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. You've heard me talk about my book, Nothing
Speaker 1: Much Happens, which comes out in the US and Canada
Speaker 1: on October sixth. The book is already up for pre
Speaker 1: order from all your favorite book retailers, and I'm excited
Speaker 1: to announce a special offer for anyone in the US
Speaker 1: and Canada who preorders by October sixth. I'm always inspired
Speaker 1: by hearing from you, and this time I want you
Speaker 1: to help me write a new story. Pre Order the book,
Speaker 1: and you can enter for a chance to win a
Speaker 1: custom story. I'll be calling the winner directly, so we
Speaker 1: can chat for a bit and you can tell me
Speaker 1: some of your favorite cozy autumn things and then I'll
Speaker 1: write them into an episode you can hear right here
Speaker 1: on the podcast. In fact, I'm pretty sure the winner
Speaker 1: will be a part of our Halloween episode, which is
Speaker 1: one of my favorite things to write all year. For
Speaker 1: more information on how to pre order and enter the contest.
Speaker 1: Visit my sight Nothing Much Happens dot com. Also mark
Speaker 1: your calendars. On Friday, October ninth, at seven pm Eastern Time,
Speaker 1: I'll be hosted by Literati Bookstore in Ann Arbor for
Speaker 1: a virtual event. We'll be talking about the book, I'll
Speaker 1: be answering your questions, and we'll end the night with
Speaker 1: a reading of one of the news stories that will
Speaker 1: never be on the podcast. In fact, I've already picked
Speaker 1: the story, and it's one that means so much to me.
Speaker 1: It was inspired by my grandfather and I can't wait
Speaker 1: to share it with you. I'll be posting an invite
Speaker 1: to join me for the evening on our socials, so
Speaker 1: if you haven't yet, go find us on Facebook or
Speaker 1: Twitter or Instagram. Now I have a story to tell you,
Speaker 1: and the story is simple, without much action, but full
Speaker 1: of relaxing detail. Our mind's race, you know this, and
Speaker 1: this story is a way to move your mind off
Speaker 1: the expressway and onto an exit ramp toward a serene,
Speaker 1: resting spot. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go
Speaker 1: a little slower the second time through. If you find
Speaker 1: that you are still awake at the end of the
Speaker 1: second telling, don't worry. Just take yourself back through any
Speaker 1: of the details of the story that you remember. This
Speaker 1: works well if you wake in the middle of the night,
Speaker 1: use the details to get right back on the exit ramp,
Speaker 1: and before you know it, you'll be drifting off to
Speaker 1: peaceful sleep. Now it's time to turn the light off,
Speaker 1: set down anything you've been working on or looking at,
Speaker 1: adjust your pillows, and pull your blanket up over your shoulder.
Speaker 1: All of this preparation you are doing before you close
Speaker 1: your eyes is setting you up for an excellent night's sleep.
Speaker 1: You might even say to yourself, I'm about to fall
Speaker 1: asleep and I'll sleep sound all night. Take a deep
Speaker 1: breath in through your nose and let it out with
Speaker 1: a soft sigh. Let's do that again. Breathe in and
Speaker 1: out good. Our story tonight is called in the Bleachers,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about a game watched on a
Speaker 1: crisp fall evening. It's also about pumpkins on doorsteps, flannel
Speaker 1: shirts from the back of the closet, and remembering that
Speaker 1: there are lots of ways to grow in the bleachers.
Speaker 1: We'd thought of it months ago. We'd been on a
Speaker 1: walk in the earliest days of the summer. In fact,
Speaker 1: it might have been on the first truly warm day
Speaker 1: of the year. That's when every moment with your face
Speaker 1: turned toward the sun makes you shiver with energy and
Speaker 1: excitement at being out of the house and in the
Speaker 1: open air, and you look forward to getting good and
Speaker 1: hot and doing all the summer things that runs its course.
Speaker 1: By the end of the summer, when you'd give your
Speaker 1: eye teeth for a cool, rainy day to crowl up
Speaker 1: by a window and read a book. By then you
Speaker 1: begin to look forward to doing all the autumn things.
Speaker 1: And this was the autumn thing we'd thought of that day.
Speaker 1: On that sunny summer walk. We'd been walking through a
Speaker 1: neighborhood looking at the pots of geraniums showing up on
Speaker 1: front steps, when we'd noticed an empty lot between two houses.
