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. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. We are proud members of the Curious Cast
Speaker 1: podcast network. You can follow us on Twitter or Instagram
Speaker 1: or Facebook for extra coziness. Let me say a little
Speaker 1: about how to use this podcast. Our minds are busy now,
Speaker 1: maybe more than ever, and a busy mind can keep
Speaker 1: you up all night. Will let this story that I'm
Speaker 1: about to tell you become a resting place for your mind.
Speaker 1: Once your mind settles, you will find sleep. 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 can listen again or just walk yourself
Speaker 1: back through any part of the story you remember. This
Speaker 1: will disrupt the wandering and get you back to sleep.
Speaker 1: This is brain training, so have a bit of patience
Speaker 1: if you are new to it. Over time, you will
Speaker 1: find you fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer. Now
Speaker 1: it's time to sit down. Anything you've been looking at
Speaker 1: or working on. Switch off the light and slide down
Speaker 1: into your sheets, Pull the blanket over your shoulder, and
Speaker 1: feel how good it is to be safe in your bed.
Speaker 1: Let's all take a breath, in through the nose and
Speaker 1: out through the mouth. Nice one more in and out good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called the Jewelry Box, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about an heirloom handed down through a family.
Speaker 1: It's also about a jeweled brooch pinned on the lapel
Speaker 1: of a jacket, spring, sunlight, and some good advice for
Speaker 1: when things break. The jewelry box on my dresser, beside
Speaker 1: the stack of books that are waiting to be read,
Speaker 1: and the framed photo of my sweetheart and me on
Speaker 1: one of our first dates. There's a jewelry box. It's
Speaker 1: made of dark walnut and lined with green velvet that
Speaker 1: must have been a bright emerald when it was first
Speaker 1: fitted into place by my grandfather's hands, but has faded
Speaker 1: over the years into the soft green of reindeer moss.
Speaker 1: He crafted it many years ago for my grandmother out
Speaker 1: in the workshop in his garage. It was a rare
Speaker 1: creation for him. He was mostly a fixer, a mender
Speaker 1: who could step in when the furnace was on the fritz,
Speaker 1: or when the attic stairs were stuck. He'd stand with
Speaker 1: hands on hips and just look at the problem for
Speaker 1: a while, picturing where the trouble was and how to
Speaker 1: sort it out. Then he'd slip a screwdriver from his
Speaker 1: shirt pocket and go to work. But for this box,
Speaker 1: he'd been starting from scratch, not mending creating. He'd sketched
Speaker 1: out the shape with a flat carpenter's pencil onto the
Speaker 1: pages of a steno notebook in the garage. I'm gone
Speaker 1: looking for the right piece of wood. When he found it,
Speaker 1: he'd measured and cut and fitted the box together, the
Speaker 1: edges of the wood dove tailing like puzzle pieces. Then
Speaker 1: he'd divided the interior with thin slats and lined it
Speaker 1: all with green velvet. He'd let me watch as he
Speaker 1: created slots for Grandma's rings, hooks to secure her necklaces,
Speaker 1: and a soft raised mound to loop her bracelets around
Speaker 1: the top tray lifted out to reveal an open space underneath.
Speaker 1: Inlaid with more velvet. The box was meant to be
Speaker 1: a surprise for her, and he'd asked me if I
Speaker 1: could keep a secret before he'd let me into the workshop.
Speaker 1: I'd kept my promise and got to be there on
Speaker 1: her birthday. As she unwrapped it, I remember how quiet
Speaker 1: the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands
Speaker 1: over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding
Speaker 1: and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at
Speaker 1: the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright,
Speaker 1: happy smile on her face that we all beamed back
Speaker 1: at her. She was a laugher, not a crier, and
Speaker 1: she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl
Speaker 1: and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek.
Speaker 1: The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for
Speaker 1: the rest of her life, next to her tubes of
Speaker 1: lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume. I remember sitting
Speaker 1: on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging,
Speaker 1: as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday
Speaker 1: night out with Grandpa. She'd picked out her favorite necklace
Speaker 1: and lifted the tray out to peru her brooches. I
Speaker 1: nosily looked over her shoulder as she did, and saw
Speaker 1: a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her in Grandpa's hand
Speaker 1: she saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror.
Speaker 1: She still had their love letters. When the box came
Speaker 1: to me, i'd gratefully found I could still smell a
Speaker 1: bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now
Speaker 1: it held my rings, my bracelets, and necklaces. In the
Speaker 1: compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of
Speaker 1: concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile,
Speaker 1: with a thin pin at its back that had been
Speaker 1: mended more than once. On its face was a collection
Speaker 1: of bright red stones circled with gold in the shape
Speaker 1: of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels.
