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 am Katherine Nikolay. I read and write all the
Speaker 1: stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio Engineering is
Speaker 1: by Bob Wittersheim. You can follow us on Instagram or
Speaker 1: Facebook or Twitter. For a bit of extra coziness. A
Speaker 1: beautiful book of our bedtime stories is coming out all
Speaker 1: over the world in a few months. It will have
Speaker 1: many of your favorite stories along with sixteen new stories
Speaker 1: that will only ever appear in the book, and also
Speaker 1: has really charming illustrations, recipes, meditations, and lots more. To
Speaker 1: learn more or to pre order your copy, go to
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens dot com. 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 tale. 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 are 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 a moment to cozy your body down into your
Speaker 1: preferred sleeping position. Pull the comforter over your shoulder, and
Speaker 1: let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
Speaker 1: a soft sigh out of the mouth. Do that one
Speaker 1: more time, breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called a dance in the park, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about coming back into the world after a bit
Speaker 1: of time spent alone. It's also about a glass of
Speaker 1: pink hibiscus tea window, shopping on a downtown street, and
Speaker 1: moving to the music on a sunny day, a dance
Speaker 1: in the park. We were on the cusp of real
Speaker 1: summer weather, and where I sat on the front porch
Speaker 1: this morning and let the sunshine creep across the boards
Speaker 1: and onto my toes. I noticed that it no longer
Speaker 1: felt filtered and weak, like it often does in the
Speaker 1: winter and early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed
Speaker 1: you through and brought out freckles, and felt when you
Speaker 1: lifted your face to it with your eyes tightly shut,
Speaker 1: like food and medicine and the missing element that is
Speaker 1: suddenly abundant in your system. I sat until the whole
Speaker 1: porch was lit up with morning light. I listened to
Speaker 1: the birds calling and the street waking up. Neighbors waved
Speaker 1: from their driveways, coffee cups in hand, stepping out to
Speaker 1: fetch the paper or to peer thoughtfully down at sprouting gardens.
Speaker 1: Kids on bikes and skateboards, already deep into the games
Speaker 1: and stories of the day, rolled past me. I supposed
Speaker 1: it was my turn to head out into the day.
Speaker 1: I stood up and checked my pockets. I had house
Speaker 1: keys and sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed.
Speaker 1: One of the lovely things about warm weather days is
Speaker 1: the ease with which you can leave the house after
Speaker 1: months of layering on coats and scarves, thick socks and
Speaker 1: heavy boots, and checking the weather report and shoveling the
Speaker 1: front walk. It is a joy to step out in
Speaker 1: sandals and shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open
Speaker 1: air without any planning at all. I locked the front
Speaker 1: door and hopped down the steps into the grass. The
Speaker 1: sun warmed the back of my neck as I started
Speaker 1: down the sidewalk. I felt it on my forearms and
Speaker 1: calves and the bridge of my nose. I read once,
Speaker 1: but in some a mythology, in some part of the
Speaker 1: world I'd forgotten where they believed that the heat of
Speaker 1: the sun was stored in trees, and when you burned
Speaker 1: their wood, the fire was just the sun being finally
Speaker 1: released back into the world. I thought of this as
Speaker 1: the hot sun forced a shiver down my spine. I
Speaker 1: must have stored the cold from all the snow I
Speaker 1: had shoveled over the years, all the snow men i'd
Speaker 1: rolled into place, all the flakes I'd caught on my tongue.
Speaker 1: Now that chill was wrung from my body, and I
Speaker 1: felt a momentary wave of goose bumps on my arm
Speaker 1: as it passed back into the atmosphere. I hadn't paid
Speaker 1: much attention to where I was walking, as it didn't
Speaker 1: much matter to me, But turning a corner, I was
Speaker 1: happy to see I was on the edge of downtown.
Speaker 1: I hadn't been to the shops and cafes on these
Speaker 1: streets for a while, and I'd missed them. There was
Speaker 1: a window full of pastries and fruit tarts at the bakery.
Speaker 1: Beside the tarts was a stack of fresh loaves, still
Speaker 1: dusted with flour. They'd been scored just before they went
Speaker 1: into the oven, so that their crusts showed a design
Speaker 1: of curling leaves or criss crosses. A few doors down
Speaker 1: in the window of a gift shop, or a neat
Speaker 1: row of handmaide soaps and jars of salves and lotions,
Speaker 1: displays of bracelets and earrings, and hand drawn cards and pictures.