Speaker 1: Men didn't look like a house had ever stood there,
Speaker 1: my guest, It had always been just an open space
Speaker 1: of grass and wild flowers. But there was a path
Speaker 1: worn through that reached far back to a line of trees.
Speaker 1: And we both turned to each other, tilting our heads
Speaker 1: like dogs listening for their favorite word. Shall we? I asked,
Speaker 1: let's and we stepped on to the path. The path
Speaker 1: was sandy earth laid bare by many feet, and as
Speaker 1: we made our way along it, I heard the slight
Speaker 1: crunch of a grain of sand scraping along a pebble
Speaker 1: under my foot. The grass was thick and bright green,
Speaker 1: and full of crickets hopping along in front of us
Speaker 1: leading our way. Soon we were in the shade of
Speaker 1: the trees, with their leaves newly full and unfurled in
Speaker 1: the high air above us. The path persisted and we followed.
Speaker 1: We stopped to squat down at the base of an
Speaker 1: elm tree to look at what we guessed were a
Speaker 1: troop of moral mushrooms. We left them to their business,
Speaker 1: but I book marked the spot in my mind for
Speaker 1: a return visit. After a bit of schooling on mushroom identification,
Speaker 1: I smiled thinking of that quote that all mushrooms are edible,
Speaker 1: but some only ones. The path led us to step
Speaker 1: right through the low divided trunk of a tree. It
Speaker 1: split just a few inches above the ground and was
Speaker 1: growing twin saplings that straightened into parallel, upright, thin marked
Speaker 1: trunks just after their initial angled inception. I remembered learning
Speaker 1: a word for the sit of this inosculation A rare
Speaker 1: sight when two trees grow into each other. I supposed
Speaker 1: there were lots of ways to grow. We stepped out
Speaker 1: from the cover of the trees and blinked up at
Speaker 1: the shapes in front of us, which took a moment
Speaker 1: to resolve and be recognized. Upright, pillars that looked like
Speaker 1: giant cactus arms against the blue sky, steps leading up
Speaker 1: and up, and a vast field dotted with white and yellow.
Speaker 1: We both laughed as we realized where we were. We'd
Speaker 1: snuck up on the back of the high school football field.
Speaker 1: I guessed that path marked the way back and forth
Speaker 1: for scores of teenagers on school days, with their backpacks
Speaker 1: slung over their shoulders. They're sneakers kicking through the pine
Speaker 1: needles and old dried leaves. We raced each other from
Speaker 1: one end of the field to the other and bounced
Speaker 1: our voices and long, confident echoes across the bleachers. I
Speaker 1: couldn't remember ever doing anything like it when I'd been
Speaker 1: a high schooler. In fact, i'd probably avoid it spots
Speaker 1: like this, But I'd grown out of my shyness long ago,
Speaker 1: and it felt powerful to run through the place and
Speaker 1: fall laughing on our backs on the soft field that's
Speaker 1: when we'd made the plan to come back and watch
Speaker 1: a game on a cool autumn night. I'd forgotten about
Speaker 1: it until i'd seen the schedule of games in the
Speaker 1: community calendar section of the local paper. And now that
Speaker 1: the evenings were getting chilly and the leaves were starting
Speaker 1: to shift into reds and oranges and yellows, well, it
Speaker 1: sounded like a lovely night out. We bundled up a
Speaker 1: bit our fall jackets and scarves over flannel shirts and
Speaker 1: decided to trace our steps as we did before, down
Speaker 1: along the neighborhood streets where pumpkins were replacing the geraniums,
Speaker 1: and along the path into the woods. There's that pleasant,
Speaker 1: eerie tingle at the back of your neck when you're
Speaker 1: out on an autumn night, something instinctive. That must be
Speaker 1: why we put our holidays for celebrating spookiness here rather
Speaker 1: than in the spring, and I felt it as we
Speaker 1: stepped into the woods. We both must have, because we
Speaker 1: reached out each other's hands as we walked. As we
Speaker 1: stepped over the split tree, we heard the band playing
Speaker 1: and could see the bright stadium lights shining through the branches.