Speaker 1: I suspected none of them were real gems. They were
Speaker 1: probably polished glass what they used to call paste, but
Speaker 1: they were precious to me. I was careful with what
Speaker 1: Grandma had passed on to me, but I wasn't afraid
Speaker 1: to wear her brooch. I had her china, too, and
Speaker 1: used it nearly every day. Once when we'd been drying
Speaker 1: dishes in her kitchen and a slippery plate had slid
Speaker 1: out of my hands to crash into a million pieces
Speaker 1: on the black and white tiles of her floor. I
Speaker 1: turned a teary face up to her, and she caught
Speaker 1: my chin in her hand and kissed the tip of
Speaker 1: my nose, saying, baby, it's a thing, not a person.
Speaker 1: It made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned with
Speaker 1: what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks, I
Speaker 1: stop and ask myself is it a thing nor a person?
Speaker 1: And like her, I can usually laugh instead of cry.
Speaker 1: I'd pinned her ladybug on to the pell of my
Speaker 1: jacket today as I'd gotten ready to go out the door,
Speaker 1: just feeling the need to have her around me. When
Speaker 1: I'd stepped out of my apartment and into the narrow
Speaker 1: alleys of the oldest part of downtown, I stopped to
Speaker 1: look up at the way the spring sunlight shone on
Speaker 1: the tops of the buildings. Autumn sun is brassy in
Speaker 1: the best possible way, but spring sunlight is bright gold,
Speaker 1: and I was happy to need my sunglasses. As I
Speaker 1: walked at the corner shop, I stopped to buy a
Speaker 1: newspaper and the lemon muffin dotted with poppy seeds to
Speaker 1: tuck into my bag for later. The man who ran
Speaker 1: the shop had been sweeping the front steps when I
Speaker 1: came in, and his grandson stood proudly behind the counter,
Speaker 1: his chin just clearing the stacks of newspapers. He added
Speaker 1: up my purchases and with a serious face, told me
Speaker 1: how much it would be. His grandfather smiled down at
Speaker 1: his broom as he swept. I handed over the money
Speaker 1: and waited until the change was counted back. I thanked
Speaker 1: the little boy and resisted the urge to wink or
Speaker 1: make a joke. I remembered how important it was when
Speaker 1: you were young and trying to seem grown up, that
Speaker 1: you were taken seriously. We shouldn't forget what being young
Speaker 1: feels like, even when we are young no longer. On
Speaker 1: the street again, with Gran'ma's ladybug on my shoulder and
Speaker 1: the golden spring light making me squint, I headed for
Speaker 1: the park. The geese would be back, honking their news
Speaker 1: and splashing the cold lake water around their long black necks.
Speaker 1: I would find a bench, take my muffin from my bag,
Speaker 1: open my paper and look for things to laugh about.
Speaker 1: The jewelry box on my dresser, i'd the stack of
Speaker 1: books that are waiting to be read, and the framed
Speaker 1: photo of my sweetheart and me on one of our
Speaker 1: first dates. There's a jewelry box. It's made of dark
Speaker 1: walnut and lined with green velvet that must have been
Speaker 1: a bright emerald when it was first fitted into place
Speaker 1: by my grandfather's hands, but has faded over the years
Speaker 1: into the soft green of reindeer moss. He crafted it
Speaker 1: many years ago for my grandmother out in the workshop
Speaker 1: in his garage. It was a rare creation for him.
Speaker 1: He was mostly a fixer, a mender who could step
Speaker 1: in when the furnace was on the fritz or when
Speaker 1: the attic stairs were stuck. He'd stand with hands on
Speaker 1: hips and just look at the problem for a while,
Speaker 1: picturing where the trouble was and how to sort it out.
Speaker 1: Then he'd slip a screwdriver from his shirt pocket and
Speaker 1: go to work. But for this box he'd been starting
Speaker 1: from scratch, not mending, but creating. He'd sketched out the
Speaker 1: shape with a flat carpenter's pencil onto the pages of
Speaker 1: a steno notebook in the garage and gone looking for
Speaker 1: the right piece of wood. When he found it, he'd
Speaker 1: measured and cut and fitted the box together, the edges
Speaker 1: of the wood dove tailing like puzzle pieces. Then he'd
Speaker 1: divided the interior with thin slats and lined it all
Speaker 1: with green velvet. He'd let me watch as he created
Speaker 1: slots for Grandma's rings, hooks to secure her necklaces, and
Speaker 1: a soft raised mound to loop her bracelets around the
Speaker 1: top tray lifted out to reveal an open space underneath,
Speaker 1: inlaid with more velvet. The box was meant to be
Speaker 1: a surprise for her, and he'd asked me if I
Speaker 1: could keep a secret before he'd let me into the workshop.
