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, Catherine Nikolay,
Speaker 1: with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Thank you for listening
Speaker 1: and for sharing our stories with anyone you know who
Speaker 1: likes relaxation and good sleep. It can also follow us
Speaker 1: on Instagram and Facebook for an extra bit of coziness. Now,
Speaker 1: let me say a bit about how to use this podcast.
Speaker 1: I'm about to tell you a bedtime story to help
Speaker 1: you relax and ease your mind into sleep. The story
Speaker 1: is simple and not much happens in it. None that
Speaker 1: is kind of the idea. Just let your mind follow
Speaker 1: along with the details of what you hear and the
Speaker 1: sound of my voice. I'll tell the story twice and
Speaker 1: I'll go a little slower the second time through. If
Speaker 1: you find you're still awake at the end of the
Speaker 1: second telling, not to worry. That's just fine. You could
Speaker 1: listen again or just walk yourself back through any of
Speaker 1: the details that you remember, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be sinking down into deep and RESTful sleep. This
Speaker 1: is a kind of brain training, and the more you
Speaker 1: do it the more your sleep will improve, so be patient.
Speaker 1: If you are new to this. Now it's time to
Speaker 1: switch off the light, set aside anything you've been looking at,
Speaker 1: and settle your body into the most comfortable position that
Speaker 1: you can find. Take a slow, deep breath in through
Speaker 1: your nose and out through your mouth. Good, Do that
Speaker 1: one more time. Breathe in and out. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called a rainy Day making soup, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about feeling lit up from the inside when it
Speaker 1: gets dark and gloomy out. It's also about a drink
Speaker 1: of something special, a welcome home kiss, and falling asleep
Speaker 1: on the sofa while dinner is being made. A rainy
Speaker 1: day making soup. I'd been out all day, umbrella open,
Speaker 1: going from shop to shop, finishing errands and racing through
Speaker 1: the rain. I'd bumped into an old friend along the way,
Speaker 1: and we'd stopped into a cafe for a hot drink.
Speaker 1: We'd settled into a couple of deep armchairs by a
Speaker 1: window and watched the rain coming down. It was only
Speaker 1: the early afternoon, but the days were getting shorter. The
Speaker 1: skies were dark and low, and the bustle on the
Speaker 1: street was picking up as the instinct to nestle into
Speaker 1: our homes and hibernate was getting stronger. We sipped our
Speaker 1: cooling drinks and chatted away for a while. I realized
Speaker 1: that I'd been rushing all day, even though the deadlines
Speaker 1: I'd set myself were imaginary. I had time, and sitting
Speaker 1: with my friend, tasting the sweet hot chie in my
Speaker 1: cup reminded me of that. On our way back out
Speaker 1: into the afternoon, we made a date for lunch in
Speaker 1: a few days and gave each other a long squeeze.
Speaker 1: I noticed my oldest friends when they wrapped me in
Speaker 1: their arms for a hug squeeze me fit to break
Speaker 1: my ribs. None of this leaning in with a light
Speaker 1: pat on the back stuff It felt like a boost,
Speaker 1: like a spark deep inside me that caught and lit
Speaker 1: me up with a soft glow. Tucked under my umbrella,
Speaker 1: back in the rain, I smiled through my last few chores,
Speaker 1: and soon enough was turning the key in my front
Speaker 1: door and stepping into the warmth of home. I set
Speaker 1: down my bags, slipped my umbrella into the stand, and
Speaker 1: turned to lock the door. As I turned the bolt,
Speaker 1: I looked out at the rain, watched it running in
Speaker 1: heavy streams through gutters and down spouts, trailing down the
Speaker 1: sidewalks and coursing into the streets. I was home for
Speaker 1: the night and couldn't be happier about it. I smiled,
Speaker 1: thinking of mister Rogers as I slipped out of my
Speaker 1: raincoat and into an old cardigan and changed my wet
Speaker 1: shoes for fuzzy slippers. I carried my purchases into the
Speaker 1: kitchen and set everything out on the counter. I felt
Speaker 1: that sticky habit of rushing creeping up on me again,
Speaker 1: and I just stood still a second. I took a
Speaker 1: big breath. You're home, I told myself. You've got the
Speaker 1: whole evening laid out in front of you. Relax, do
Speaker 1: what you like. Good idea, self, I answered. I looked
Speaker 1: around my kitchen. I always liked to have a clean
Speaker 1: slate when I cooked, so I tidied away the few
Speaker 1: dishes and cups sitting in the sink, wipe down the counters,
Speaker 1: and lit the candle on my window sill. Much better,
Speaker 1: I thought, Now, shall I have a drink of something?
Speaker 1: I started to fill the kettle for tea, but remembered
Speaker 1: a bottle of something special I'd mixed up in the fridge.
