dogs were as eager as we were,
Speaker 1: barking at the back door and jumping with spring fever.
Speaker 1: I let them out and laughed as they leaped and
Speaker 1: tripped over one another. They ran for the pure joy
Speaker 1: of it, chased around trees and scratched at the fresh earth.
Speaker 1: We stepped out into the sunshine and took great lungfuls
Speaker 1: of air into our chests. The smell was that wonderful
Speaker 1: combination of dirt and last year's leaves, fresh buds, and moss.
Speaker 1: Our property was deep with gardens and paths and a
Speaker 1: bit of woods at the back. The dogs knew where
Speaker 1: it stopped and started, and stuck close inside the borders.
Speaker 1: I ambled off toward the shed with one of the
Speaker 1: dogs close behind me. We were all so curious today
Speaker 1: when I opened the shed doors and let the sunlight
Speaker 1: pour in. Dust particles leapt up and swirled like a
Speaker 1: murmuration of swallows. I stood and watched, then dug out
Speaker 1: some trowels and rakes and yard bags and dumped them
Speaker 1: all into a wheelbarrow and rolled it out into the yard.
Speaker 1: We were quiet as we worked, listening to the sound
Speaker 1: of the birds making plans in the trees above us.
Speaker 1: We might stop and say something, or call out to
Speaker 1: the dogs or one another, or laugh, but mostly we
Speaker 1: just worked. It felt so good to put the beds
Speaker 1: in order to clean out old leaves and dead growth
Speaker 1: and see the fresh black dirt ready for planting. After
Speaker 1: a few hours work, we looked up to see dark
Speaker 1: clouds rolling in. The temperature was dropping and rain was
Speaker 1: on its way. We packed our tools back into the
Speaker 1: shed and set the yard bags under the porch so
Speaker 1: they wouldn't get wet. The dogs had long ago gotten
Speaker 1: board and gone in, and although the light was fading,
Speaker 1: we reached for each other's hands, then took a walk
Speaker 1: through the yard to look at what we'd done. This
Speaker 1: was always our habit. At least a few evenings a
Speaker 1: week we would walk together through the beds and paths,
Speaker 1: sometimes with wine glasses in our hands, and point out
Speaker 1: to each other new growth, fresh flowers were pawprints. When
Speaker 1: the first drops landed on our necks and faces, we
Speaker 1: turned back to the house. Inside we found the dogs
Speaker 1: stretched out over sofas and rugs, snoring away and sometimes
Speaker 1: kicking their legs in imagined sprints. We lit candles and
Speaker 1: started a fire with the last logs of the season. Hungry,
Speaker 1: I asked, humm came back. I had made a pot
Speaker 1: of soup that morning and now re lit the stove.
Speaker 1: Under it. There was a lentil soup with potatoes and
Speaker 1: carrots and Indian spices. I sliced up a lemon to
Speaker 1: squeeze into it, and turned to a loaf of sour
Speaker 1: dough bread bought the day before. I cut it into
Speaker 1: thick slices and laid them on a sheet pan. I
Speaker 1: turned on the broiler and drizzled all of oil over
Speaker 1: the bread. The soup began to simmer again as I
Speaker 1: slid the pan into the oven. While the bread toasted,
Speaker 1: I sliced open a couple avocados that I managed to
Speaker 1: catch at exactly the right moment. They were a perfect
Speaker 1: green soft enough to mash and with no black spots.
Speaker 1: I remembered the broiler in time and slid the toasts
Speaker 1: onto a platter. I scooped out healthy spoonfuls of the
Speaker 1: avocado unto each toast and mashed it in with my fork,
Speaker 1: then plenty of salt and pepper, some black sesame seeds,
Speaker 1: and dashes of hot sauce on top. Took out a
Speaker 1: huge wooden tray and began to lay it cloth so
Speaker 1: things wouldn't slide around. Bowls of lentil soup, the lemon wedges,
Speaker 1: the platter of toasts, napkins, spoons, more salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: a bottle of fizzy water glasses, and the half bottle
Speaker 1: of red wine left from the night before. I could
Speaker 1: hear the fire crackling and the soft sighing of the
Speaker 1: dogs as I headed into the great room. We had
Speaker 1: a deep sofa in front of the fire, and I
Speaker 1: found room on the table in front of it for
Speaker 1: the tray. I sat down and leaned back into the cushion.
Speaker 1: An arm slid around my shoulders and pulled me close.
Speaker 1: We leaned into each other, nose to nose, cheek to cheek,
Speaker 1: lips to lips. The rain fell outside spring in the yard.
Speaker 1: The snow had gone a few weeks before, and after
Speaker 1: a few days of good, strong wind and sun, the
Speaker 1: mud was drying and it was time to get out
Speaker 1: into the yard and see what needed doing. And I
Speaker 1: was anxious to be out there. It had been a
Speaker 1: long winter, and I felt sun starved and missed the
Speaker 1: feeling of fresh air on my face. It was a
Speaker 1: sunny Saturday and the temperature was rising into the fifties.
