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 read and write all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. Thank you for listening and for sharing our
Speaker 1: stories with anyone you know who likes relaxation. I'm good sleep.
Speaker 1: You can also follow us on Instagram and Facebook and
Speaker 1: Twitter for a bit of extra coziness. And if you
Speaker 1: still need more nothing much in your life, head to
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens dot com you can find some special
Speaker 1: pieces inspired by the show. Let me say a little
Speaker 1: about how to use this podcast. I have a story
Speaker 1: to tell you, and the story is a soft landing
Speaker 1: place for your mind. Whatever your day has been like,
Speaker 1: it can end in soothing rest, just by following along
Speaker 1: with the sound of my voice and the simple shape
Speaker 1: of our tail. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go
Speaker 1: a little slower on the second telling. Let the details
Speaker 1: you hear pull you into the world of the story
Speaker 1: as if you were seeing and hearing and tasting what
Speaker 1: it has to offer. If you wake again in the
Speaker 1: middle of the night, turn your mind right back to
Speaker 1: those details, and before you know it, you'll be waking
Speaker 1: up tomorrow feeling refreshed. This is a simple but effective
Speaker 1: form of brain training, and as the habit builds, you'll
Speaker 1: notice that you drop off sooner and stay asleep longer.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to turn off the light and to
Speaker 1: put away anything you've been playing with or looking at.
Speaker 1: Take some time to cozy your body down into your
Speaker 1: preferred sleeping position, get the right pillow in the right spot,
Speaker 1: and let everything relax. In time, all of this becomes
Speaker 1: a signal for your brain, and that signal says it's
Speaker 1: time for sleep. Now, let's take a deep breath in
Speaker 1: through the nose and a soft side through the mouth. Nice,
Speaker 1: do that one more time, Breathe in and out. Good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called fresh Snow, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about time spent outside as the flakes fall. It's
Speaker 1: also about a late night bath, a peppermint stick and
Speaker 1: a cup of hot chocolate, and the easy comfort of
Speaker 1: long held friends. Fresh snow. Fresh snow had fallen over night,
Speaker 1: another three or four inches of the light, fluffy kind that,
Speaker 1: while it couldn't be packed into a snow ball or
Speaker 1: rolled to stack one on top another with a carrot
Speaker 1: nose and twig arms. Was really lovely to kick through
Speaker 1: with winter boots, or stride across with snow shoes, or
Speaker 1: slide over with a pair of freshly waxed skis. In fact,
Speaker 1: I'd spent the day before trekking in my snow shoes
Speaker 1: with friends on a long trail that wound through the
Speaker 1: woods and beside a frozen lake. We'd stopped every now
Speaker 1: and then to catch our breath and take in the
Speaker 1: shades of white and blue and icy dark gray that
Speaker 1: lay in layers on the landscape. At the edge of
Speaker 1: the lake, whose surface was streaked and marbled with brighter,
Speaker 1: thicker layers of ice, like a shining, clear granite, I'd
Speaker 1: noticed the upturned stems of Queen Anne's lace. The petals
Speaker 1: had fallen away months ago, but the stems and woody
Speaker 1: veins remained and now held a tiny pocket of fresh snow,
Speaker 1: like wine in a glass. Though the day was cold,
Speaker 1: the steady push of my legs and pole on my
Speaker 1: poles had kept me plenty warm, and I had loved
Speaker 1: the feeling of cool air on my cheeks as we
Speaker 1: made our slow progress through foothills and bare brush back
Speaker 1: toward the ski lodge. We'd followed the long walk with
Speaker 1: an equally long lingering rest around the fireplace. In the lodge.
