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. Our audio engineer is
Speaker 1: Bob Whittersheim. We're proud members of the Curious Cast podcast network.
Speaker 1: You can follow us on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter
Speaker 1: for pictures of cozy things and calm reminders to breathe
Speaker 1: and enjoy the small pleasures around you. If you need
Speaker 1: more nothing much in your life, go to Nothing Much
Speaker 1: Happens dot com, where you can order some lovely pieces
Speaker 1: inspired by our stories. Hoodies coming soon. Let me say
Speaker 1: a little about how to use this podcast. I am
Speaker 1: about to tell you a bedtime story. It's simple and
Speaker 1: not much happens in it, and that is the idea.
Speaker 1: The story is a soft place to rest your mind,
Speaker 1: a simple and pleasant way to occupy it so that
Speaker 1: it doesn't wander away and keep you up. All you
Speaker 1: need to do is listen, follow along with the sound
Speaker 1: of my voice and the simple details of the story,
Speaker 1: and soon, very soon, you'll be deeply asleep. I'll tell
Speaker 1: the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the
Speaker 1: second time through. If you wake in the middle of
Speaker 1: the night, you could listen again or just think your
Speaker 1: way back through any part of the story that you
Speaker 1: can remember. We're training your brain to settle and rest,
Speaker 1: and the more you do this, the better your sleep
Speaker 1: will get. Now it's time turn off your light, snuggle
Speaker 1: your body down into your sheets, and get as comfortable
Speaker 1: as you can. Take a moment just to feel how
Speaker 1: good it is to be in bed, to be about
Speaker 1: to sleep. Let's take a deep breath in through the
Speaker 1: nose and out through the mouth. Good. Let's do that again,
Speaker 1: Breathe in and out. Our story tonight is called back
Speaker 1: to School, and it's a story about the tingling anticipation
Speaker 1: of a new school year. It's also about freshly sharpened
Speaker 1: pencils neatly tucked into a case, Halloween candy eaten a
Speaker 1: bit early, and the thrill of learning something new. Back
Speaker 1: to school. I'd been waiting checking the mail each day
Speaker 1: for a few weeks, not knowing when it would come.
Speaker 1: When it finally showed up, folded around a few envelopes,
Speaker 1: a flier for the neighborhood garage sail and a postcard
Speaker 1: from a faraway friend. I stood, tucking the other items
Speaker 1: under one arm and smoothed out the cover. It wasn't
Speaker 1: a thick catalog, just a couple dozen pages, but it
Speaker 1: held the promise of something new. I took everything inside
Speaker 1: and sat at the kitchen table with a fresh cup
Speaker 1: of coffee, and took my time to page through the possibilities.
Speaker 1: I'd finished college long ago, but often thought that if
Speaker 1: I could go back to those days and bring with
Speaker 1: me the curiosity and focus that have bloomed in me
Speaker 1: in the years since, I'd enjoy it so much more.
Speaker 1: I'd have picked my classes with a lot more care
Speaker 1: for their subjects rather than their time slots, and studied
Speaker 1: the things that I'm now so interested in. A few
Speaker 1: years ago, I'd taken my nephew for an afternoon of
Speaker 1: school shopping. They'd already gotten their new clothes and sneakers
Speaker 1: with their dads, and I'd been allowed to sweep in
Speaker 1: for the fun stuff. We'd contemplated all the book bags, notebooks,
Speaker 1: pencil cases, and boxes of markers. I'd remembered how important
Speaker 1: these choices had felt to me when I was their age,
Speaker 1: how each year's bag or trapper keeper had been an
Speaker 1: attempt to say something about who I thought I might
Speaker 1: be that year. Then add in the excitement of freshly
Speaker 1: sharpened pencils and clean, blank notebooks, and although I'd been
Speaker 1: sad to see the end of the summer, I'd found
Speaker 1: myself looking forward to a new school year. One of
Speaker 1: my nephews was like me, making slow, deliberate choices, asking
Speaker 1: for advice this one or this one. His little brother,
Speaker 1: silly and carefree, had just tossed things into the cart
Speaker 1: randomly while I pulled about half of it back out,
Speaker 1: and eventually followed him into the early Halloween section, where
Speaker 1: he stood with a spooky mask and a bag of
Speaker 1: candy in his hand. When I'd taken them home, we'd
Speaker 1: sat at their table for a while, eating the candy,
Speaker 1: sharpening their pencils, and setting them up for their first
Speaker 1: day of school. They had already gotten their school books,
Speaker 1: and I had remembered my dad sitting at the table
Speaker 1: with us, carefully covering our books and paper. He'd used
Speaker 1: brown paper grocery sacks, cutting off the bottoms and opening
Speaker 1: them at their seams to wrap the paper around the
Speaker 1: snubbed edges of the much used books. He'd stack them
Speaker 1: in front of me as he went, and I'd opened
Speaker 1: my new case of markers and colored pencils and drawed
Speaker 1: the title and my name, adding in the necessary rainbows
Speaker 1: and rocket ships. That day with the boys had reminded
Speaker 1: me of how much I'd loved going back to school.