Speaker 1: A few days before, I'd seen a recipe for a
Speaker 1: homemade kind of coffee, cordial, made with whiskey and espresso,
Speaker 1: coconut milk, vanilla, and maple syrup. When i'd blended it up,
Speaker 1: i'd stirred some into a cup of coffee, which wasn't
Speaker 1: bad at all. But now I took a rock's glass
Speaker 1: from my cupboard, added a big ice cube, poured it
Speaker 1: straight from the fridge, and sipped it. It was creamy
Speaker 1: and a little sweet, and the whiskey was smooth and
Speaker 1: had a golden maple flavor. I let it sit on
Speaker 1: my tongue for a few moments before swallowing it down
Speaker 1: and turning back to the counter of groceries. It was
Speaker 1: the perfect night for a soup, and I set my
Speaker 1: biggest pot out on the stove. I chopped an onion,
Speaker 1: some garlic, carrots, and celery and added them to my
Speaker 1: pot with a few spoonfuls of olive oil. As they
Speaker 1: warmed and sizzled in the oil, I opened a can
Speaker 1: of smoky crushed to me patoes, took some veggie broth
Speaker 1: from my cupboard and chopped a big bunch of charred
Speaker 1: into strips. I always start a soup thinking I don't
Speaker 1: have enough to fill the pot, but end up barely
Speaker 1: being able to get the lid on. So I tried
Speaker 1: to exercise a bit of control as I fought the
Speaker 1: urge to put every vegetable in the fridge into the pot.
Speaker 1: The night before, I'd been looking through my cupboard and
Speaker 1: found a paper sack of bright red beans I'd bought
Speaker 1: at the farmer's market the end of the summer. The
Speaker 1: farmer had written in pencil across the bag scarlet runner
Speaker 1: good for soup. So I'd soaked them overnight in water
Speaker 1: in my fridge. Now I drained them and rinsed them.
Speaker 1: I added them with the broth and tomatoes, brought it
Speaker 1: all up to a boil, and then down to a simmer.
Speaker 1: As the flavors came together. I mixed up a quick
Speaker 1: corn bread and baked it off in a cast iron
Speaker 1: pan in my oven. I heard a key in the
Speaker 1: lock and another umbrella joining mine in the stand. That
Speaker 1: smells amazing. I heard over stomping feet and the rustle
Speaker 1: of a raincoat. I smiled and rushed out to the
Speaker 1: entryway from my kiss. That light inside sparked again, and
Speaker 1: even in the chill of the anteroom, with a cool
Speaker 1: nose pressed against mine. I was warm and rosy inside
Speaker 1: dinner in a bed, I said, want to drink? Yes, please,
Speaker 1: I'll have whatever you're having. I went back to the
Speaker 1: kitchen and stirred the soup, adding in the greens and
Speaker 1: turning off the heat. I sliced a couple of lemons
Speaker 1: that I would squeeze in at the last moment. I
Speaker 1: am a firm believer that every single soup is improved
Speaker 1: by a squeeze of lemon right before it's eaten. I
Speaker 1: peeked at the bread, a lovely sweet steam escaping the oven.
Speaker 1: As I did fifteen minutes, I guessed and I could
Speaker 1: dish it all up. I heard an old movie click
Speaker 1: on in the living room, and the sound of my
Speaker 1: sweetheart stretching out on the sofa. I poured a drink
Speaker 1: and carried it into the living room, set it down
Speaker 1: on the coffee table. I went back from mine, and
Speaker 1: stepping back into the room, heard a soft snore. I
Speaker 1: perched on the arm and raised my glass to my lips,
Speaker 1: thinking how good it was to be home together, quiet
Speaker 1: and relaxed on a dark, rainy night. A rainy day
Speaker 1: making soup. I'd been out all day, umbrella open, going
Speaker 1: from shop to shop, finishing errands and racing through the rain.
Speaker 1: I'd bumped into an old friend along the way, and
Speaker 1: we'd stopped into a cafe for a hot drink. We'd
Speaker 1: settled into a couple of deep arm chairs by a
Speaker 1: window and watched the rain coming down. It was only
Speaker 1: the early afternoon, but the days were getting shorter, The
Speaker 1: skies were dark and low, and the bustle on the
Speaker 1: street was picking up as the instinct to nestle into
Speaker 1: our homes and hibernate was getting stronger. We sipped our
Speaker 1: cooling drinks and chatted away for a while. I realized
Speaker 1: I'd been hurrying all day, even though the deadlines I
Speaker 1: set myself were imaginary, I had time, and sitting with
Speaker 1: my friend, tasting the sweet hot shye in my cup
Speaker 1: reminded me of that. On our way back out into
Speaker 1: the afternoon, we made a date for lunch in a
Speaker 1: few days and gave each other a long squeeze. I
Speaker 1: noticed my oldest friends when they wrapped me in their
Speaker 1: arms for a hug squeeze me fit to break my ribs.