Speaker 1: I'd kept my promise. I've got to be there on
Speaker 1: her birthday. As she'd unwrapped it, I remember how quiet
Speaker 1: the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands
Speaker 1: over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully standing
Speaker 1: and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at
Speaker 1: the velvet, and then up at Grandpa, with such a bright,
Speaker 1: happy smile on her face that we all beamed back
Speaker 1: at her. She was a laugher, not a crier, and
Speaker 1: she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl
Speaker 1: and leaning over the plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek.
Speaker 1: The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for
Speaker 1: the rest of her life, next to her tubes of
Speaker 1: lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume. I remember sitting
Speaker 1: on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging,
Speaker 1: as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday
Speaker 1: night out with Grandpa. She picked out her favorite necklace
Speaker 1: and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I
Speaker 1: nosily looked over her shoulder as she did, and saw
Speaker 1: a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her and Grandpa's hand.
Speaker 1: She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror.
Speaker 1: She still had their love letters. When the box came
Speaker 1: to me, I gratefully found I could still smell a
Speaker 1: bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now
Speaker 1: it held my rings, my bracelets, and necklaces. In the
Speaker 1: compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of
Speaker 1: concert tickets. When one of Grandma's brooches, it was fragile,
Speaker 1: with a thin pin at its back that had been
Speaker 1: mended more than once. On its face was a collection
Speaker 1: of bright red stones circled with gold in the shape
Speaker 1: of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels.
Speaker 1: If I suspected none of them were real gems. They
Speaker 1: were probably polished glass what they used to call paste,
Speaker 1: but they were precious to me. I was careful with
Speaker 1: what Grandma had passed to me, but I wasn't afraid
Speaker 1: to wear her brooch. I had her china too, I
Speaker 1: used it nearly every day. Once when we'd been drying
Speaker 1: dishes in her kitchen and a slippery plate had slid
Speaker 1: out of my hands to crash into a million pieces
Speaker 1: on the black and white tiles of her floor, I
Speaker 1: turned a teary face up to her. When she caught
Speaker 1: my chin in her hand, I'm kissed the tip of
Speaker 1: my nose, saying, baby, it's a thing, not a person.
Speaker 1: It had made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned
Speaker 1: with what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks,
Speaker 1: I stop and ask myself is it a thing or
Speaker 1: a person? And like her, I can usually laugh instead
Speaker 1: of cry. I pinned her ladybug on to the lapel
Speaker 1: of my jacket to day as I'd gotten ready to
Speaker 1: go out the door, just feeling the need to have
Speaker 1: her around me. When I stepped out of my apartment
Speaker 1: and into the narrow alleys of the oldest part of downtown.
Speaker 1: I stopped to look up at the way the spring
Speaker 1: sunlight shone on the tops of the buildings. Autumn sun
Speaker 1: is brassy in the best possible way, but spring sunlight
Speaker 1: is bright gold. When I was happy to knead my
Speaker 1: sunglasses as I walked at the corner shop, I stopped
Speaker 1: to buy a newspaper and a lemon muffin dotted with
Speaker 1: poppy seeds to tuck into my bag for later. The
Speaker 1: man who ran the shop had been sweeping the front
Speaker 1: step when I came in, and his grandson stood proudly
Speaker 1: behind the counter, his chin just clearing the stacks of newspapers.
Speaker 1: He added up my purchases and with a serious face,
Speaker 1: told me how much it would be. His grandfather smiled
Speaker 1: down at his broom as he swept. I handed over
Speaker 1: the money and waited while the change was counted back.
Speaker 1: I think the little boy and resisted the urge to
Speaker 1: wink or make a joke. I remembered how important it
Speaker 1: was when you were young and trying to seem grown up,
Speaker 1: that you were taken seriously. We shouldn't forget what being
Speaker 1: young feels like, even when we are young, no longer
Speaker 1: on the street again. With Grandma's Ladybug on my shoulder
Speaker 1: and the golden spring light making me squint, I headed
Speaker 1: for the park. The geese would be back, honking their
Speaker 1: news and splashing cold lake water around their long black necks.
Speaker 1: I would find a bench, take my muffin from my bag,
Speaker 1: open my paper, and look for things to laugh about.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams,