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. Follow us on Instagram and Facebook and Twitter
Speaker 1: for a bit of extra coziness. And thank you for
Speaker 1: all the messages and lovely comments. I read everything, even
Speaker 1: if I cannot always reply. We are getting closer and
Speaker 1: closer to the release of a beautiful book of our
Speaker 1: bedtime stories called Nothing Much Happens. It will come out
Speaker 1: on October sixth in the US and Canada, and on
Speaker 1: or near that date in dozens of countries all over
Speaker 1: the world. It will have many of your favorite stories,
Speaker 1: along with sixteen news stories that will only ever appear
Speaker 1: in the book. It also has a really beautiful illustrations, recipes, meditations,
Speaker 1: and lots more. Pre order your copy at Nothing Much
Speaker 1: Happens dot com. Now let me say a little about
Speaker 1: how to use this podcast. Your mind needs a place
Speaker 1: to rest, someplace safe and soothing. The story I'm about
Speaker 1: to read you is that place, and you rest your
Speaker 1: mind there just by following along with the sound of
Speaker 1: my voice and the simple details of the story. I'll
Speaker 1: read it twice, and I'll go a little slower the
Speaker 1: second time through. As your mind settles and your body relaxes,
Speaker 1: you will sleep. This is brain training, and the more
Speaker 1: you do it, the better it will work. So have
Speaker 1: some patience if you are new to this. Now it's
Speaker 1: time to turn off the light and put away anything
Speaker 1: you've been looking at. Slide your body down into your sheets,
Speaker 1: and get as comfortable as you can. Let's take a
Speaker 1: deep breath in through the nose and sigh through the mouth.
Speaker 1: Do that one more time. Breathe in and out with
Speaker 1: sound good. Our story tonight is called Summer Feast, and
Speaker 1: it's a story about a meal eaten on a blanket
Speaker 1: spread over the grass. It's also about shapes spotted in
Speaker 1: the clouds, whistleweeds, and taking the time to savor some
Speaker 1: favorite flavors. Summer Feast. I'd found the basket at a
Speaker 1: yard sale. I'd been out for a walk in my
Speaker 1: neighborhood the autumn before, and as I turned a corner
Speaker 1: found a row of houses with tables set up in
Speaker 1: their driveways and blankets laid over their front lawns, all
Speaker 1: covered with formerly precious objects that were now ready for
Speaker 1: a new home. I'd strolled through the offerings and found
Speaker 1: a few things I'd be happy to carry away with me.
Speaker 1: There were some funny clip on earrings in the shape
Speaker 1: of sunflowers that hadn't likely been worn since the seventies,
Speaker 1: a few spy novels with dusty book jackets that seemed
Speaker 1: perfect for afternoon reading on the porch. And a lovely
Speaker 1: wicker basket with sturdy handles and lined with a red
Speaker 1: checked cloth that looked like it could hold a hearty
Speaker 1: lunch to be eaten on a sunny summer day. When
Speaker 1: I'd gotten it home and given it a thorough cleaning,
Speaker 1: I'd been so eager to use it that I'd kept
Speaker 1: it out on my kitchen table for a week or so,
Speaker 1: waiting for a warm, bright day to fill it with
Speaker 1: sandwiches and cookies and crisp autumn apples. But instead winter
Speaker 1: had come early, and as the first snow of the
Speaker 1: season was falling outside, I'd regretfully stashed the basket in
Speaker 1: a cupboard to wait for next year's sunny days. Now
Speaker 1: we were in the sweetest, warmest days of sun and
Speaker 1: the basket was once again out on my table, its
Speaker 1: wicker flaps tipped open and ready to be filled. The
Speaker 1: excitement of a meal with friends in a shady green
Speaker 1: spot and my somewhat out of control vegetable garden meant
Speaker 1: that I had a lot to fill it with. I'd
Speaker 1: made a crunchy cucumber salad with tart vinegar and feathery
Speaker 1: fronds of dill that had spent the morning marinating in
Speaker 1: the fridge when I'd eaten the last pickled beat from
Speaker 1: the jar the night before. Rather than pouring the liquid out,
Speaker 1: I'd dropped some thinly sliced onions in and sealed it
Speaker 1: back up. Today I drained them out and found they
Speaker 1: were sweet and tangy and a beautiful pink that made
Speaker 1: the cucumber salad feel ready for a party. Along with
Speaker 1: the cucumbers, the garden had given me a glut of
Speaker 1: green tomatoes. I cut them into thick slices and sauteyed
Speaker 1: them with shallots and thyme and balsamic vinegar until they
Speaker 1: were syrupy and caramelized. Then I'd laid them into my
Speaker 1: tart pan on top of a homemade crust that was
Speaker 1: a bit lumpy and lopsided, which I had decided to
Speaker 1: call rustic. I'd folded the edges of the dough over
Speaker 1: the filling a bit and baked it all off when
Speaker 1: it was cool. I'd cut the tart into wedges and
Speaker 1: wrapped them in wax paper and into the basket they'd gone.
