Speaker 1: Welcome to Season six of Bedtime Stories for Grown Ups,
Speaker 1: in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then
Speaker 1: you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay. I read and write
Speaker 1: all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio
Speaker 1: Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. You can follow us on
Speaker 1: Instagram and Facebook and Twitter. For a bit of extra coziness,
Speaker 1: A beautiful book of our bedtime stories is coming out
Speaker 1: all over the world in just a few months. It
Speaker 1: will have many of your favorite stories along with sixteen
Speaker 1: new stories that will only ever appear in the book.
Speaker 1: It also has really charming illustrations, recipes, meditations, and lots more.
Speaker 1: To learn more or to pre order your copy, go
Speaker 1: to Nothing Much Happens dot com. Your mind needs a
Speaker 1: place to rest. That's what the story I'm about to
Speaker 1: tell you is. It's a nest to lay your attention in.
Speaker 1: In order to stay in the nest, all you need
Speaker 1: to do is follow along with the sound of my
Speaker 1: voice and the simple shape of the story. I'll tell
Speaker 1: it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second
Speaker 1: time through. If you waken the night, you can climb
Speaker 1: right back into that nest just by thinking through any
Speaker 1: parts of the story you remember. Over time, your sleeper's
Speaker 1: bonds will improve. You'll find that you fall asleep faster
Speaker 1: and stay asleep longer. When you wake, you'll feel rested
Speaker 1: and relaxed. Now, put down anything that you've been working
Speaker 1: on or looking at. It's time to settle down into
Speaker 1: your bed, To pull the blanket over your shoulder, and
Speaker 1: relax into your favorite sleeping position. If you find that
Speaker 1: you clench your jaw when you sleep, start building a
Speaker 1: new habit here. As your body gets heavier you feel
Speaker 1: sleep coming on. Rest the tip of your tongue at
Speaker 1: the place where your upper teeth meet the gums on
Speaker 1: the inside. That will help keep your jaw relaxed. Now
Speaker 1: I'll take a deep breath in through the nose and
Speaker 1: sigh out of the mouth. Yeah again, in out with
Speaker 1: sound good. Our story tonight is called in the Map Room,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about the pleasures of looking at
Speaker 1: the world drawn out on paper. It's also about a
Speaker 1: gasp of coyfish in a pond, a bike ride that
Speaker 1: leads somewhere surprising, and the view from the upper room
Speaker 1: of an old house. In the map Room, in between tours,
Speaker 1: when folks have undered out through the old oak doors
Speaker 1: and began to circle through the grounds. I go to
Speaker 1: the map room. It was secretly why I joined the
Speaker 1: team of docents in this historic house, though I hadn't
Speaker 1: put down slyly spend time with maps in the why
Speaker 1: do you want to work here? Section of my volunteer application. Truthfully,
Speaker 1: I loved every part of the days I got to
Speaker 1: spend here, unlocking the doors in the mornings and setting
Speaker 1: the A frame sign out in the circle drive, opening
Speaker 1: the old casement windows on the third floor, and standing
Speaker 1: in the quiet landing outside of the library while I
Speaker 1: listened to catch the echo of the people who once
Speaker 1: lived here, or who have walked through the halls or
Speaker 1: added to or admired the collections in them. It is
Speaker 1: for many who come here a delightful surprise when they
Speaker 1: drive down the long, twisting drive and through the gardens
Speaker 1: up to the house. Maybe they see a sign on
Speaker 1: the highway or heard from someone about the labyrinth in
Speaker 1: the courtyard or the room at the top floor full
Speaker 1: of maps, and they come on a sunny Saturday to
Speaker 1: see for themselves. But they aren't prepared for how lovely
Speaker 1: the house is. They don't expect to find grounds so
Speaker 1: full of trickling fountains and smooth stone sculptures and narrow
Speaker 1: gravel paths that lead to more unexpected places and things.
Speaker 1: I hadn't expected them the first time I'd been here.
Speaker 1: Out on along by ride and turning down a back road,
Speaker 1: I found myself riding under a canopy of willow branches
Speaker 1: and caught a glimpse through the tree trunks of the
Speaker 1: house set far back. I'd peddled down the long drive
Speaker 1: and slipped the front tire of my bike into the
Speaker 1: stand with a few others, and wandered shyly into the
Speaker 1: front garden. I wasn't sure that I was supposed to
Speaker 1: be there. When a guide passed by, explaining the story
Speaker 1: of the house, who had built it and who had
Speaker 1: filled it with so many treasures, to a small group
Speaker 1: of attentively listening folks trailing behind her. I'd slipped in
Speaker 1: among them and followed along for the next hour or so.
Speaker 1: She'd led us to a spot on the far side
Speaker 1: of the house where the land fell away and you
Speaker 1: could look down into a clear pond ringed with irises.