Speaker 1: When we broke through the edge of the woods, we
Speaker 1: saw folks in the bleachers and felt that energy we'd
Speaker 1: tapped into in the summer that now pushed us to
Speaker 1: jog around to the sideline and find our way to
Speaker 1: our own spots in the stands. We passed the concession
Speaker 1: stand and decided to supply ourselves with hot drinks, one
Speaker 1: cider and one coffee, and a big bag of popcorn
Speaker 1: that we could share around us. High schoolers strode in
Speaker 1: small packs, laughing or pretending to laugh, while also pretending
Speaker 1: not to look to see if a certain someone in
Speaker 1: another pack was watching. I remembered how crucial those nights
Speaker 1: had felt at the time, each one loaded with potential
Speaker 1: and possibility and demanding to be made the most of.
Speaker 1: I was glad that my evenings had been dialed back
Speaker 1: as I aged to much more mellow affairs. I thought
Speaker 1: that must all be part of the process. The bubbling
Speaker 1: pot of emotion and urgency that pushes us through the
Speaker 1: early years slows to a steady simmer as we add
Speaker 1: experience and wisdom to the mix. We stepped our way
Speaker 1: up through the bleachers, passing groups of parents and teachers,
Speaker 1: chatting away and sipping from cups. We scuttled along a
Speaker 1: row near the top and settled down on to the
Speaker 1: chilly seat. We propped the bag of popcorn between us
Speaker 1: and snacked away as we looked out over the field
Speaker 1: and listened to a mix of tuning brass instruments, clapping
Speaker 1: hands and cheering, chance coaches pumping up their players, and
Speaker 1: the crowd calling and chatting. Up here. The air was
Speaker 1: deliciously brisk, stinging my nostrils as I took in a
Speaker 1: deep lungful, I let the steam from my sider warm
Speaker 1: my face, and as a whistle blew on the field,
Speaker 1: settled in to watch the game in the bleachers. We
Speaker 1: thought of it months ago, we'd been on a walk
Speaker 1: in the earliest days of the summer. In fact, it
Speaker 1: might have been on the first truly warm day of
Speaker 1: the year. That's when every moment with your face turned
Speaker 1: toward the sun makes you shiver with energy and excitement
Speaker 1: at being out of the house and in the open air,
Speaker 1: and you look forward to getting good and hot and
Speaker 1: doing all the summer things that runs its course. By
Speaker 1: the end of the summer, when you'd give your eye
Speaker 1: teeth for a cool, rainy day to curl up by
Speaker 1: a window and read a book. By then you begin
Speaker 1: to look forward to doing all the autumn things. And
Speaker 1: this was the autumn thing we'd thought of that day.
Speaker 1: On that sunny summer walk, we'd been walking through a
Speaker 1: neighborhood looking at the pots of geraniums showing up on
Speaker 1: front steps, when we'd noticed an empty lot between two houses.
Speaker 1: It didn't look like a house had ever stood there.
Speaker 1: I guess it had always been just an open space
Speaker 1: of grass and wild flowers. But there was a path
Speaker 1: worn through that reached far back to a line of trees.
Speaker 1: And we both turned to each other, tilting our heads
Speaker 1: like dogs listening for their favorite word. Shall we? I asked,
Speaker 1: let's and we stepped unto the path. The path was
Speaker 1: sandy earth, laid bare by many feet, and as we
Speaker 1: made our way along it, I heard the slight crunch
Speaker 1: of a grain of sand scraping along a pebble under
Speaker 1: my foot. The grass was thick and bright green, and
Speaker 1: full of crickets hopping along in front of us, leading
Speaker 1: our way. Soon we were in the shade of the trees,
Speaker 1: with their leaves newly fall and unfurled in the high
Speaker 1: air above us. The path persisted and we followed. We
Speaker 1: stopped to squat down at the base of an elm
Speaker 1: tree to look at what we guessed were a troop
Speaker 1: of moral mushrooms. We left them to their business, but
Speaker 1: I book marked the spot in my mind for our
Speaker 1: return visit. After a bit of schooling and mushroom identification.
Speaker 1: I smiled thinking of that quote that all mushrooms are edible,
Speaker 1: but some only. Once the path led us to step
Speaker 1: right through the low divided trunk of a tree. It
Speaker 1: split just a few inches above the ground and was
Speaker 1: growing twin saplings that straightened into parallel upright, thin barked
Speaker 1: trunks just after their initial angled inception. I remembered learning
Speaker 1: a word for the opposite of this inosculation, a rare
Speaker 1: sight when two trees grow into each other, I supposed
Speaker 1: there were lots of ways to grow. We stepped out
Speaker 1: from the cover of the trees and blinked up at
Speaker 1: the shape in front of us, which took a moment
Speaker 1: to resolve and be recognized. Upright, pillars that looked like
Speaker 1: giant cactus arms against the blue sky, steps leading up
Speaker 1: and up, and a vast field dotted with white and yellow.
Speaker 1: We both laughed as we realized where we were. We'd
Speaker 1: snuck up on the back of the high school football field.
Speaker 1: I guessed that path marked the way back and forth
Speaker 1: for scores of teenagers on school days. With their backpacks
Speaker 1: slung over their shoulders. They're sneakers kicking through the pine
Speaker 1: needles and old dried leaves. We raced each other from
Speaker 1: one end of the field to the other and bounced
Speaker 1: our voices in long, confident echoes across the bleachers. I
Speaker 1: couldn't remember ever doing anything like it when I'd been
Speaker 1: a high schooler. In fact, i'd probably avoided spots like this,
Speaker 1: but I'd grown out of shyness long ago, and it
Speaker 1: felt powerful to run through the place and fall laughing
Speaker 1: on our backs on the soft field. That's when we'd
Speaker 1: made the plan to come back and watch a game
Speaker 1: on a cool autumn night. I'd forgotten about it until
Speaker 1: I'd seen the schedule of games in the community calendar
Speaker 1: section of the local paper. And now the evenings were
Speaker 1: getting chilly, the leaves were starting to shift into reds
Speaker 1: and oranges and yellow us, and it sounded like a
Speaker 1: lovely night out. We bundled up a bit our fall
Speaker 1: jackets and scarves over flannel shirts and decided to trace
Speaker 1: our steps as we did before, down along the neighborhood
Speaker 1: streets where pumpkins were replacing the geraniums, and along the
Speaker 1: path into the woods. There's that pleasant, eerie tingle at
Speaker 1: the back of your neck when you're out on an
Speaker 1: autumn night, something instinctive. That must be why we put
Speaker 1: our holidays for celebrating spookiness here rather than in the spring.
Speaker 1: And I felt it as we stepped into the woods.
Speaker 1: We both must have, because we reached out and caught
Speaker 1: each other's hands as we walked. As we stepped over
Speaker 1: the split tree, we heard the band playing. I could
Speaker 1: see the bright stadium lights shining through the branches. When
Speaker 1: we broke through the edge of the woods, we saw
Speaker 1: folks in the bleachers and felt that energy we tapped
Speaker 1: into in the summer that pushed us to jog around
Speaker 1: to the sideline and find our way to our own
Speaker 1: spots in the stands. We passed the concession stand and
Speaker 1: decided to supply ourselves with hot drinks, one sider and
Speaker 1: one coffee, and a big bag of popcorn that we
Speaker 1: could share around. Us high schoolers strode in small packs,
Speaker 1: laughing or pretending to laugh while also pretending not to
Speaker 1: look to see if a certain someone in another pack
Speaker 1: was watching. I remembered how crucial those nights had felt
Speaker 1: at the time, each one loaded with potential and possibility
Speaker 1: and demanding to be made the most of. I was
Speaker 1: glad that my evenings had been dialed back as I
Speaker 1: aged to much more mellow affairs, and thought that must
Speaker 1: all be part of the process. The bubbling pot of
Speaker 1: emotion and urgency that pushes us through the early years
Speaker 1: slows to a steady simmer as we add experience and
Speaker 1: wisdom to the mix. We stepped our way up through
Speaker 1: the bleachers, passing groups of parents and teachers, chatting away
Speaker 1: and sipping from cups. We scuttled along a row near
Speaker 1: the top and settled down on to the chilly seat.
Speaker 1: We propped the bag of popcorn between us and snacked
Speaker 1: away as we looked out over the field and listened
Speaker 1: to a mix of tuning brass instruments, clapping hands and cheering,
Speaker 1: chance coaches pumping up their players, and the crowd calling
Speaker 1: and chatting up high. The air was deliciously brisk, stinging
Speaker 1: my nostrils. As I took in a deep lungful, I
Speaker 1: let the steam from my sighter, warm my face, and
Speaker 1: as a whistle blew on the field, settled in to
Speaker 1: watch the game. Sweet Dreams