Speaker 1: I ticked things off on my fingers, salad, tart plate, napkins,
Speaker 1: and forks. Looking around the kitchen, I remembered the sweet
Speaker 1: cherries I had rinsed in a colander and the sink,
Speaker 1: and found a bowl to seal them in, and just
Speaker 1: managed to fit them into the basket. I pulled a
Speaker 1: blanket down from the hall closet, the one I took
Speaker 1: to outdoor concerts and to watch the fireworks from on
Speaker 1: the Fourth of July, and fit it over the wicker top,
Speaker 1: pulling the handles up and around. Soon I was out
Speaker 1: the door with my sun hat on my head and
Speaker 1: the basket heavy in my hands. Luckily I didn't have
Speaker 1: far to go. Up one block and around a corner
Speaker 1: there was a tiny neighborhood park, just a stretch of
Speaker 1: green grass with a gravel path curving through it and
Speaker 1: a few benches on one were a couple of old friends,
Speaker 1: chatting as they waited for me, with their own contributions
Speaker 1: to the feast on their laps. We laid out the
Speaker 1: blanket at the edge of the park where there was
Speaker 1: a bit of shade under a catalpa tree, and pinned
Speaker 1: the corners down with what we'd brought. I unpacked the
Speaker 1: basket and laid out the dish of cucumber salad, a
Speaker 1: bowl of sweet cherries, and the wrapped pieces of green
Speaker 1: tomato tart. My friends applauded the menu and filled their
Speaker 1: plates to go with our lunch. One friend brought a
Speaker 1: chilled thermis of homemade lemonade that she'd sweetened with lavender syrup.
Speaker 1: She unpacked glasses and poured some for each of us.
Speaker 1: The other friend had a tin of homemade cookies, and
Speaker 1: he popped off the top to show us They looked
Speaker 1: crispy and delicious, with criss cross hatch marks on top
Speaker 1: made with the tines of a fork. We handed round
Speaker 1: napkins and forks and leisurely ate, sometimes leaning back on
Speaker 1: our hands and stretching our legs out of the cover
Speaker 1: of the shade to let them warm in the sun.
Speaker 1: The tart crust had stained crisp, and the tomatoes were
Speaker 1: rich and tender. A cucumber salad had been tasty when
Speaker 1: I'd try a forkfall this morning, but now that it
Speaker 1: had spent a few more hours with its flavors blending
Speaker 1: and marinating, it was really delicious, and we went back
Speaker 1: for more until the bowl was empty. The cherries were
Speaker 1: sweet and juicy, and I dropped the pits into the grass,
Speaker 1: wondering if I might come back in twenty years to
Speaker 1: find a tree grown up in our favorite spot. We
Speaker 1: took a break from eating for a bit and laid
Speaker 1: down on the blanket with our heads together and our
Speaker 1: eyes turned up to the sky. It was bright blue,
Speaker 1: a kind of blue that, when you stop to really
Speaker 1: look gat it is honestly astonishing. Have you had those
Speaker 1: moments when you take a closer look at something you
Speaker 1: see every day and feel just plane knocked out by it.
Speaker 1: A few clouds were moving very slowly across the sky,
Speaker 1: and we pointed out shapes to one another, as we
Speaker 1: had when we were children. I saw a horse in
Speaker 1: mid gallop, and as I watched, its nose stretched out
Speaker 1: in front of it, and its flanks lifted and shifted
Speaker 1: until it had become a dragon with wings open in
Speaker 1: a glacially slow flap. I turned my head and saw
Speaker 1: among the grass and the seed pots that had dropped
Speaker 1: from the tree beside our blanket were the wide leaves
Speaker 1: of whistleweed. I plucked a piece and lined it up
Speaker 1: so that the strip of green was stretched in a
Speaker 1: straight line between my thumbs. I pressed my lips to
Speaker 1: the spot and blew, and found I could still make
Speaker 1: the loud, honking call I had learned to in summer camp.
