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 Wittersheim. Nothing Much Happens is
Speaker 1: a proud member of the Curious Cast Network. Thank you
Speaker 1: for listening and for sharing your stories with anyone you
Speaker 1: know who likes relaxation and good sleep. You can also
Speaker 1: follow us on Instagram and Facebook for an extra bit
Speaker 1: of coziness. I have a story to tell you, and
Speaker 1: this story exists to give you a calm, happy place
Speaker 1: to rest your mind. It's like a nest to settle
Speaker 1: your fluttering self into. And here's how it'll work. I'll
Speaker 1: read our story twice and I'll go a bit slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. You just follow along with the
Speaker 1: sound of my voice and the simple details of the story.
Speaker 1: Before you know it, your thinking mind will be rocked
Speaker 1: to sleep and you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed.
Speaker 1: If you wake in the middle of the night, revisit
Speaker 1: any details you can remember, and you'll fall right back
Speaker 1: to sleep. We are creating some habits here, and habit
Speaker 1: building takes a bit of practice, so have some patience.
Speaker 1: If you are new to this. Now it's time to
Speaker 1: close everything up. Turn off your light, snug pull your
Speaker 1: body down into your favorite sleeping position. Pull the blanket
Speaker 1: over your shoulder, and tuck your pillow in just the
Speaker 1: way you like it. Take a deep breath, in through
Speaker 1: your nose and out through your mouth. Good. Let's do
Speaker 1: that one more time, in and out. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called fog and Light, and it's a story about
Speaker 1: a day of simple pleasures meant to clear out the
Speaker 1: winter blues. It's also about a little girl in a
Speaker 1: red hat, the Latin names for rare flowers, and good
Speaker 1: advice from an old friend. Fog and Light a foggy day,
Speaker 1: and the street lights, still lit from the night before,
Speaker 1: glowed in pockets of patchy yellow on the avenues. I
Speaker 1: was walking rain boots, splashing through the puddles of melting snow,
Speaker 1: on my way to a favorite coffee shop. The gray,
Speaker 1: wet weather had been laying me low, but I had
Speaker 1: a plan for lifting my spirits, and coffee was just
Speaker 1: the start of it, though an important part none the less.
Speaker 1: It was a little funny shaped space of bricks, an
Speaker 1: old wood wedged into the front corner of a busy building.
Speaker 1: It served just a few things, teas and coffees, and
Speaker 1: on the counter there was a cake stand with wedges
Speaker 1: of cake or cookies or muffins tucked under a huge
Speaker 1: glass dome. The bell over the door rang as I
Speaker 1: stepped in, and I got in line behind a little
Speaker 1: girl wearing a red winter cap, with her hand in
Speaker 1: the hand of her mother. She turned and looked up
Speaker 1: at me, mouth the gape, curious, with eyes wide. She
Speaker 1: was out on a school day and glimpsing the busy
Speaker 1: world of adults that she rarely saw. I smiled at her,
Speaker 1: and she turned around fast, suddenly shy. I wondered if
Speaker 1: she'd had to go to the dentist or the doctor,
Speaker 1: so missed school and now was being taken out for
Speaker 1: a treat. Her mother ordered her a hot chocolate not
Speaker 1: too hot, and a cookie from under the glass dome.
Speaker 1: She carried her cookie purposefully to a little table in
Speaker 1: the corner and sat down waiting for her drink, and
Speaker 1: pointed out the window and a man walking a dog,
Speaker 1: calling to her Mamma that the dog had spots and
Speaker 1: a red collar like kitty. Already, I was feeling better.
Speaker 1: When it was my turn to order. I asked for
Speaker 1: a simple espresso and slid down the bar to wait
Speaker 1: for it. I loved lingering over a big cup of
Speaker 1: coffee or tea, but the rich taste of properly made
Speaker 1: Italian espresso could cut through any gray mood and have
Speaker 1: me imagining myself in sunny Campania on a fine spring day.
Speaker 1: And this little shop did make it properly. It was
Speaker 1: served up in a tiny white cup and saucer, with
Speaker 1: barely more than three SIPs inside, an impossibly small spoon
Speaker 1: resting in the saucer to stir in the sugar, and
Speaker 1: beside it a small glass of fizzy mineral water. A
Speaker 1: cup had come out of a warmer so as I
Speaker 1: lifted it to breathe in the smell, the ceramic was
Speaker 1: warm on my lips first, just smell with eyes closed,
Speaker 1: Then a slow sip and let it rest on your tongue.
Speaker 1: It was dark and strong, without being bitter or burnt,
Speaker 1: and I let it sink through my system and restore me.
Speaker 1: I drank down my mineral water, dropped another dollar in
Speaker 1: the tip jar, and ducked back out into the fog.
