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. You can also follow us
Speaker 1: on Instagram and Facebook for a bit of extra coziness. Now,
Speaker 1: let me tell you a little about how to use
Speaker 1: this podcast. This podcast is designed to put you to
Speaker 1: sleep or to just help you relax. I'll tell you
Speaker 1: a story to give your busy mind a sweet place
Speaker 1: to lie down. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go
Speaker 1: a little slower the second time through. Just listen to
Speaker 1: the sound of my voice and follow along with the
Speaker 1: details of the story, and before you know it, you'll
Speaker 1: be drifting into deep, RESTful sleep. If you wake later
Speaker 1: in the night, just think back through the bits of
Speaker 1: the story that you can remember. This puts your brain
Speaker 1: right back on track for sleep, rather than letting it
Speaker 1: wander and race. The more you listen, the more your
Speaker 1: sleep will improve, as we are training your brain for
Speaker 1: better sleep habits over time. Now it's time to stop
Speaker 1: looking at and checking things, turn off your light, snuggle
Speaker 1: your body down into your sheets, and pull your blanket
Speaker 1: up over your shoulder. Sometimes it helps to say to yourself,
Speaker 1: I'm about to fall asleep and I'll sleep deep all night.
Speaker 1: Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
Speaker 1: let it out of the mouth. Good, Do that one
Speaker 1: more time, Breathe in and out. Our story tonight is
Speaker 1: called the Day after Thanksgiving, and it's a story about
Speaker 1: enjoying the quiet after a big day and looking forward
Speaker 1: to the season to come. It's also about being in
Speaker 1: your pajamas for as long as you like, the best
Speaker 1: way to pop popcorn, and some happy traditions the day
Speaker 1: after Thanksgiving. I know some people rush out on that
Speaker 1: day after Thanksgiving at four in the morning to mob
Speaker 1: the stores and shop till they drop, But I've never
Speaker 1: felt the slightest desire to join them. In fact, I
Speaker 1: think that day after Thanksgiving is the perfect day to
Speaker 1: lay in bed for a long time, sip coffee and
Speaker 1: think about what kind of pie you should have for breakfast.
Speaker 1: So that's what I was doing. I was on my
Speaker 1: second cup, swaddled deep into my pillows and comforter while
Speaker 1: the rest of the house slept late. I was half
Speaker 1: reading a book and half remembering dinner the night before,
Speaker 1: and smiling at the memories. Our Thanksgiving is a sweet
Speaker 1: mix of family and a few friends so dear and
Speaker 1: long held that they might as well be family. It
Speaker 1: starts early in the afternoon, as cars pull up and
Speaker 1: the doorbell rings. Casserole dishes carefully bundled in carriers get
Speaker 1: passed from hand to hand. Drinks are poured, and groups
Speaker 1: form around dishes of nuts and trays of olives and pickles.
Speaker 1: Everyone helps out, stirring and tasting and laying the table,
Speaker 1: and finally we all sit down and raise our glasses
Speaker 1: to each other and the year that's passed and to
Speaker 1: all that we have. Then the food and passing plates
Speaker 1: and laughing and refilling glasses, and declarations about not being
Speaker 1: able to eat anymore, and then eating a bit more.
Speaker 1: There's always that lull after the meal, some needing to
Speaker 1: stretch out and maybe catch a little nap while football
Speaker 1: is played, the younger ones needing to blow off some
Speaker 1: steam and bundling up to play outside. Others happy to
Speaker 1: chatter and gossip while they clean and pack up leftovers
Speaker 1: and brew pots of coffee to go with the pies.
Speaker 1: That brought me back to the question at hand. What
Speaker 1: kind of pie should I have for breakfast? I patted
Speaker 1: down to the kitchen, blessedly cleaned by the group effort
Speaker 1: the night before, and considered my options. Pumpkin, apple, pecan.
Speaker 1: That was tough, and I had been known to choose
Speaker 1: the sampler option in the past, but today I knew
Speaker 1: down deep the answer was pumpkin. I cut myself a
Speaker 1: large wedge and poured another cup of coffee from the pot.
Speaker 1: I'd tried something new this year, and whipped chilled cocoanut
Speaker 1: milk from the can into a creamy, sweet topping. Some
Speaker 1: went onto the pie and some in my coffee. As
Speaker 1: I ate and sipped, I slid around in my socks
Speaker 1: and peered out through the windows. No snow yet, but
Speaker 1: the leaves had a crunchy, hard frost on them, and
Speaker 1: the air looked cold. Through the sunlight. I saw a bird,
Speaker 1: a bright red northern cardinal with a black face and
Speaker 1: red beak, at the feeder, and on a branch beside him,
Speaker 1: a silvery gray, tufted titmouse with a patch of blush
Speaker 1: peach on his side and belly. They ate well from
Speaker 1: our feeders, but also pecked around at the shrubs and trees,
Speaker 1: finding a few left over berries. That made me think
Speaker 1: of the bowl of washed cranberries ready in the fridge
Speaker 1: that I'd gotten to do anything with the day before.