Speaker 1: It was a cozy space, lined with brick and stone,
Speaker 1: tall windows that looked out at the slopes and old
Speaker 1: worn wood floors. The ceilings were high, with knotty beams
Speaker 1: running the length of the room, and the fire was
Speaker 1: sunken in a pit with soft benches all around. We'd
Speaker 1: unbundled from our coats and hats and gloves and met
Speaker 1: up there for hot drinks. I'd propped my feet in
Speaker 1: their insulated socks up on the brick surrounding the fire
Speaker 1: and let out a deep, contented sigh. My friends chatted
Speaker 1: about the things we'd seen on our walk, the long,
Speaker 1: low profile of a fox, its ruddy brown fur standing
Speaker 1: out against the white as he glided through the trees,
Speaker 1: the bubbles caught in the surface of the lake, and
Speaker 1: tiny dots high up on the slopes cutting a smooth
Speaker 1: zigzag down the mountain. A tray of drinks arrived, coffees
Speaker 1: and cocoas and totties, with sweet and strong smelling steam
Speaker 1: rising off of them. I'd ordered a hot chocolate, and
Speaker 1: it came with a peppermint stick which slowly melted into
Speaker 1: the chocolate as I stirred. It had been a pleasure
Speaker 1: just to sit and listen to my friends as they talked.
Speaker 1: It was something I valued more as I got older.
Speaker 1: Friends I could just quietly be with. I didn't need
Speaker 1: to talk or push the moment forward. We were all
Speaker 1: just happy to be around each other. We'd happily read
Speaker 1: books shoulder to shoulder on a sofa for an hour,
Speaker 1: or watch an old movie till someone fell asleep and
Speaker 1: some one else covered them up with a blanket. There
Speaker 1: was a good place to be in your life when
Speaker 1: you realized you didn't need to prove anything to the
Speaker 1: people you were sharing your time with. You didn't need
Speaker 1: to be clever or have a joke to tell. Just
Speaker 1: showing up as yourself was enough. That night, after the
Speaker 1: fire had died down, after we trooped off to dinner
Speaker 1: and sleepily to our rooms, I'd run a hot bath
Speaker 1: for myself. My muscles were well worked from our snow shoeing,
Speaker 1: and a good long soak sounded just right as the
Speaker 1: water filled the tub. I'd trailed in a good amount
Speaker 1: of ebbs and salts. I smiled to myself in the
Speaker 1: dark room. I'd seemed to sign I was definitely getting older.
Speaker 1: When packing for a week end away, I'd been sure
Speaker 1: to bring ebbs and salts and peppermint oil for sore mussels. Well,
Speaker 1: that was fine by me. Getting older seemed to me
Speaker 1: just another way to say making friends with yourself. I
Speaker 1: turned off the water and set a towel by the tub.
Speaker 1: I left the room dark. There was a window which
Speaker 1: seemed oddly placed a pie on the opposite wall, but
Speaker 1: once I'd slid down into the water, I saw that
Speaker 1: it was perfectly aligned for gazing out at the mountain
Speaker 1: from the tub. That's when it had started to snow.
Speaker 1: I had been watching the moment the first flakes formed
Speaker 1: and fell. The whole world seemed quiet as it came down.
Speaker 1: The wind kicked up a bit, and I watched as
Speaker 1: small cyclones of whirling snow spun until they spun themselves
Speaker 1: out at last. With my finger tips turning pruny in
Speaker 1: the water, I drained the tub and wrapped myself in
Speaker 1: a thick robe. When I climbed into bed and pulled
Speaker 1: the blanket over my shoulder, I imagined my friends were
Speaker 1: all well into their dreams by now. The snow kept
Speaker 1: falling through the night, and when I woke up today,
Speaker 1: i'd seen those fresh three or four inches. We met
Speaker 1: back up around the breakfast table and agreed today would
Speaker 1: be for skiing. The lodge made their own homemade granola,
Speaker 1: toasted cinnamon and walnuts, and I filled my bowl with it,
Speaker 1: adding a sliced banana and coconut milk. We ate hardy
Speaker 1: to carry us through the morning on the slopes, and
Speaker 1: soon we were zipping back into our gear and clicking
Speaker 1: our skis into place. I had come late to skiing,
Speaker 1: and my first season I'd taken lessons cautiously juttering down
Speaker 1: tiny hills while six year olds blazed past me shouting encouragement.