Speaker 1: My friends laughed at the sound. Had we all realized
Speaker 1: why our camp counselors had begged us to quit all
Speaker 1: those years ago. The tin of cookies was passed around
Speaker 1: and we ate them, still lying on our backs, watching
Speaker 1: the clouds moving across the sky. My mother used to
Speaker 1: say when we sat down to the table for dinner,
Speaker 1: we don't eat, we dine. It was a reminder to
Speaker 1: take time to savor our meals instead of gulping them
Speaker 1: down and rushing on to the next thing. It was
Speaker 1: probably also meant to insert a little civility into our
Speaker 1: family dinners, to teach manners and a bit of propriety.
Speaker 1: I like thinking that in the end, good manners are
Speaker 1: really just about showing regard for the people around you,
Speaker 1: and that it can be done while you're lying in
Speaker 1: the grass with cookie crumbs in your hair. I curled
Speaker 1: onto my side and tucked my arm under my head.
Speaker 1: The warm air and my full belly were making me drowsy.
Speaker 1: I listened while my friends talked about this and that,
Speaker 1: and let my eyes close, knowing that they were watching
Speaker 1: over and that we had no place to be summer feast.
Speaker 1: I'd found the basket at a yard sale. I'd been
Speaker 1: out for a walk in my neighborhood the autumn before,
Speaker 1: and as I turned a corner found a row of
Speaker 1: houses with tables set up in their driveways and blankets
Speaker 1: laid out over their front lawns, all covered with formerly
Speaker 1: precious objects that were now ready for a new home.
Speaker 1: I'd strolled through the offerings and found a few things
Speaker 1: I'd been happy to carry away with me. There were
Speaker 1: some funny clip on earrings in the shape of sunflowers
Speaker 1: that hadn't likely been worn since the seventies, a few
Speaker 1: spy novels with dusty book jackets that seemed perfect for
Speaker 1: afternoon reading on the porch, and a lovely wicker basket
Speaker 1: with sturdy handles, lined with a red checked cloth that
Speaker 1: looked like it could hold a hearty lunch to be
Speaker 1: eaten on a sunny summer day. When I'd gotten it
Speaker 1: home and given it a thorough cleaning, I'd been so
Speaker 1: eager to use it, and I'd kept it out on
Speaker 1: my kitchen table for a week or so, waiting for
Speaker 1: a warm, bright day to fill it with sandwiches and
Speaker 1: cookies and crisp autumn apples. But instead winter had come early,
Speaker 1: and as the first snow of the season was falling outside,
Speaker 1: I'd regretfully stashed the basket in a cupboard to wait
Speaker 1: for next year's sunny days. Now we were in the sweetest,
Speaker 1: warmest days of summer, and the basket was once again
Speaker 1: out on my table, It's wicker flaps tipped open and
Speaker 1: ready to be filled. The excit eatment of a meal
Speaker 1: with friends in a shady green spot and my somewhat
Speaker 1: out of control vegetable garden meant that I had a
Speaker 1: lot to fill it with. I'd made a crunchy cucumber
Speaker 1: salad with tart vinegar and feathery fronds of dill that
Speaker 1: had spent the morning marinating in the fridge. When I'd
Speaker 1: eaten the last pickled beat from the jar the night before.
Speaker 1: Rather than pouring the liquid out, I'd dropped some thinly
Speaker 1: sliced onions in and sealed it back up. Today, I'd
Speaker 1: drained them out and found they were sweet and tangy
Speaker 1: and a beautiful pink that made the cucumber salad feel
Speaker 1: ready for a party. Along with the cucumbers, the garden
Speaker 1: had given me a glut of green tomatoes. I cut
Speaker 1: them into thick slices and sauteyed them with shallots and
Speaker 1: thyme and balsamic vinegar until they were syrupy and caramelized.
Speaker 1: Then I'd laid them into my tart pan on top
Speaker 1: of a homemade crust that was a bit lumpy and lopsided,
Speaker 1: which I had decided I would call rustic. I'd folded
Speaker 1: the edges of the dough over the filling a bed
Speaker 1: and baked it off. When it was cool, I'd cut
Speaker 1: the tart into wedges and wrapped them in wax paper,
Speaker 1: and into the basket they'd gone. I ticks things off
Speaker 1: on my fingers, salad tart plates, napkins, and forks. Looking
Speaker 1: around the kitchen I remembered the sweet cherries i'd rinsed
Speaker 1: in a colander in the sink and found a bowl
Speaker 1: to seal them in. I just managed to fit it
Speaker 1: into the basket. I pulled a blanket down from the
Speaker 1: hall closet, the one I took to outdoor concerts and
Speaker 1: to watch the fireworks from on the Fourth of July,
Speaker 1: and fit it over the wicker top, pulling the handles
Speaker 1: up and around. Soon I was out the door with
Speaker 1: my sun hat on my head and the basket heavy
Speaker 1: in my hands. Luckily I didn't have far to go.