Speaker 1: I checked in on how my plan was going so far,
Speaker 1: so good. I'd had a cup of something delicious, and
Speaker 1: I'd watched a little girl's face when she saw a dog.
Speaker 1: My light was already burning brighter. The next step of
Speaker 1: my plan took me through the sodden park with ducks
Speaker 1: waddling across the paths, and around the tiny amphitheater where
Speaker 1: I'd sat for summer concerts the year before, to a
Speaker 1: very special place that seemed like a miracle to find
Speaker 1: in a busy city. It was domed and glass and
Speaker 1: reminded me for a moment of the cake stand at
Speaker 1: the coffee shop. I stood and just looked for a bit,
Speaker 1: turning my head from side to side to see how
Speaker 1: the fog was clinging to the trees, how thick it
Speaker 1: seemed like a shawl I was pulling around the park.
Speaker 1: Was I pulling it? I shook my head at my
Speaker 1: fancy and pulled open the heavy glass door and let
Speaker 1: the hot, humid air hit my face and neck. This
Speaker 1: little glass building held a hundred varieties of orchids. I
Speaker 1: stood still in the entryway, closed my eyes and breathed
Speaker 1: in the smell of warm earth and the rich Vanillis
Speaker 1: scent of the blooms. I hung my coat unkneaded now
Speaker 1: on a hook by the door, and started to wind
Speaker 1: my way through the paths of flowers. The warm human
Speaker 1: air felt soft in my lungs, and the colors and
Speaker 1: shapes of the orchids, their varied climbing tendrils and lush petals,
Speaker 1: pushed all thought from my head. I just looked and
Speaker 1: tried not to touch, and enjoyed. I read their names
Speaker 1: as I moved through, and set them slowly, trying to
Speaker 1: make them stick mass Sivilia, brassavola, nodosa, Maxillaria vanda, Correlia sypchosis,
Speaker 1: and Rincho stillus. I'd had a friend years ago who
Speaker 1: had lived a long life and was in her final years.
Speaker 1: She'd loved orchids, and when I would come to visit,
Speaker 1: she would show me her collection. She confessed that she
Speaker 1: never really mastered the art of keeping them alive past
Speaker 1: the loss of their first blooms. Oh well, she shrugged.
Speaker 1: I love them, so I'd just buy more, and I'll
Speaker 1: keep at it as long as I'm alive. And she had.
Speaker 1: I thought that she would have loved this place, and
Speaker 1: tried looking at the blooms for her in her place,
Speaker 1: as if she could perceive the pleasure of it through me.
Speaker 1: I'd learned from her example and kept myself supplied with
Speaker 1: the small pleasures that made my days a bit sweeter.
Speaker 1: A tiny cup of espresso, a pair of rain boots
Speaker 1: to splash through puddles, and days like this planned to
Speaker 1: lift a sometimes heavy heart. Leaving the tiny conservatory, zipping
Speaker 1: up my coat in the cooler air, I noticed the
Speaker 1: fog was lifting. There was brightness, a hint of yellow
Speaker 1: in the sky above me. I slid my hands into
Speaker 1: my pockets and found in one a peppermint lip balm,
Speaker 1: and in the other a tin box of cinnamon mints.
Speaker 1: So many small pleasures to dip into, even while we
Speaker 1: waited for the first flush of the coming spring, fog
Speaker 1: and light. A foggy day, and the street lights, still
Speaker 1: lit from the night before, glowed in pockets of patchy
Speaker 1: yellow on the avenues. I was walking, rain boots, splashing
Speaker 1: through the puddles of melting snow, on my way to
Speaker 1: a favorite coffee shop. The gray, wet weather had been
Speaker 1: laying me, but I had a plan for lifting my spirits,
Speaker 1: and coffee was just the start of it. Though an
Speaker 1: important part. Nonetheless, it was a funny shaped space of
Speaker 1: bricks and old wood wedged into the front corner of
Speaker 1: a busy building. It served just a few things, teas
Speaker 1: and coffees, and on the counter there was a cake
Speaker 1: stand with wedges of cake or cookies or muffins tucked
Speaker 1: under a huge glass stone. The bell over the door
Speaker 1: rang as I stepped in, and I got in line
Speaker 1: behind a little girl wearing a red winter cap, with
Speaker 1: her hand in the hand of her mother. She turned
Speaker 1: and looked at me, mouth agape, curious, with eyes wide.
Speaker 1: She was out on a school day and glimpsing the
Speaker 1: busy world of adults that she rarely saw. I smiled
Speaker 1: at her, and she turned around fast, suddenly shy. I
Speaker 1: wondered if she'd had to go to the dentist or
Speaker 1: the doctor, so missed school and now was being taken
Speaker 1: out for a treat. Her mother ordered her a hot
Speaker 1: chok it not too hot, and a cookie from under
Speaker 1: the glass dome. She carried her cookie purposefully to a
Speaker 1: little table in a corner and sat down waiting for
Speaker 1: her drink, and pointed out the window at a man
Speaker 1: walking a dog, calling to her mama that the dog
Speaker 1: had spots and a red collar like kitty. Already, I
Speaker 1: was feeling better when it was my turn to order.