Speaker 1: We smile at each other as we put on old
Speaker 1: boots and found our gardening gloves. The dogs were as
Speaker 1: eager as we were, barking at the back door and
Speaker 1: jumping with spring fever. Might let them out and laughed
Speaker 1: as they leaped and tripped over one another. They ran
Speaker 1: for the pure joy of it, chased around trees and
Speaker 1: scratched at the fresh earth. We stepped out into the
Speaker 1: sunshine and took great lungfuls of air into our chests.
Speaker 1: The smell was that wonderful combination of dirt and last
Speaker 1: year's leaves, fresh buds, and moss. Our property was deep
Speaker 1: with gardens and paths and a bit of woods at
Speaker 1: the back. The dogs knew where it stopped and started
Speaker 1: and stuck close inside the borders. I ambled off toward
Speaker 1: the shed with one of the dogs close behind me.
Speaker 1: We were all so curious today. When I opened the
Speaker 1: shed doors and let the sunlight pour in, dust particles
Speaker 1: leapt up and swirled like a murmuration of swallows. I
Speaker 1: stood and watched, then dug out some trowels and rakes
Speaker 1: and yard bags and dumped them all into a wheelbarrow
Speaker 1: and rolled it out into the yard. We were quiet
Speaker 1: as we worked, listening to the sound of the birds
Speaker 1: making plans in the trees above us. We might stop
Speaker 1: and say something, or call out to the dogs or
Speaker 1: one another, or laugh, but mostly we just worked, but
Speaker 1: felt so good to put the beds in order to
Speaker 1: clean out the old leaves and debt growth and see
Speaker 1: the fresh black dirt ready for planting. After a few
Speaker 1: hours work, we looked up to see dark clouds rolling in.
Speaker 1: The temperature was dropping and rain was on its way.
Speaker 1: We packed our tools back into the shed and set
Speaker 1: the yard bags under the porch so they wouldn't get wet.
Speaker 1: The dogs and long ago goten bored and gone in,
Speaker 1: and although the light was fading, we reached for each
Speaker 1: other's hands and took a walk through the yard to
Speaker 1: look at what we'd done. This was always our habit.
Speaker 1: At least a few evenings a week, we would walk
Speaker 1: together through the beds and paths, sometimes with wine glasses
Speaker 1: in our hands, and point out to each other new growth,
Speaker 1: fresh flowers, or pawprints. When the first drops landed on
Speaker 1: our necks and faces, we turned back to the house.
Speaker 1: Inside we found the dogs stretched out over sofas and rugs,
Speaker 1: snoring away and sometimes kicking their legs in imagined sprints.
Speaker 1: We lit candles and started a fire with the last
Speaker 1: logs of the season. Hungry, I asked humm came back.
Speaker 1: I had made a pot of soup that morning and
Speaker 1: now re lit the stove under it. It was a
Speaker 1: lentil soup with potatoes and carrots and Indian spices. I
Speaker 1: sliced up a lemon to squeeze into it, and turned
Speaker 1: to a loaf of sour dough bread bought the day before.
Speaker 1: I cut it in thick slices and laid them on
Speaker 1: a sheet pan. I turned on the broiler and old
Speaker 1: olive oil all over the bread. The soup began to
Speaker 1: simmer again as I slid the pan into the oven.
Speaker 1: While the bread toasted, I sliced open a couple avocados
Speaker 1: that I had managed to catch at exactly the right moment.
Speaker 1: They were a perfect green, soft enough to mash, and
Speaker 1: with no black spots. I remembered the broiler in time
Speaker 1: and slid the toasts onto a latter. I scooped out
Speaker 1: healthy spoonfuls of the avocado onto each toast and mashed
Speaker 1: it in with my fork, then plenty of salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: some black sesame seeds, and dashes of hot sauce on top.
Speaker 1: I took out a huge wooden tray and began to
Speaker 1: lay it a cloth so things wouldn't slide around. Bowls
Speaker 1: of lentil soup, the lemon wedges, the platter of toasts, napkins, spoons,
Speaker 1: more salt and pepper, a bottle of fizzy water, glasses,
Speaker 1: and the half bottle of red wine left from the
Speaker 1: night before. I could hear the fire crackling and the
Speaker 1: soft sighing of the dogs as I headed into the
Speaker 1: great room. We had a deep sofa in front of
Speaker 1: the fire, and I found room on the table in
Speaker 1: front of it for the tray. I sat down and
Speaker 1: leaned back into the cushion. An arm slid around my
Speaker 1: shoulders and pulled me close. We leaned into each other,
Speaker 1: nose to nose, cheeked cheek, lips to lips. The rain
Speaker 1: fell outside. Sweet Dreams