Speaker 1: I didn't need a thing, but I liked looking the
Speaker 1: walk and the sun had made me thirsty, and I
Speaker 1: remembered a little cafe in the next street that made
Speaker 1: iced hybiscus tea, and I strolled off toward it. The
Speaker 1: outdoor tables or full of folks having a drink or
Speaker 1: a bite to eat, some keeping company with friends, and
Speaker 1: others happily sitting with a book in hand, or a
Speaker 1: newspaper spread open on their lap. I stepped inside and
Speaker 1: ordered my tea, deciding to take it to go so
Speaker 1: I could keep walking. Behind the bar, they had a
Speaker 1: tall glass urn with the bright pink tea inside, along
Speaker 1: with the hibiscus flowers. It was brewed with fresh strawberries
Speaker 1: and raspberries and nobbly branches of ginger. A minute later
Speaker 1: I was standing back out in the fresh air, taking
Speaker 1: a long drink of the tea, which was cold and tart,
Speaker 1: tasting the flavor a bit like cranberries. I sipped it
Speaker 1: as I made my way up one street and down another.
Speaker 1: The flower baskets hanging from the street lamps were full
Speaker 1: of petunias and geraniums and fuchsias. I stopped to look
Speaker 1: at the posters in the window of the record shop
Speaker 1: and made a few mental plans for concerts and gigs
Speaker 1: I could see in the next few weeks. On the
Speaker 1: lawn of the library at the edge of the park,
Speaker 1: kids were grouped around picnic tables with a few grown
Speaker 1: up volunteers overseeing some craft project. They darted back and
Speaker 1: forth between the tables, gathering up supplies onto paper plates
Speaker 1: to make into collages. I could hear their voices and
Speaker 1: laughter through the still air. As I went further into
Speaker 1: the park, everything was green, now, thick, fresh trimmed grass,
Speaker 1: shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny leaves overhead. As
Speaker 1: I came around the side of the lake, I heard
Speaker 1: music playing. I followed it down a path and into
Speaker 1: an open stone plaza where the farmer's market was set
Speaker 1: up on Sunday mornings. Suddenly the music was louder, and
Speaker 1: a crowd of people danced to it. I remembered seeing
Speaker 1: a poster by the library for a group class salsa
Speaker 1: in the park, it had said, I smiled to myself
Speaker 1: as I watched the faces of the day answers. They
Speaker 1: were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
Speaker 1: some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
Speaker 1: much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet
Speaker 1: as they stepped and turned and shifted. A ring of
Speaker 1: happy spectators stood watching, tapping their toes, clapping their hands
Speaker 1: to the music. I settled onto a bench to watch now,
Speaker 1: and then, catching the eye of a dancer or passer by,
Speaker 1: we said to each other with our eyes, this is nice.
Speaker 1: I'm glad to be here for it. I'd spent a
Speaker 1: lot of time on my own lately, and that served
Speaker 1: its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me and gave
Speaker 1: me space and quiet and a steady center. But I'd
Speaker 1: been like a gear turning all by itself in the house.
Speaker 1: That gear rotated and kept my machinery going. But today,
Speaker 1: feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors, looking in
Speaker 1: the store windows, and drinking tea in the open air,
Speaker 1: and upping along with the music while people danced, it
Speaker 1: felt like my gear was sinking back up with everyone else's.
Speaker 1: We powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering my
Speaker 1: place among my fellows. I closed my eyes, I listened
Speaker 1: to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and let
Speaker 1: the sun shine on it. I took a deep breath in,
Speaker 1: I let it out a dance in the bark. We
Speaker 1: were on the cusp of real summer weather. And when
Speaker 1: I sat on the front porch this morning and let
Speaker 1: the sunshine creep across the boards and on to my toes,
Speaker 1: I noticed that it no longer felt filtered and weak,
Speaker 1: like it often does in the winter and early spring.
Speaker 1: This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through and brought
Speaker 1: out freckles, and felt when you lifted your face to
Speaker 1: it with your eyes tightly shut, like food and medicine
Speaker 1: and the missing element that was suddenly abundant in your system.
Speaker 1: I sat until the whole porch was lit up with
Speaker 1: morning light and listen to the birds calling and the
Speaker 1: street waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways, coffee cups
Speaker 1: in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper, or peer
Speaker 1: thoughtfully down its sprouting gardens. Kids and bikes and skateboards,
Speaker 1: already deep into the games and stories of the day
Speaker 1: rolled past me. I supposed it was my turn to
Speaker 1: head out into the day. I stood up and checked
Speaker 1: my pockets. I had house keys and sunglasses and a
Speaker 1: few dollars everything I needed. One of the lovely things
Speaker 1: about warm weather days is the ease with which you
Speaker 1: can leave the house. After months of layering on coats
Speaker 1: and scarves, thick socks and heavy boots, and checking the
Speaker 1: weather report and shoveling the front walk, it is a
Speaker 1: joy to step out in sandals and shirt sleeves and
Speaker 1: be comfortable in the open air without any planning at all.
Speaker 1: I locked the front door and hopped down the steps
Speaker 1: into the grass. The sun warmed the back of my
Speaker 1: neck as I started down the sidewalk. I felt it
Speaker 1: on my forearms and calves and the bridge of my nose.
Speaker 1: I read once in some ancient mythology in some part
Speaker 1: of the world I'd forgotten where, they believed that the
Speaker 1: heat of the sun was stored in trees, and when
Speaker 1: you burned their wood, the fire was just the sun
Speaker 1: being finally released back into the world. I thought of
Speaker 1: this as the hot sun forced shiver down my spine.
Speaker 1: I must have stored the cold from all the snow
Speaker 1: I had shoveled over the years, all the snow men
Speaker 1: I'd rolled into place, all the flakes I'd caught on
Speaker 1: my tongue. Now that chill was wrung from my body,
Speaker 1: and I felt a momentary wave of goosebumps on my
Speaker 1: arms as it passed back into the atmosphere. I hadn't
Speaker 1: paid much attention to where I was walking, as it
Speaker 1: didn't much matter to me, But turning a corner I
Speaker 1: was happy to see I was on the edge of downtown.
Speaker 1: I hadn't been to the shops and cafes on these
Speaker 1: streets for a while, and i'd missed them. There was
Speaker 1: a window full of pastries and fruit tarts at the bakery.
Speaker 1: Beside the tarts was a stack of fresh loaves, still
Speaker 1: dusted with flour. They'd been scored just before they went
Speaker 1: into the oven, so that their crusts showed a design
Speaker 1: of curling leaves or criss crosses. A few doors down,
Speaker 1: in the window of a gift shop were a neat
Speaker 1: row of handmade soaps, and jars of salves and lotions,
Speaker 1: displays of bracelets and ear rings, and hand drawn cards
Speaker 1: and pictures. I didn't need a thing, but I liked looking.
Speaker 1: The walk and the sun had made me thirsty. I
Speaker 1: remembered a little cafe in the next street that made
Speaker 1: iced hibiscus tea, and I strolled off toward it. The
Speaker 1: outdoor tables were full of folks having a drink or
Speaker 1: a bite to eat, some keeping company with friends, and
Speaker 1: others happily sitting with a book in hand or a
Speaker 1: newspaper spread open on their lap. I stepped inside and
Speaker 1: ordered my tea. I decided to take it to go
Speaker 1: so I could keep walking. Behind the bar, they had
Speaker 1: a tall glass urn with the bright pink tea inside,
Speaker 1: along with the hibiscus flowers. It was brewed with fresh
Speaker 1: strawberries and raspberries and nobby branches of ginger. A minute later,
Speaker 1: I was standing back out in the fresh air, taking
Speaker 1: a long drink of the tea, which was cold and tart,
Speaker 1: tasting the flavor a bit like cranberries. I sipped it
Speaker 1: as I made my way up one street and down another.
Speaker 1: The flower baskets hanging from the street lamps were full
Speaker 1: of petunias and geraniums and fucius. I stopped to look
Speaker 1: at the posters in the window of the record shop
Speaker 1: and made a few mental plans for concerts and gigs
Speaker 1: I could see in the next few weeks. On the
Speaker 1: lawn of the library. At the edge of the park,
Speaker 1: kids who were grouped around picnic tables with a few
Speaker 1: grown up volunteers overseeing some craft project. They darted back
Speaker 1: and forth between the tables, gathering up supplies on to
Speaker 1: paper plates to make into collages. I could hear their
Speaker 1: voices and laughter through the still air. As I went
Speaker 1: further into the park. Everything was green, now, thick, fresh
Speaker 1: trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny leaves overhead.
Speaker 1: As I came around the side of the lake, I
Speaker 1: heard music playing. I followed it down a path and
Speaker 1: into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market was
Speaker 1: set up on Sunday mornings. Suddenly the music was louder,
Speaker 1: and a crowd of people danced to it. I remembered
Speaker 1: seeing a poster by the library for a group class
Speaker 1: salsa in the park, it had said, I smiled to
Speaker 1: myself as I watched the faces of the dancers. They
Speaker 1: were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
Speaker 1: some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
Speaker 1: much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet
Speaker 1: as they stepped, unturned and shifted. A ring of happy
Speaker 1: spectators stood watching, tapping their toes and clapping their hands
Speaker 1: to the music. I settled onto a bench to watch now,
Speaker 1: and then, catching the eye of a dancer passer by,
Speaker 1: we said to each other with our eyes, this is nice.
Speaker 1: I'm glad to be here for it. I'd spent a
Speaker 1: lot of time on my own lately, and that served
Speaker 1: its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me. It gave
Speaker 1: me space. I'm quiet and a steady center. But I'd
Speaker 1: been like a gear turning all by itself in the house.
Speaker 1: That gear rotated and kept my machinery going. But today,
Speaker 1: feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors, looking in
Speaker 1: the store windows, and drinking tea in the open air,
Speaker 1: clapping along with the music while people danced, it felt
Speaker 1: like my gear was sinking back up with everyone else's.
Speaker 1: We powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering my
Speaker 1: place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and listened
Speaker 1: to the clapping hands. I lifted my face, I let
Speaker 1: the sun shine on it. I took a deep breath
Speaker 1: in and let it out. Sweet dreams