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: All stories are written and read by me, Katherine Nikolay,
Speaker 1: with audio engineering by Bob Witterersheim. Let me explain a
Speaker 1: bit about how to use this podcast. Just like when
Speaker 1: you were a child being tucked in for bed, you're
Speaker 1: going to hear a story to send you off to dreamland.
Speaker 1: It's a simple story, without much action, but full of
Speaker 1: relaxing detail. The story is meant to be a soft
Speaker 1: landing place for your mind, so that instead of circling
Speaker 1: through the same thoughts you've been stuck in all day,
Speaker 1: you can rest it in a sweet, peaceful place. I'll
Speaker 1: tell our story twice, and I'll go a bit slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. If you find yourself still awake
Speaker 1: at the end of the first or the second telling,
Speaker 1: don't worry. That's a good rule of thumb in general.
Speaker 1: When you're trying to fall asleep, don't worry. Relax. Take
Speaker 1: your mind back to the beginning of the story and
Speaker 1: walk yourself back through the details that you can remember,
Speaker 1: especially any bit that felt particularly cozy. You're training your
Speaker 1: brain and body to wind down, and the more often
Speaker 1: you do it, the faster you will fall asleep. So
Speaker 1: have a bit of patience at the beginning, and if
Speaker 1: you find yourself awake again later in the night, just
Speaker 1: think back through the story again and you'll go right
Speaker 1: back to sleep. Now it's time to turn off the
Speaker 1: light and to put away anything you've been playing with
Speaker 1: or looking at. Take some time to cozy your body
Speaker 1: down into your preferred sleeping position, get the right pillow
Speaker 1: in the right spot, and let everything relax. In time,
Speaker 1: all of this becomes a signal for your brain, and
Speaker 1: the signal says it's time for sleep. Now. Let's take
Speaker 1: a deep breath in through the nose and then a
Speaker 1: soft sigh out of the mouth. Good, do that one
Speaker 1: more time, Breathe in and out. Our story to night
Speaker 1: is called Summer Nights, and it's a story about a
Speaker 1: day at the lake with friends, a huge summer feast,
Speaker 1: and sweet night air. It's also about the feeling of
Speaker 1: realizing when something is good and being happy about it.
Speaker 1: Summer Nights we swam all day. We ran down the dock,
Speaker 1: our wet feet slapping on the sun bleached boards, and
Speaker 1: made sloppy dives and cannon balls into the lake. We
Speaker 1: tooled around on paddle boards and kayaks. We floated lazily
Speaker 1: on inner tubes, fingers trailing in the water. We talked,
Speaker 1: We sang along to the radio and told jokes and
Speaker 1: cracked each other up. Then we pulled ourselves up into
Speaker 1: lounge chairs, jams, straw hats over our faces, stretched out
Speaker 1: and fell asleep in the hot summer sun. When we woke,
Speaker 1: we raided the coolers for cold drinks, eight chips and salsa,
Speaker 1: jumped back in the lake and dripped water over our
Speaker 1: magazines and paperback books. When the sun had tipped into
Speaker 1: the afternoon sky, we pulled shorts and tank tops over
Speaker 1: our swimsuits and patted into the house to make a
Speaker 1: big summer feast of a dinner. The gardens were overflowing,
Speaker 1: and the farmer's market stalls had been too tempting to
Speaker 1: resist that week, so the house was full of summer
Speaker 1: vegetables and fresh fruits. We handed two dozen ears of
Speaker 1: corn to a few of our group, who carried them
Speaker 1: to the back porch to shuck off the fresh leaves
Speaker 1: into brown paper bags. We lit the barbecue and laid
Speaker 1: out thick slices of seasoned egg plant and squash, and
Speaker 1: tiny new potatoes. We marinated portobella mushrooms and added them
Speaker 1: sizzling to the grille. I had an Italian grandma who
Speaker 1: taught me that when vegetables were in the peak of
Speaker 1: their season, as all of our hall were, to show
Speaker 1: them simply with good olive oil, garlic, a bit of
Speaker 1: sea salt, and an herb or two. We had buckets
Speaker 1: of fresh tiny tomatoes from the garden, and I made
Speaker 1: them into an insalata di pomo d'Oro per Gramma's recipe,
Speaker 1: with lots of fresh basil torn in. As the vegetables
Speaker 1: were coming off the grille, I cut thick slices of
Speaker 1: farm bread two loaves at least, rubbed them all over
Speaker 1: with fresh garlic, drizzled olive oil, and sprinkled salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: and set them out on the grill to crisp. As
Speaker 1: we were all coming to the table, I laid huge
Speaker 1: trays of the brusquetta topped with Grandma's tomatoes in the center.