Speaker 1: So I'd started a new tradition. I decided to learn
Speaker 1: something new each year when the leaves started to turn,
Speaker 1: and so here I was with my small community ed
Speaker 1: cat a log and my coffee and a pencil to
Speaker 1: make notes in the margin. Last year, i'd done a
Speaker 1: semester of photography and had learned the basics of composition
Speaker 1: and leading lines, and had even developed my own film
Speaker 1: in the studio darkroom. One year, I'd studied genealogy, and
Speaker 1: over the few months of the class had built an
Speaker 1: extensive family tree. I had been fascinated by the documents,
Speaker 1: certificates of birth and death and marriage, and had noticed,
Speaker 1: when looking at my great grandmother's signature, that we'd made
Speaker 1: our ours the same way. One crisp autumn, i'd spent
Speaker 1: learning to identify various plants to forage for nettle, sorrel
Speaker 1: and even wild amareth. Now I turned the pages of
Speaker 1: the catalog and considered what should come next. I folded
Speaker 1: down the corner of the page on local history that
Speaker 1: was tempting. It came with trips to the library and
Speaker 1: a few local houses and sights. I drew a star
Speaker 1: beside a course about the basics of space science. I
Speaker 1: could study white dwarfs, supernovy, neutron stars, and black holes.
Speaker 1: I was really considering the history of English when I
Speaker 1: saw one more option art restoration. Step by step, I
Speaker 1: carried my coffee into the hall and looked up at
Speaker 1: a painting that had been handed down over several generations.
Speaker 1: It showed a woman seated at a table, a book
Speaker 1: propped in her hand, and a window behind her, looking
Speaker 1: out on a green landscape. It was full of details,
Speaker 1: knots and grains in the wood paneled walls at her back,
Speaker 1: the soft fold of the fabric in her skirt, a
Speaker 1: shelf of jars and vases above her head, but they
Speaker 1: were somewhat lost in the layers of dust that had
Speaker 1: settled on her. In the last one hundred and fifty
Speaker 1: years or so. We'd wondered so many times who she was,
Speaker 1: who had painted her, and if anything could be learned
Speaker 1: about where she'd come from I imagine spending the next
Speaker 1: few months in the road open art studio of the
Speaker 1: community center, her propped on my easel, me with various
Speaker 1: brushes and tools, pots of solvent and water, and a
Speaker 1: teacher to help me along the way. We'd clean our
Speaker 1: canvas and maybe reveal the dark smudge in one corner
Speaker 1: that might possibly be a signature. We'd carefully open up
Speaker 1: the back of her frame, and we might find a label,
Speaker 1: some scrap of yellowed paper to point me to an
Speaker 1: archive or a ledger in a library. I strode back
Speaker 1: to the table, took up my pencil encircled art restoration.
Speaker 1: Step by step, I might, I thought, solve a mystery.
Speaker 1: Back to school. I'd been waiting, checking the mail each
Speaker 1: day for a few weeks, not knowing when it would come.
Speaker 1: When it finally showed up, folded around a few envelopes,
Speaker 1: a flyer for the neighborhood garage sale, and a postcard
Speaker 1: from a far away friend, I stood, tucking the other
Speaker 1: items under one arm and smoothed out the cover. It
Speaker 1: wasn't a thick catalog, just a couple dozen pages, but
Speaker 1: it held the promise of something new. I took everything
Speaker 1: inside and sat at the kitchen table with a fresh
Speaker 1: cup of coffee, and took my time to page through
Speaker 1: the possibilities. I had finished college long ago, but often
Speaker 1: thought that if I could go back to those days
Speaker 1: and bring with me the curiosity and focus that have
Speaker 1: bloomed in me in the years since, I'd enjoy it
Speaker 1: so much more. I'd have picked my classes with a
Speaker 1: lot more care for their subjects rather than their time slots,
Speaker 1: and studied the things that I'm now so interested in.
Speaker 1: A few years ago, I'd taken my nephews for an
Speaker 1: afternoon of school shopping. They'd already gotten their new clothes
Speaker 1: and sneakers with their dads, and I'd been allowed to
Speaker 1: sweep in for the fun stuff. We'd contemplated all the
Speaker 1: book bags, note books, pencil cases, and boxes of markers.