Speaker 1: I clicked my tongue. Oh well, nobody really eats the
Speaker 1: grand marries anyway. I'd string them instead with popcorn for
Speaker 1: the Christmas tree. Perfect. I added an old green sweater
Speaker 1: to my pajamas and socks ensemble, buttoning it up as
Speaker 1: I headed to the closet to find my sewing needles
Speaker 1: and thread. They weren't really mine. I'd inherited an old
Speaker 1: case of supplies from an aunt who was a keen seamstress.
Speaker 1: When her eyes had gotten a bit too bad to
Speaker 1: keep working, She'd passed it to me, hoping I might
Speaker 1: take up the hobby. I hadn't, really, but I loved
Speaker 1: her case and took a moment to set it out
Speaker 1: on a table and go through some of her things.
Speaker 1: She had a fine pair of long silver scissors. I
Speaker 1: remembered as a child that they couldn't be borrowed for
Speaker 1: any other purpose than sewing. An old red pincushion that
Speaker 1: was fashioned like a tomato, but with a tiny strawberry
Speaker 1: hanging from it. Still pricked with her needles and pins
Speaker 1: and a glass jam jar full of buttons. I poured
Speaker 1: some out into my hand and poked through them, wondering
Speaker 1: what dress or suit jacket or fancy healed shoe they'd
Speaker 1: come from. I took some strong thread and the pincushion
Speaker 1: with needles. I packed up the rest and put it away.
Speaker 1: I took out my bowl of cranberries and brought out
Speaker 1: the popcorn pan from the cupboard, added oil, and dropped
Speaker 1: in just three kernels of corn and put it on
Speaker 1: the stove. Listen, I'm about to tell you a secret
Speaker 1: about popcorn. Wait for those three kernels to pop, and
Speaker 1: once all three half, add the rest, and you'll pop
Speaker 1: every one in the pot by the time you're done
Speaker 1: without burning. I don't know how it works, but it does.
Speaker 1: I guessed that the smell of fresh popcorn and hot
Speaker 1: coffee would mean I would have company soon, and that
Speaker 1: sounded fine to me. I poured the popcorn into a
Speaker 1: huge bowl and salted it. I set myself up on
Speaker 1: the sofa. A long string of black thread, a needle
Speaker 1: my bowls and another one to catch the strung garland.
Speaker 1: I ate a piece and strung a piece, and worked
Speaker 1: like that for a while till I heard shuffling slippers
Speaker 1: on the stairs and a cup being filled in the kitchen.
Speaker 1: Sleepy eyes watched me over the rim as I threaded
Speaker 1: the berries and the corn. Where's the Christmas music? And
Speaker 1: we should have a fire? I smiled, knowing we had
Speaker 1: the whole day to do more of this. Yes, please,
Speaker 1: I said, the day after Thanksgiving. I know some people
Speaker 1: rush out on that day after Thanksgiving at four in
Speaker 1: the morning to mob the stores and shop till they drop,
Speaker 1: But I've never felt the slightest desire to join them.
Speaker 1: In fact, I think that day after Thanksgiving is the
Speaker 1: perfect day to lay in bed for a long time,
Speaker 1: sip coffee and think about which kind of pie he
Speaker 1: should have for breakfast. So that's what I was doing.
Speaker 1: I was on my second cup, swaddled deep in my
Speaker 1: pillows and comforter, while the rest of the house slept late.
Speaker 1: I was half reading a book and half remembering dinner
Speaker 1: the night before and smiling at the memories. Our Thanksgiving
Speaker 1: is a sweet mix of family and a few friends
Speaker 1: so dear and long held that they might as well
Speaker 1: be family. It starts early in the afternoon, as cars
Speaker 1: pull up and the doorbell rings. Casserole dishes carefully bundled
Speaker 1: in carriers get past from hand to hand. Drinks are poured,
Speaker 1: and groups form around dishes of nuts and trays of
Speaker 1: olives and pickles. Everyone helps out, stirring and tasting and
Speaker 1: laying the table, and finally we all sit down and
Speaker 1: raise our glasses to each other and the year that's passed,
Speaker 1: and to all that we have. Then the food and
Speaker 1: passing plates and laughing and refilling glasses, and declarations about
Speaker 1: not being able to eat any more, and then eating
Speaker 1: a bit more. There's always that lull after the meal,
Speaker 1: some needing to stretch out and maybe catch a little
Speaker 1: nap while football is played, the younger ones needing to
Speaker 1: blow off steam and bundling up to play outside. Others
Speaker 1: happy to chatter and gossip while they clean and pack
Speaker 1: up leftovers and brew pots of coffee to go with
Speaker 1: the pies. That brought me back to the question at hand,
Speaker 1: what kind of pie should I have for breakfast? I
Speaker 1: padded down to the kitchen, blessedly cleaned by the group
Speaker 1: effort the night before and considered my options. Pumpkin, apple, pecan.