Speaker 1: Since then, I'd figured out that the more I relaxed,
Speaker 1: less rigidly I held myself on my skis, the smoother
Speaker 1: the ride would be. It still took me a few
Speaker 1: runs to settle into a rhythm, but soon I was
Speaker 1: gliding from one run to another, feeling the fresh air
Speaker 1: rushed past me and pulling it deep into my lungs.
Speaker 1: My friends and I would sometimes catch up with each
Speaker 1: other and race to the bottom for ride the chair
Speaker 1: lift up. I loved watching the chairlift climb, the swinging
Speaker 1: legs of excited little ones against the blue sky. As
Speaker 1: we headed up to do it all over again, I
Speaker 1: knew we would make our way up and down until
Speaker 1: we had thoroughly worn ourselves out, and follow it up
Speaker 1: just as we had yesterday, with feet up in front
Speaker 1: of the fire and hot chocolate on a good dinner.
Speaker 1: And then I could have another bath, and another long
Speaker 1: look out of that window, and another night's deep sleep.
Speaker 1: Fresh snow. Fresh snow had fallen over night, another three
Speaker 1: or four inches of the light, fluffy kind that, while
Speaker 1: it couldn't be packed into a snowball or rolled to
Speaker 1: stack one atop another with a carrot nose and twig arms,
Speaker 1: was really lovely to kick through with winter boots, or
Speaker 1: stride across with snow shoes, or slide over with a
Speaker 1: pair of freshly waxed skis. In fact, I'd spent the
Speaker 1: day before trekking in my snow shoes with friends on
Speaker 1: a long trail that wound through the woods and beside
Speaker 1: a frozen lake. We'd stopped every now and then to
Speaker 1: catch our breath and take in the shades of white
Speaker 1: and blue and icy dark gray that lay in layers
Speaker 1: on the landscape at the edge of the lake, whose
Speaker 1: surface was streaked and marbled with brighter, thicker layers of ice,
Speaker 1: like a shining, clear granite. I'd noticed the upturned stems
Speaker 1: of Queen Anne's lace. The petals had fallen away months ago,
Speaker 1: but the stems and woody veins remained and now held
Speaker 1: a tiny pocket of fresh snow like wine in a glass.
Speaker 1: Though the day was cold, the steady push of my
Speaker 1: legs and pull on my poles had kept me plenty warm,
Speaker 1: and I'd loved the feeling of cool air on my
Speaker 1: cheeks as we'd made our slow progress through foothills and
Speaker 1: bare brush back toward the ski lodge. We'd followed the
Speaker 1: long walk with an equally long lingering rest around the
Speaker 1: fireplace in the lodge. It was a cozy space lined
Speaker 1: with brick and stone, tall windows that looked out at
Speaker 1: the slopes, and old worn wood floors. The ceilings were high,
Speaker 1: with knotty beams running the length of the room, and
Speaker 1: the fire was sunken in a pit with soft benches
Speaker 1: all around. We'd unbundled from our coats and hats and
Speaker 1: gloves and met up there for hot drinks. I'd propped
Speaker 1: my feet in their insulated socks upon the bricks surrounding
Speaker 1: the fire and let out a deep, contented sigh. My
Speaker 1: friends chatted about the things we'd seen on our walk.
Speaker 1: The long, low profile of a fox, it's ruddy brown
Speaker 1: fur standing out against the white as he'd glided through
Speaker 1: the trees. The bubbles caught in the surface of the lake,
Speaker 1: and tiny dots high up on the slopes cutting a
Speaker 1: smooth zigzag down the mountain. A tray of drinks arrived,
Speaker 1: coffees and cocoas and toddies, with sweet and strong smelling
Speaker 1: steam rising off of them. I had ordered a hot
Speaker 1: chocolate and it came with a peppermint stick, which slowly
Speaker 1: melted into the chocolate as I had stirred. It had
Speaker 1: been a pleasure just to sit and listen to my
Speaker 1: friends as they talked. It was something I valued more
Speaker 1: as I got older. Friends I could just quietly be with.
Speaker 1: I didn't need to talk or push the moment forward.