Speaker 1: I'd remembered how important these choices had felt to me
Speaker 1: when I was their age, how each year's bag or
Speaker 1: trapper keeper had been an attempt to say something about
Speaker 1: who I thought I might be that year. Then add
Speaker 1: in the excitement of freshly sharpened pencils and clean, blank
Speaker 1: note books, and although I'd been sad to see the
Speaker 1: end of the summer, I had found myself looking forward
Speaker 1: to a new school year. One of my nephews was
Speaker 1: like me, making slow, deliberate choices, asking for advice this
Speaker 1: one or this one. His little brother, silly and carefree,
Speaker 1: had just tossed things into the cart randomly while I followed,
Speaker 1: pulling about half of it back out, and eventually found
Speaker 1: him in the early Halloween section, where he stood with
Speaker 1: a spooky mask and a bag of candy in his hand.
Speaker 1: When I'd taken them home, we'd sat at their table
Speaker 1: for a while, eating the candy, sharpening their pencils, and
Speaker 1: setting them up for the first day of school. They'd
Speaker 1: already gotten their school books, and I'd remembered my dad
Speaker 1: sitting at the table with us, carefully covering our books
Speaker 1: in paper. He'd used brown paper grocery sacks, cutting off
Speaker 1: the bottoms and opening them at their seams to wrap
Speaker 1: the paper around the snubbed edges of the much used books.
Speaker 1: He'd stack them in front of me as he went,
Speaker 1: and I'd open in my new case of markers and
Speaker 1: colored pencils and draw out the title and my name,
Speaker 1: adding in the necessary rainbows and rocket ships. That day
Speaker 1: with the boys had reminded me of how much. I'd
Speaker 1: loved going back to school, so I'd started a new tradition.
Speaker 1: I'd decided to learn something new each year when the
Speaker 1: leaves started to turn, And so here I was with
Speaker 1: my small community ed catalog and my coffee and a
Speaker 1: pencil to make notes in the margins. Last year, i'd
Speaker 1: done a semester of photography and had learned the basics
Speaker 1: of composition and leading lines, and had even developed my
Speaker 1: own film in the studio dark room. One year, I'd
Speaker 1: studied genealogy, and over the few months of the class
Speaker 1: had built an extensive family tree. I had been fascinated
Speaker 1: by the documents, certificates of birth and death and marriage,
Speaker 1: and had noticed when looking at my great grandmother's signature,
Speaker 1: that we'd made our hours the same way one Crisp Bottom.
Speaker 1: I'd spent learning to identify various plants to forage for
Speaker 1: stinging nettle, sorrel, and even wild amaranth. Now I turned
Speaker 1: the pages of the catalog and considered what should come next.
Speaker 1: I folded down the corner of the page and local
Speaker 1: history that was tempting. It came. With trips to the
Speaker 1: library and a few local houses and sights, I drew
Speaker 1: a star beside a course about the basics of space science,
Speaker 1: I could study white dwarves, supernovy, neutron stars, and black holes.
Speaker 1: Was really considering the history of English when I saw
Speaker 1: one more option art restoration. Step by step, I carried
Speaker 1: my coffee into the hall and looked up at a
Speaker 1: painting that had been handed down over several generations. It
Speaker 1: showed a woman seated at a table, a book propped
Speaker 1: in her hand, and a window behind her, looking out
Speaker 1: on a green landscape. It was full of details, knots
Speaker 1: and grains in the wood paneled wall at her back,
Speaker 1: the soft fold of the fabric in her skirt, a
Speaker 1: shelf of jars and vases above her head, but they
Speaker 1: were somewhat lost in the layers of dust that had
Speaker 1: settled on her in the last one hundred and fifty
Speaker 1: years or so. We'd wondered so many times who she was,
Speaker 1: who had painted her, and if anything could be learned
Speaker 1: about where she'd come from. I imagined spending the next
Speaker 1: few months in the broad open art studio of the
Speaker 1: community Center, her propped on my easel, me with various
Speaker 1: brushes and tools, pots of solvent and water, and a
Speaker 1: teacher to help me along the way. We'd clean her
Speaker 1: canvas and maybe revealed the dark smudge in one corner
Speaker 1: that might possibly be a signature. We'd carefully open up
Speaker 1: the back of her frame when we might find a label,
Speaker 1: some scrap of yellowed paper to point me to an
Speaker 1: archive or a ledger in a library. I strode back
Speaker 1: to the table, took up my pencil, encircled art restoration.
Speaker 1: Step by step, I might, I thought, solve a mystery.
Speaker 1: Sweet Dreams