Speaker 1: She waited quietly as we looked at the water till
Speaker 1: some one pointed out and we all saw a school
Speaker 1: of bright orange fish, a hundred of them, if not more,
Speaker 1: swimming to the surface, then shifting and dropping down into
Speaker 1: the depths again. It was like watching the sun rising
Speaker 1: and setting in the water. And as I'd stood there,
Speaker 1: I thought about how many hidden treasures like this place
Speaker 1: are just waiting to be witnessed and appreciated again. The
Speaker 1: tour had ended at the top of the house, in
Speaker 1: a long room with shelves full of shallow drawers running
Speaker 1: to the ceiling, and wide library tables. It was the
Speaker 1: map Room, and for me, it was the cherry on top,
Speaker 1: the sweetest and least expected surprise of the afternoon. I've
Speaker 1: always loved maps, and to have a whole room dedicated
Speaker 1: to them to know someone else had felt like I did,
Speaker 1: and made sure to leave behind a place where people
Speaker 1: could come just to look at the formation of continents
Speaker 1: and the lines that we draw through them, to consider
Speaker 1: the distance from one point to another, and the lakes
Speaker 1: and the rivers in between them. It felt like a
Speaker 1: connection across a century, and I was so glad it
Speaker 1: had survived. Soon I was finding an hour here or
Speaker 1: there a few times a week to park my bike
Speaker 1: in the rack and walk the grounds and stray up
Speaker 1: to the map room. I'd worked my way through the drawers,
Speaker 1: sometimes with a magnifying glass pressed to my eye and
Speaker 1: a note pad tucked into my back pocket. I found
Speaker 1: local maps with crumbling edges that showed trails that would
Speaker 1: eventually become the streets that I grew up on. I
Speaker 1: found maps of farms and emerging cities, and I'd read
Speaker 1: the names of the families that were farming in the
Speaker 1: parks as they were built. Some had intricate hand drawn
Speaker 1: compass roses in their corners, and I used them to
Speaker 1: orient myself by the angle of the sun toward their
Speaker 1: capital city or featured body of water the oldest or
Speaker 1: covered in a web of connecting pinwheels, rum lines, or
Speaker 1: ioxodromes that intersected with Meridians on their way to true north.
Speaker 1: Maps can show you how people thought about the world
Speaker 1: at a certain moment in time, or at least how
Speaker 1: the map maker thought. Sometimes they show how people tried
Speaker 1: to spin a story that wasn't true, or puff themselves
Speaker 1: up to seem bigger than they were. And all of
Speaker 1: that is a useful lesson even when what they show
Speaker 1: in their lines and place names aren't true. I'd found,
Speaker 1: as I'd gone through them, so many gaps in my
Speaker 1: own knowledge, And while everything I'd learned hadn't stuck permanently
Speaker 1: and would need to be occasionally refreshed, I found seeing
Speaker 1: the world from so many angles had changed the way
Speaker 1: I thought about myself. I felt connected thus by looking
Speaker 1: at the shape of a city, or the name of
Speaker 1: a mountain, or the contours of a coast line, to
Speaker 1: the people who walked and ate and lived in those
Speaker 1: places every day. I'd heard someone say once that there
Speaker 1: isn't a person in the world who is anything less
Speaker 1: than your twentieth cousin looking at the spaces we all
Speaker 1: shared that felt true. Eventually, a guide had slipped me
Speaker 1: a volunteer application, suggesting that as I was here so
Speaker 1: much anyway, I should just make it official. And now
Speaker 1: it was. I was here through the seasons leading there's
Speaker 1: over to spot the koi fish in the pond, pointing
Speaker 1: out the hidden faces in the tiles on the east wall.
Speaker 1: I'm telling stories of the people in the painting over
Speaker 1: the fireplace. Some days I'd spot someone standing shyly in
Speaker 1: the garden wondering if they were supposed to be here,
Speaker 1: and I'd smile thinking about them taking their first step
Speaker 1: into the map room. In the map room, in between tours,
Speaker 1: when folks have wandered out through the old oak doors
Speaker 1: and begun to circle through the grounds, I go to
Speaker 1: the map room. It was secretly why I joined the
Speaker 1: team of dosins in this historic house, though I hadn't
Speaker 1: put down slyly spend time with maps in the why
Speaker 1: do you want to work here? Section of my volunteer application. Truthfully,
Speaker 1: I loved every part of the days I got to
Speaker 1: spend here, unlocking the doors in the morning and setting
Speaker 1: the A frame sign out in the circle drive, opening
Speaker 1: the old casement windows on the third floor, and standing
Speaker 1: in the quiet landing outside of the library while I
Speaker 1: listen to catch the echo of the people who once
Speaker 1: lived here, or who have walked through the halls or
Speaker 1: added to or admired the collections in them. It is
Speaker 1: for many who come here a delightful surprise when they
Speaker 1: drive down the long, twisting drive and through the gardens
Speaker 1: up to the house. Maybe they see a sign on
Speaker 1: the highway or heard from someone about the labyrinth in
Speaker 1: the courtyard or the room on the top floor full
Speaker 1: of maps, and they come on a sunny Saturday to
Speaker 1: see for themselves. But they aren't prepared for how lovely
Speaker 1: the house is. They don't expect to find grounds so
Speaker 1: full of trickling fountains and smooth stone sculptures and narrow
Speaker 1: gravel paths that lead to more unexpected places and things.