Speaker 1: None of this gleaning in with a light pat on
Speaker 1: the back stuff. It felt like a boost, like a
Speaker 1: spark deep inside that caught and lit me up with
Speaker 1: a soft glow. Tucked under my umbrella, back in the rain,
Speaker 1: I smiled through my last few chores, and soon enough
Speaker 1: was turning the key in my front door and stepping
Speaker 1: into the warmth of home. I set down my bags,
Speaker 1: slipped my umbrella into the stand, and turned to lock
Speaker 1: the door. As I turned the bolt, I looked out
Speaker 1: at the rain, watched it running in heavy streams through
Speaker 1: gutters and down spouts, trailing down the sidewalks and coursing
Speaker 1: into the street. I was home for the night, and
Speaker 1: couldn't be happier about it. I smiled, thinking of mister
Speaker 1: Rogers as I slipped out of my raincoat and into
Speaker 1: an old cardigan and changed my wet shoes for fuzzy slippers.
Speaker 1: I carried my purchases into the kitchen and set everything
Speaker 1: out on the counter. I felt that sticky habit of
Speaker 1: rushing creeping up on me again, and I stood still
Speaker 1: a second and took a big breath. Your home, I
Speaker 1: told myself, You've got the whole evening laid out in
Speaker 1: front of you relax, do what you like. Good idea, self,
Speaker 1: I answered. I looked around my kitchen. I always liked
Speaker 1: to have a clean slate when I cooked, so I
Speaker 1: tidied away the few dishes and cups sitting in the sink,
Speaker 1: wiped down the counters, and lit the candle on my
Speaker 1: window sill. Much better, I thought, Now, shall I have
Speaker 1: a drink of something? I started to fill the kettle
Speaker 1: for tea, but remembered a bottle of something special I'd
Speaker 1: mixed up in the fridge a few days before. I'd
Speaker 1: seen a recipe for a home made kind of coffee, cordial,
Speaker 1: made with whisky, an espresso, cocoanut, milk, vanilla, and maple syrup.
Speaker 1: When i'd blended it up, I'd stirred some into a
Speaker 1: cup of coffee, which wasn't bad at all. But now
Speaker 1: I took a rock's glass from my cupboard, added a
Speaker 1: big ice cube, poured it straight from the fridge, and
Speaker 1: sipped it. It was creamy and a little sweet, and
Speaker 1: the whiskey was smooth and had a golden maple flavor.
Speaker 1: I let it sit on my tongue for a few
Speaker 1: moments before swallowing it down and turning back to the
Speaker 1: counter of groceries. It was the perfect night for a soup,
Speaker 1: and I set my biggest pot out on the stove.
Speaker 1: I chopped an onion, some garlic, carrots, and celery and
Speaker 1: added them to my pot with a few spoonfuls of
Speaker 1: olive oil. As they warmed and sizzled in the oil,
Speaker 1: I opened a can of smoky crushed tomatoes, took some
Speaker 1: veggie broth from my cupboard, and chopped a big bunch
Speaker 1: of charred into strips. I always start a soup thinking
Speaker 1: I don't have enough to fill the pot, but end
Speaker 1: up barely able to get the lid on. So I
Speaker 1: tried to exercise a bit of control as I fought
Speaker 1: the urge to put every vegetable in the fridge into
Speaker 1: the pot. The night before, I'd been looking through my
Speaker 1: cupboard and found a paper sack of bright red beans
Speaker 1: I bought at the farmer's market at the end of
Speaker 1: the summer. The farmer had written in pencil across the
Speaker 1: bag scarlet runner good for soup, so I'd soaked them
Speaker 1: over night in water in my fridge. Now I drained
Speaker 1: and rinsed them, adding them with the broth tomatoes and
Speaker 1: bringing it up to a boil and back down to
Speaker 1: a simmer. As the flavors came together, I mixed up
Speaker 1: a quick corn bread and baked it off in a
Speaker 1: cast iron pan. In my oven, I heard a key
Speaker 1: in the lock and another umbrella joining mine in the stand.
Speaker 1: That smells amazing. I heard over stomping feet and the
Speaker 1: rustle of a raincoat. I smiled and rushed out to
Speaker 1: the entryway from my kiss. That light inside sparked again,
Speaker 1: and even in the chill of the anteroom. With a
Speaker 1: cool nose pressed against mine, I was warm and rosy inside.
Speaker 1: Dinner and a bit, I said, want to drink? Yes, please,
Speaker 1: I'll have whatever you're having. I went back to the
Speaker 1: kitchen and stirred the soup, adding in the greens and
Speaker 1: turning off the heat. I sliced a couple of lemons
Speaker 1: that I would squeeze in at the last moment. I
Speaker 1: am a firm believer that every single soup is improved
Speaker 1: by a squeeze of lemon right before it's eaten. I
Speaker 1: peeked at the bread, a lovely sweet steam escaping the oven.
Speaker 1: As I did fifteen minutes, I guessed, and I could
Speaker 1: dish it all up I heard an old movie click
Speaker 1: on in the living room, and the sound of my
Speaker 1: sweetheart stretching out on the sofa. I poured a drink
Speaker 1: and carried it into the living room, set it down
Speaker 1: on the coffee table. I went back from mine. Stepping
Speaker 1: back into the room, I heard a soft snore. I
Speaker 1: perched on the arm and raised my glass to my lips,
Speaker 1: thinking how good it was to be home together, quiet
Speaker 1: and relaxed on a dark, rainy night. Sweet Dreams