Speaker 1: Here were the grilled vegetables, the fresh salads, the hot
Speaker 1: sweet corn, and plates of fresh guacamole, homemade hummus, and
Speaker 1: salsas and herby pestos. We talked over each other, reached
Speaker 1: for dishes, past them, ate off each other's plates, poured
Speaker 1: cold water into cups, dug beer out of the cooler,
Speaker 1: and bottles of rose and prosecco, and ate, and ate,
Speaker 1: and ate. We stayed at the table talking as the
Speaker 1: sun started to sink down behind the trees. Pushed our
Speaker 1: plates back and lit citranilla candles to ward off summer bugs.
Speaker 1: Someone brought out bowls of fresh berries and a hot
Speaker 1: cobbler from the oven. No, we cried, no more, we can't,
Speaker 1: but we found a way. We carried our plates into
Speaker 1: the house, and some kind soul started washing dishes. Someone
Speaker 1: started to dry. We turned up the radio and sang
Speaker 1: as we tidied and wiped down the counters. I snuck
Speaker 1: to my room and pulled on an old pair of
Speaker 1: lounge pants and a warm, soft hoodie. My skin was
Speaker 1: sun kissed and chilled, and the fresh clothes felt so good.
Speaker 1: I washed my face and put on some lip balm,
Speaker 1: and found my flip flops and headed back out. Now
Speaker 1: there was a fire and all the chairs had been
Speaker 1: pulled up. We propped our feet up and looked at
Speaker 1: the stars that were just starting to show. Fireflies were
Speaker 1: blinking in the trees, and a breeze brought the smell
Speaker 1: of the water into our noses. There is a feeling
Speaker 1: on summer nights when you look up at the sky
Speaker 1: and suddenly remember how old the universe is, how big
Speaker 1: it is, and how small and simple you are. It
Speaker 1: is always a comfort to me to remember that I
Speaker 1: am small, and so may as well take some joy
Speaker 1: where I find it, and set aside my worries and grudges.
Speaker 1: I looked around at the faces of my friends, the
Speaker 1: firelight shining in their eyes, laughing and talking and making
Speaker 1: memories together. I felt simple contentment and gratitude to be
Speaker 1: where I was with them. I leaned my head back
Speaker 1: against the old Adirondack chair and took a deep breath
Speaker 1: of summer night air. Tonight I would sleep deep and peaceful.