Speaker 1: I hadn't expected them the first time I'd been here,
Speaker 1: myself out on along by gride and taking a turn
Speaker 1: down a back road, I found myself under a canopy
Speaker 1: of willow branches and caught a glimpse through the tree
Speaker 1: trunks of the house set far back. I'd peddled down
Speaker 1: the long drive and slipped the front tire of my
Speaker 1: bike into the stand with a few others, and wandered
Speaker 1: shyly into the front garden. I wasn't sure that I
Speaker 1: was supposed to be there. When a guide passed by,
Speaker 1: explaining the story of the house, who had built it
Speaker 1: and who had filled it with so many treasures to
Speaker 1: a small group of attentively listening folks trailing behind her.
Speaker 1: I'd slipped in among them and followed along for the
Speaker 1: next hour or so. She'd led us to a spot
Speaker 1: on the far side of the house, where the land
Speaker 1: fell away, when you could look down into a clear
Speaker 1: pond ringed with irises. She waited quietly as we looked
Speaker 1: at the water till someone pointed and we all saw
Speaker 1: a school of bright orange fish, a hundred of them
Speaker 1: if not more, swimming to the surface, then shifting and
Speaker 1: dropping down into the depths again. It was like watching
Speaker 1: the sun rising and setting in the water. And as
Speaker 1: I had stood there, I thought about how many hidden
Speaker 1: treasures like this place are just waiting to be witnessed
Speaker 1: and appreciated. Again. The tour had ended at the top
Speaker 1: of the house, in a long room with shelves full
Speaker 1: of shallow drawers running to the ceiling, and wide library tables.
Speaker 1: It was the map Room, and for me it was
Speaker 1: the cherry on top, the sweetest and least expected surprise
Speaker 1: of the afternoon. I've always loved maps, and to have
Speaker 1: a whole room dedicated to them to know someone else
Speaker 1: had felt like I did, and made sure to leave
Speaker 1: behind a place where people could come just to look
Speaker 1: at the formations of the continents and the lines that
Speaker 1: we draw through them, to consider the distance from one
Speaker 1: point to another, and the lakes and rivers in between.
Speaker 1: It felt like a connection across a century, and I
Speaker 1: was so glad it had survived. Soon, I was finding
Speaker 1: an hour here or there, a few times a week
Speaker 1: to park my bike in the rack and walk the
Speaker 1: grounds and stray up to the map room. I'd worked
Speaker 1: my way through the drawers, sometimes with a magnifying glass
Speaker 1: pressed to my eye and a notepad tucked into my
Speaker 1: back pocket. I found local maps with crumbling edges that
Speaker 1: showed trails that would eventually become the streets that I
Speaker 1: grew up on. I found maps of farms and emerging cities,
Speaker 1: and I'd read the names of the families that were
Speaker 1: farming in the parks as they were built. Some had
Speaker 1: intricate hand drawn compass roses in their corners, and I
Speaker 1: used them to orient myself by the angle of the
Speaker 1: sun toward their capital city or featured body of water
Speaker 1: the oldest or covered in a web of connecting pinwheels,
Speaker 1: rum lines, or ioxodromes that intersected with Meridians on their
Speaker 1: way to true North. Maps can show you how people
Speaker 1: fought about the world at a certain moment in time,
Speaker 1: or at least how the map maker thought. Sometimes they
Speaker 1: show how people tried to spin a story that was true,
Speaker 1: or puff themselves up to seem bigger than they were,
Speaker 1: and all of that is a useful lesson, even when
Speaker 1: what they show in their lines and place names aren't true.
Speaker 1: I'd found, as I'd gone through them, so many gaps
Speaker 1: in my own knowledge, while everything I'd learned hadn't stuck
Speaker 1: permanently and would need to be occasionally refreshed. I found
Speaker 1: seeing the world from so many angles had changed the
Speaker 1: way I thought about myself. I felt connected just by
Speaker 1: looking at the shape of a city with the name
Speaker 1: of a mountain, or the contours of a coastline to
Speaker 1: the people who walked, and ate and lived in those
Speaker 1: places every day. I had heard someone say once that
Speaker 1: there isn't a person in the world who is anything
Speaker 1: less than your twentieth cousin. Looking at the space as
Speaker 1: we all shared, that felt true. Eventually, a guide had
Speaker 1: slipped me a volunteer application, suggesting that as I was
Speaker 1: here so much anyway, I should make it official. And
Speaker 1: now it was. I was here through the seasons, leading
Speaker 1: others over to spot the koi fish in the pond,
Speaker 1: pointing out the hidden faces in the tiles on the
Speaker 1: east wall and telling the stories of the people in
Speaker 1: the painting over the fireplace. Some days I'd spot someone
Speaker 1: standing shyly in the garden, wondering if they were supposed
Speaker 1: to be here, and I'd smile thinking about them taking
Speaker 1: that first step into the map room. Sweet Dreams