Speaker 1: I asked for a simple espresso and slid down the
Speaker 1: bar to wait for it. I love lingering over a
Speaker 1: big cup of coffee or tea, but the rich taste
Speaker 1: of properly made Italian espresso could cut through any gray
Speaker 1: mood and have me imagining myself in sunny Campania on
Speaker 1: a fine spring day. And this little shop did make
Speaker 1: it properly. It was served up in a tiny white
Speaker 1: cup and saucer, with barely more than three SIPs inside
Speaker 1: an impossibly small spoon resting in the saucer to stir
Speaker 1: in the sugar, and beside it a small glass of
Speaker 1: fizzy mineral water. A cup had come out of a warmer,
Speaker 1: so as I lifted it to breathe in the smell,
Speaker 1: the ceramic was warm on my lip for just smell
Speaker 1: with eyes closed. Then a slow sip and let it
Speaker 1: rest on your tongue. It was dark and strong, without
Speaker 1: being bitter or burnt, and I let it sink through
Speaker 1: my system and restore me. I drank down my mineral water,
Speaker 1: dropped another dollar in the tip jar, and ducked back
Speaker 1: out into the fog. I checked in on how my
Speaker 1: plan was going, so far, so good. I'd had a
Speaker 1: cup of something delicious, and I'd watched a little girl's
Speaker 1: face when she saw a dog. My light was already
Speaker 1: burning brighter. The next step of my plan took me
Speaker 1: through the sodden park with ducks waddling across the paths,
Speaker 1: and around the tiny amphitheater where I had sat for
Speaker 1: summer concerts the year before, to a very special place
Speaker 1: that seemed like a miracle to find in a busy city.
Speaker 1: It was domed and glass and reminded me for a
Speaker 1: moment of the cake stand at the coffee shop. I stood.
Speaker 1: I just looked for a bit, turning my head from
Speaker 1: side to side to see how the fog was clinging
Speaker 1: to the trees, how thick it seemed like a shawl
Speaker 1: I was pulling around the park. Was I pulling it?
Speaker 1: I shook my head my fancy and pulled open the
Speaker 1: heavy glass door. Let the hot, humid air hit my
Speaker 1: face and neck. This little glass building held a hundred
Speaker 1: varieties of orchids. I stood still in the entryway, closed
Speaker 1: my eyes and breathed in the smell of warm earth
Speaker 1: and the rich vanilliscent of the blooms. I hung my
Speaker 1: coat unkneaded now on a hook by the door, and
Speaker 1: started to wind my way through the paths of flowers.
Speaker 1: The warm, humid air felt soft in my lungs, and
Speaker 1: the colors and shapes of the orchids, their varied climbing
Speaker 1: tendrils and lush petals, pushed all thought from my head.
Speaker 1: I just looked and tried not to touch, and enjoyed.
Speaker 1: I read their names as I moved through, and set
Speaker 1: them slowly, trying to make them stick. Mass s Devilia, brassavola, Nodosa, Maxillaria, Vonda, Corelia, sypchosis,
Speaker 1: and rn costillus. I'd had a friend years ago who
Speaker 1: had lived a long life and was in her final years.
Speaker 1: She loved orchids, and when I would come to visit her,
Speaker 1: she would show me her collection. She confessed that she'd
Speaker 1: never really mastered the art of keeping them alive, passed
Speaker 1: the loss of their first blooms. Oh well, she shrugged,
Speaker 1: I love them, so I just buy more, and I'll
Speaker 1: keep at it as long as I'm alive. And she
Speaker 1: had I thought that she would have loved this place,
Speaker 1: and tried looking at the blooms for her in her place,
Speaker 1: as if she could perceive the pleasure of it through me.
Speaker 1: I'd learned from her example and kept myself supplied with
Speaker 1: the small pleasures that made my days a bit sweeter.
Speaker 1: A tiny cup of espresso, a pair of rain boots
Speaker 1: to splash through puddles, and days like this planned to
Speaker 1: lift a sometimes heavy heart. Leaving the tiny conservatory, zipping
Speaker 1: up my coat in the cooler air, I noticed the
Speaker 1: fog was lifting. There was brightness, a hint of yellow
Speaker 1: in the sky above me. I slid my hands into
Speaker 1: my pockets and found in one a peppermint lip palm,
Speaker 1: and in the other a tin box of cinnamon mints.
Speaker 1: So many small pleasures to dip into, even while we
Speaker 1: waited for the first flush of the coming spring. Sweet
Speaker 1: dreams