Speaker 1: Summer nights. We swam all day. We ran down the dock,
Speaker 1: our wet feet slapping on the sun bleached boards, and
Speaker 1: made sloppy dives and cannon balls into the lake. We
Speaker 1: tooled around on paddle boards and kayaks. We floated lazily
Speaker 1: on inner tubes, fingers trailing in the water, We talked,
Speaker 1: We sang along to the radio and told jokes and
Speaker 1: cracked each other up. Then we pulled ourselves up into
Speaker 1: lounge chairs, jammed straw hats over our faces, stretched out,
Speaker 1: and fell asleep in the hot summer sun. When we woke,
Speaker 1: we raided the coolers for cold drinks, eight chips and salsa,
Speaker 1: jumped back in the lake, and dripped water over our
Speaker 1: magazines and paperback books. When the sun had tipped into
Speaker 1: the afternoon sky, we pulled shorts and tink tops over
Speaker 1: our swimsuits and patted into the house to make a
Speaker 1: big summer feast of a dinner. The gardens were overflowing,
Speaker 1: and the farmer's market stalls had been too tempting to
Speaker 1: resist that week, so the house was full of some
Speaker 1: vegetables and fresh fruits. We handed two dozen ears of
Speaker 1: corn to a few of our group, who carried them
Speaker 1: out to the back porch to shuck the fresh leaves
Speaker 1: off into brown paper bags. We lit the barbecue and
Speaker 1: laid out thick slices of seasoned egg plant and squash
Speaker 1: and tiny new potatoes. We marinated portobello mushrooms and added
Speaker 1: them sizzling to the grille. I had an Italian grandma
Speaker 1: who taught me that when vegetables were in the peak
Speaker 1: of their season, as all of our hall were, to
Speaker 1: show them simply with good olive oil, garlic, a bit
Speaker 1: of sea salt, and an herb or two. We had
Speaker 1: buckets of fresh tiny tomatoes from the garden, and I
Speaker 1: made them into an insalata di pomo d'Oro Pegramma's recipe,
Speaker 1: with lots of fresh basil torn in. As the vegetables
Speaker 1: were coming off the grill, I cut thick slices of
Speaker 1: farm bread two loaves at least, rubbed them all over
Speaker 1: with fresh garlic, drizzled olive oil, and sprinkled salt and pepper,
Speaker 1: and set them on the grill to crisp. As we
Speaker 1: were all coming to the table, I laid huge trays
Speaker 1: of the brusquetta topped with Grandma's tomatoes in the center.
Speaker 1: Here were the grilled vegetables, the fresh salads, the hot
Speaker 1: sweet corn, and plates of fresh guacamole, home made hummus
Speaker 1: and salsas, and herby pestos. We talked over each other,
Speaker 1: reached for dishes, passed them ate off each other's plates,
Speaker 1: poured cold water into cups, dug beer out of the cooler,
Speaker 1: and bottles of rose and prosecco, and ate, and ate
Speaker 1: and ate. We stayed at the table talking as the
Speaker 1: sun started to sink down behind the trees. Pushed our
Speaker 1: plates back and lit the tronella candles to ward off
Speaker 1: summer bugs. Some one brought out bowls of fresh berries
Speaker 1: and a hot cobbler from the oven. No, we cried,
Speaker 1: no more, we can't, but we found a way. We
Speaker 1: carried our plates into the house, and some kind soul
Speaker 1: started washing dishes. Someone started to dry. We turned up
Speaker 1: the radio and sang as we tidied and down the counters.
Speaker 1: I snucked in my room and pulled on an old
Speaker 1: pair of lounge pants and a warm, soft hoodie. My
Speaker 1: skin was sun kissed and chilled, and the fresh clothes
Speaker 1: felt so good. I washed my face, put on some
Speaker 1: lip balm, and found my flip flops and headed back out.
Speaker 1: Now there was a fire and all the chairs had
Speaker 1: been pulled up around it. We propped our feet up
Speaker 1: and looked at the stars that were just starting to show.
Speaker 1: Fireflies were blinking in the trees, and a breeze brought
Speaker 1: the smell of water into our noses. There is a
Speaker 1: feeling on summer nights when you look up at the
Speaker 1: sky and suddenly remember how old the universe is, how
Speaker 1: big it is, and how small and simple you are.
Speaker 1: It is always a comfort to me to remember that
Speaker 1: I am small, and so may as well take some
Speaker 1: joy where I find it, and set aside my worries
Speaker 1: and grudges. I looked around at the faces of my friends,
Speaker 1: the firelight shining in their eyes, laughing and talking and
Speaker 1: making memories together. I felt simple contentment and gratitude to
Speaker 1: be where I was and with them. I leaned my
Speaker 1: head back against the old Adirondack chair and took a
Speaker 1: deep breath of summer night air. To night I would sleep,
Speaker 1: deep and peaceful, sweet dreams