Speaker 1: Up one block and around a corner there was a
Speaker 1: tiny neighborhood park, just a stretch of green grass with
Speaker 1: a gravel path curving through it and a few benches.
Speaker 1: On one were a couple of old friends, chatting as
Speaker 1: they waited for me, with their own contributions to the
Speaker 1: feast on their laps. We laid out the blanket at
Speaker 1: the edge of the park, where there was a bit
Speaker 1: of shade under a catalpa tree, and pinned the corners
Speaker 1: down with what we'd brought. I unpacked the basket and
Speaker 1: laid out the dish of cucumber salad, the bowl of
Speaker 1: sweet cherries and the wrapped pieces of green tomato tart.
Speaker 1: My friends applauded the menu and filled their plates to
Speaker 1: go with our lunch. One friend brought a chilled thermis
Speaker 1: of homemade lemonade that she'd sweetened with lavender syrup. She
Speaker 1: unpacked glasses and poured some for each of us. The
Speaker 1: other friend had a tin of homemade cookies, and he
Speaker 1: popped the top off to show us they looked crispy
Speaker 1: and delicious, criss cross hatch marks on top made with
Speaker 1: the tines of a fork. We handed round napkins and
Speaker 1: forks and leisurely ate, sometimes leaning back on our hands
Speaker 1: and stretching our lags out of the cover of the
Speaker 1: shade to let them warm in the sun. The tart
Speaker 1: crust had stayed crisp, and the tomatoes were rich and tender.
Speaker 1: The cucumber salad had been tasty when i'd tried a
Speaker 1: workfall this morning, but now that it had spent a
Speaker 1: few more hours with its flavors blending and marinating, it
Speaker 1: was really delicious, and we went back for more until
Speaker 1: the bowl was empty. The cherries were sweet and juicy,
Speaker 1: and I dropped the pits into the grass wondering if
Speaker 1: I might come back in twenty years to find a
Speaker 1: grown up in our favorite spot. We took a break
Speaker 1: from eating for a bit and laid down on the
Speaker 1: blanket with our heads together and our eyes turned up
Speaker 1: to the sky. It was bright blue, a kind of
Speaker 1: blue that, when you stop to really look at it,
Speaker 1: is honestly astonishing. Have you had those moments when you
Speaker 1: take a closer look at something you see every day
Speaker 1: and feel just plaine knocked out by it. A few
Speaker 1: clouds were moving very slowly across the sky, and we
Speaker 1: pointed out shapes to one another, as we had when
Speaker 1: we were children. I saw a horse in mid gallop,
Speaker 1: and as I watched, its nose stretched out in front
Speaker 1: of it, and its flanks lifted and shifted until it
Speaker 1: had become a dragon, with wings open in a glacially
Speaker 1: slow flap. I turned my head and saw, among the
Speaker 1: grass and the seed pods that had dropped from the
Speaker 1: tree beside our blanket, the wide leaves of whistleweed. I
Speaker 1: plucked a piece and lined it up so the strip
Speaker 1: of green was stretched in a straight line between my thumbs.
Speaker 1: I pressed my lips to the spot and blew and
Speaker 1: found I could still make the loud, honking call I
Speaker 1: had learned to in summer camp. My friends laughed at
Speaker 1: the sound, and we all realized why our camp counselors
Speaker 1: had begged us to quit all those years ago. The
Speaker 1: tin of cookies was passed around and we ate them,
Speaker 1: still lying on our backs, watching the clouds moving across
Speaker 1: the sky. My mother used to say when we sat
Speaker 1: down to the table for dinner, we don't eat, we dine.
Speaker 1: It was a reminder to take time to savor our
Speaker 1: meals instead of gulping them down and rushing on to
Speaker 1: the next thing. It was also probably meant to insert
Speaker 1: a little civility into our family dinners, to teach manners
Speaker 1: and a bit of propriety. I liked thinking that in
Speaker 1: the end, good manners are really just about showing regard
Speaker 1: for the people around you, and that it can be
Speaker 1: done while you're lying in the grass with cookie crumbs
Speaker 1: in your hair. And I curled unto my side and
Speaker 1: tucked my arm under my head. The warm air and
Speaker 1: my full belly were making me drowsy. I listened while
Speaker 1: my friends talked about this and that, and let my
Speaker 1: eyes close, knowing they were watching over and that we
Speaker 1: had no place to be. Sweet dreams,