Speaker 1: We were all just happy to be around each other.
Speaker 1: We'd happily read books shoulder to shoulder on a sofa
Speaker 1: for an hour, or watch an old movie till someone
Speaker 1: fell asleep and some one else covered them up with
Speaker 1: a blanket. It was a good place to be in
Speaker 1: your life when you realized you didn't need to prove
Speaker 1: anything to the people you were sharing your time with.
Speaker 1: You didn't need to be clever or have a joke
Speaker 1: to tell. Just showing up as yourself was enough. That night,
Speaker 1: after the fire had died down, after we trooped off
Speaker 1: to dinner and then sleepily to our rooms, I'd run
Speaker 1: a hot bath for myself. My muscles were well worked
Speaker 1: from our snow shoeing, and a good long soak sounded
Speaker 1: just right. As the water filled the tub, I'd trailed
Speaker 1: in a good amount of ebbs and salts. I smiled
Speaker 1: to myself in the dark room. Had seemed to sign
Speaker 1: I was definitely getting older. When packing for a weekend away,
Speaker 1: I'd been sure to bring ebbs and salts when peppermint
Speaker 1: oil for sore mussels, well, that was fine by me.
Speaker 1: Getting older seemed to me to just be another way
Speaker 1: to say making friends with yourself. I turned off the
Speaker 1: water and set a towel by the tub. I left
Speaker 1: the room dark. There was a window which seemed oddly
Speaker 1: placed up high on the opposite wall, But once I'd
Speaker 1: slid down into the water, I saw that it was
Speaker 1: perfectly aligned for gazing out at the mountain from the top.
Speaker 1: That's when it had started to snow. I had been
Speaker 1: watching the moment the first flakes formed and fell. The
Speaker 1: whole world seemed quiet As it came down. The wind
Speaker 1: kicked up a bit, and I watched a small cyclones
Speaker 1: of whirling snow spun until they spun themselves out at last.
Speaker 1: With my finger tips turning pruney in the water, I
Speaker 1: drained the tub and wrapped myself in a thick robe.
Speaker 1: When I climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over
Speaker 1: my shoulder, I imagined my friends were all well into
Speaker 1: their dreams by now. The snow kept falling through the night,
Speaker 1: and when I woke up to day, i'd seen those
Speaker 1: fresh three or four inches. We met up back around
Speaker 1: the breakfast table and agreed to day would be for skiing.
Speaker 1: The lodge made their own homemade cunola toasted oats, cinnamon
Speaker 1: and walnuts, and I filled my bowl with it, adding
Speaker 1: a sliced banana and cocoanut milk. We ate hearty to
Speaker 1: carry us through the morning. On the slopes, and soon
Speaker 1: we were zipping back into our gear and clicking our
Speaker 1: skis into place. I had come late to skiing, and
Speaker 1: my first season, I'd taken lessons cautiously judd'ring down tiny
Speaker 1: hills while six year olds blazed past me shouting encouragement.
Speaker 1: Since then, I'd figured out that the more I relaxed,
Speaker 1: the less rigidly I held myself on my skis, the
Speaker 1: smoother the ride would be. It still took me a
Speaker 1: few runs to settle into a rhythm, but soon I
Speaker 1: was gliding from one run to another, feeling the fresh
Speaker 1: air rush past me and pulling it deep into my lungs.
Speaker 1: My friends and I would sometimes catch up with each
Speaker 1: other and race to the bottom or ride the chair
Speaker 1: lift back up together. I loved watching the chair lift climb,
Speaker 1: swinging legs of excited little ones against the blue sky.
Speaker 1: As we headed up to do it all over again,
Speaker 1: I knew we would make our way up and down
Speaker 1: until we had thoroughly worn ourselves out, and follow it
Speaker 1: up just as we had yesterday, with feet up in
Speaker 1: front of the fire and hot chocolate, a good dinner,
Speaker 1: and that I could have another bath and another long
Speaker 1: look out of that window and another night's deep sleep,
Speaker 1: sweet dreams,