Speaker 1: That was tough. I had been known to choose the
Speaker 1: sampler option in the past, but to day I knew
Speaker 1: down deep the answer was pumpkin. I cut myself a
Speaker 1: large wedge and poured another cup of coffee from the
Speaker 1: pot I'd tried something new this year, and whipped chilled
Speaker 1: cocoanut milk from the can into a creamy sweet topping.
Speaker 1: Some went onto the pie and some in my coffee.
Speaker 1: As I ate and sipped, I slid around in my
Speaker 1: socks and peered out through the windows. No snow yet,
Speaker 1: but the leaves had a crunchy, hard frost on them,
Speaker 1: and the air looked cold. Through the sunlight. I saw
Speaker 1: a bird, a bright red northern cardinal with a black
Speaker 1: face and red beak, at the feeder in a branch.
Speaker 1: Beside him a silvery gray tufted titmouse with a patch
Speaker 1: of blush peach on his side and belly. They ate
Speaker 1: well from our feeders, but also pecked around at the
Speaker 1: shrubs and trees, finding a few leftover berries that made
Speaker 1: me think of the bowl of washed cranberries ready in
Speaker 1: the fridge. That I'd forgotten to do anything with the
Speaker 1: day before. I clicked my tongue. Oh well, nobody really
Speaker 1: eats the cranberries anyway. I'd string them instead with popcorn
Speaker 1: for the Christmas tree. Perfect. I added an old green
Speaker 1: sweater to my pajamas and socks ensemble, buttoning it up
Speaker 1: as I headed to the closet to find my sewing
Speaker 1: needles and thread. They weren't really mine. I'd inherited a
Speaker 1: case of supplies from an aunt who was a keen seamstress.
Speaker 1: When her eyes had gotten a bit too bad to
Speaker 1: keep working, she'd pass it to me, hoping I might
Speaker 1: take up the hobby. I hadn't, really, but I loved
Speaker 1: her case, and I took a moment to set it
Speaker 1: out on the table and go through some of her things.
Speaker 1: She had a fine pair of long silver scissors I
Speaker 1: remembered as a child. They couldn't be borrowed for any
Speaker 1: other purpose than sewing, an old red pin cushion that
Speaker 1: was fashioned like a tomato, but with a tiny strawberry
Speaker 1: hanging from it, still pricked with her needles and pins,
Speaker 1: and a glass jam jar full of buttons. I poured
Speaker 1: some out into my hand and through them, wondering what
Speaker 1: dress or suit jacket or fancy healed shoe they'd come from.
Speaker 1: I took some strong thread and the pincushion with needles
Speaker 1: and packed up the rest and put it away. I
Speaker 1: took out my bowl of cranberries and brought out the
Speaker 1: popcorn pan from the cupboard. I added oil and dropped
Speaker 1: in just three kernels of corn and put it on
Speaker 1: the stove. Listen, I'm about to tell you a secret
Speaker 1: about popcorn. Wait for those three kernels to pop, and
Speaker 1: once all three have, add the rest, and you'll pop
Speaker 1: everyone in the pot by the time you're done without burning.
Speaker 1: I don't know how it works, but it does. I
Speaker 1: guessed that the smell of fresh popcorn and hot coffee
Speaker 1: would mean I would have company soon, and that sounded
Speaker 1: fine to me. I poured the popcorn into a huge
Speaker 1: bowl and salted it. I set myself up on the sofa,
Speaker 1: a long string of black thread, a needle, my bowls,
Speaker 1: and another one to catch the strong garland. I ate
Speaker 1: a piece and strung a piece and worked like that
Speaker 1: for a while till I heard shuffling slippers on the
Speaker 1: stairs and a cup being filled in the kitchen. Sleepy
Speaker 1: eyes watched me over the rim as I threaded the
Speaker 1: berries in the corn. Where's the Christmas music? And we
Speaker 1: should have a fire. I smiled, knowing we had the
Speaker 1: whole day to do more of this. Yes, please, I said,
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams