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 when Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. You've asked for an ad
Speaker 1: free version of the podcast, for more stories, more frequently,
Speaker 1: and very kindly. You've asked how you can show your
Speaker 1: support for what Bob and I create, and we listened.
Speaker 1: Starting today, and for about the cost of a latte,
Speaker 1: you can get access to all seven seasons of Nothing
Speaker 1: Much Happens with zero ads and bonus episodes every month
Speaker 1: that won't be available anywhere else now. The podcast will
Speaker 1: always be free and available right where you are listening now.
Speaker 1: But if you'd like to get more Nothing Much Happens
Speaker 1: and ensure that we can keep creating for you, well,
Speaker 1: we'd love to have you sign up right now at
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens dot com. And by the way, this
Speaker 1: subscription makes a lovely Mother's Day gift. Now every episode
Speaker 1: is someone's first, so I like to let you know
Speaker 1: how this works. I'm going to give your mind a
Speaker 1: place to rest. A simple story that I'll tell twice,
Speaker 1: going a little bit slower the second time through. Just
Speaker 1: follow along with my voice, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed and energized. This
Speaker 1: is brain training, and you'll notice that the more you
Speaker 1: do it, the more your sleep will improve. Now turn
Speaker 1: off your light, set down anything you were looking at,
Speaker 1: Slide down deep into the sheets, and get as comfortable
Speaker 1: as you can feel your whole body getting heavier, deeply relaxed.
Speaker 1: Now take a slow breath in through your nose and
Speaker 1: let it out with a sigh. Do one more breathe
Speaker 1: in and let it go good. Our story tonight is
Speaker 1: called day Dreamer, and it's a story about drifting from
Speaker 1: one thought to the next, giving in to a bit
Speaker 1: of nostalgia, and imagining what might be. It's also about
Speaker 1: kindness from a stranger, the sound of the school bus
Speaker 1: coming down the street, and an open window on a
Speaker 1: spring morning. Daydreamer, I've been sleeping with the windows open
Speaker 1: for a week or so. A few nights had been cool,
Speaker 1: but I just added a thick quilt to the bed
Speaker 1: and happily dozed with the night air circling over me.
Speaker 1: On those mornings, I'd been a bit quicker than usual
Speaker 1: to get my cup of coffee and climb back into
Speaker 1: the still warm bed, sipping from my cup as the
Speaker 1: light turned pink outside, and feeling myself warming and waking
Speaker 1: and wondering what the day would be like. It is
Speaker 1: one of the best moments of the day, the first
Speaker 1: moment as every possibility lies open to you and nothing
Speaker 1: has yet been decided. Daydreaming, I've realized as I've gotten older,
Speaker 1: is underrated. I spent that first moment of the day
Speaker 1: just letting my mind float on possibilities, like an upturned
Speaker 1: leaf floating on the current of a stream. I leaned
Speaker 1: back against the pillows and smelled the good toasted scent
Speaker 1: of my coffee. It was a dark roast and reminded
Speaker 1: me of the smell of cocoobeans. I thought of a
Speaker 1: meal i'd eaten a few years before that had ended
Speaker 1: with a cup of sweet chie and a square of
Speaker 1: bitter dark chocolate. The sweet and the bitter had gone
Speaker 1: so well together. I nibbled tiny bites and taken small
Speaker 1: SIPs to make it last as long as I could.
Speaker 1: It was, I thought, just like the cool night air
Speaker 1: and the warm quilt, opposites, but friends, the difference between
Speaker 1: them pulling out the best parts of each other. I
Speaker 1: heard the rumble of an engine and looked down through
Speaker 1: the window beside my bed to spy a school bus
Speaker 1: climbing up the street. It stopped at the house next door,
Speaker 1: and I heard the pneumatic hiss of the side door opening,
Speaker 1: and my neighbor hurrying his little out to climb the steps.
Speaker 1: She had a poster board rolled up into a tube
Speaker 1: and fastened with paper clips at either end under one arm,
Speaker 1: and a lunchbox dangling from the other hand. I smiled
Speaker 1: watching her make her way up the stairs, remembering that
Speaker 1: she had told me proudly a few days before that
Speaker 1: she had been working on her science fair project. My
Speaker 1: thought back to my own science fair days and remembered
Speaker 1: walking up and down the aisles of tables set up
Speaker 1: in the gym, excited to see how a lemon could
Speaker 1: be a battery, how a dozen tiny plants might have
Speaker 1: grown differently because they'd been fed their sunlight in east
Speaker 1: facing windows or west. And of course, the show stopper,
Speaker 1: an ambitious parent child team built paper and Mashae volcano,
Speaker 1: hand painted with tiny pots of poster paint and erupting
Speaker 1: with baking soda and vinegar. I wondered what her little
Speaker 1: mind was curious about. What bit of the natural world
Speaker 1: had she explored when I vowed to ask her when
Speaker 1: she got off the bus This afternoon, I went back
Speaker 1: to daydreaming as I watched the bus stop at the
Speaker 1: corner and pick up another small scientist, carrying a giant
Speaker 1: cardboard display carefully over their head. I thought about that
Speaker 1: bus full of children and what they dreamed of doing
Speaker 1: when they got older. They'd be all different sorts of people.
Speaker 1: Some would travel to far away places, and others might
Speaker 1: live their whole lives in our little neighborhood. Some would
Speaker 1: make art or become athletes, discover, invent teach, be parents themselves,
Speaker 1: or maybe, when I smiled thinking of it, drive a
Speaker 1: school bus and some day be there to help a
Speaker 1: student up the steps the science fair project in their arms.
Speaker 1: It made me think of a night many years before,
Speaker 1: when I'd been in a city I didn't know well,
Speaker 1: and I'd thought I'd just missed the last bus home.
Speaker 1: A man my grandfather's age had seen me running to
Speaker 1: catch it, and when I finally stopped at a corner
Speaker 1: to think what to do next, he came to ask
Speaker 1: if I was all right. He leaned on his cane
Speaker 1: as he listened to my story. Last bus, my friends,
Speaker 1: having caught the one going the other way, too far
Speaker 1: to walk. I'm not sure how to get home. There
Speaker 1: would be another bus, he promised. You'll get home just fine,
Speaker 1: he said. He waited with me, asking me about school
Speaker 1: on my summer plans, distracting me from my worries, and
Speaker 1: sure enough, a quarter of an hour later, a number
Speaker 1: four bus pulled up to the stop. I thanked him
Speaker 1: for helping me, and he watched me go up the
Speaker 1: steps and settle in a seat. The window was pulled
Speaker 1: down a few inches, and as the door closed and
Speaker 1: the driver prepared to pull away, he called out to
Speaker 1: watch for my stop and be careful. I still thought
Speaker 1: about him all these years later, that he cared for
Speaker 1: a stranger enough to sit with me and wait, that
Speaker 1: he'd taken a bit of his own time to make
Speaker 1: sure I got home safely. I certainly hoped he had to.
Speaker 1: I still hadn't moved from my warm quilt, but my
Speaker 1: mind had been back in time, thousands of miles away,
Speaker 1: and cast a bit into the future as well. Where
Speaker 1: would that drifting leaf float off to next? I saw
Speaker 1: the mail carrier walking up to a mailbox a few
Speaker 1: houses away, and even from my nest, up high in
Speaker 1: my bedroom, I spotted a square read envelope as it
Speaker 1: was pulled from the mail pouch and tucked into the box.
Speaker 1: What I wondered was in that envelope a birthday card,
Speaker 1: an invitation to a fancy party, a love letter confessing
Speaker 1: someone's deepest desires and hopes. The leaf went tumbling down
Speaker 1: a waterfall, rushing past a hundred possibilities. That's the promise
Speaker 1: of a letter sealed tightly in an envelope, isn't it
Speaker 1: the same as the promise of the first moment of
Speaker 1: a new day? I could take you anywhere, I decided
Speaker 1: the letter and that red envelope was from a long
Speaker 1: lost cousin informing the recipient of a family fortune now
Speaker 1: up for grabs, if only they would come for a
Speaker 1: weekend a great uncle's house in the country. I imagined
Speaker 1: a long dining room table with an inch of dust
Speaker 1: on the dishes, and a secret passageway that went from
Speaker 1: the false panel in the library to a door hidden
Speaker 1: by a tapestry in the hall upstairs, I conjured up
Speaker 1: a groundskeeper with a secret and an initial carved into
Speaker 1: the base of a stone statue, the center of a
Speaker 1: hedge maze. I took the last sip of my coffee,
Speaker 1: laughing at myself and the story I'd started in my mind.
Speaker 1: Not laughing in jest or derision, but in delight. This
Speaker 1: is the secret we forget as we get older. But
Speaker 1: we can go anywhere in our minds, and that daydreaming
Speaker 1: can be its own adventure and escape. When we can't travel,
Speaker 1: when we can't go back or forward in time, we
Speaker 1: can dream. And a dream doesn't have to be real
Speaker 1: to feel true. Day dreamer. I'd been sleeping with the
Speaker 1: windows open for a week or so. A few nights
Speaker 1: had been cool, but I'd just added a thick quilt
Speaker 1: to the bed and happily dozed with the night air
Speaker 1: circling over me. On those mornings, I'd been a bit
Speaker 1: quicker than usual to get my cup of coffee and
Speaker 1: climb back into the still warm bed, sipping from my
Speaker 1: cup as the light turned pink outside, and feeling myself
Speaker 1: warming and waking and wondering what the day would be.
Speaker 1: It is one of the best moments of the day,
Speaker 1: the first moment, as every possibility lies open to you
Speaker 1: and nothing has yet been decided. Daydreaming, I've realized as
Speaker 1: I've gotten older, is underrated. So I spent that first
Speaker 1: moment of the day just letting my mind float on possibilities,
Speaker 1: like an upturned leaf floating on the current of a stream.
Speaker 1: I leaned back against the pillows and smelled the good
Speaker 1: toasted scent of my coffee. It was a dark roast
Speaker 1: and reminded me of the smell of cocowbans. I thought
Speaker 1: of a meal I had eaten a few years before
Speaker 1: that had ended with a cup of sweet shy and
Speaker 1: a square of bitter dark chocolate. The sweet and the
Speaker 1: bitter had gone so well to get other. I'd nibbled
Speaker 1: tiny bites and taken small SIPs to make it last
Speaker 1: as long as I could. It was, I thought, just
Speaker 1: like the cool night air and the warm quilt, opposites,
Speaker 1: but friends, the difference between them pulling out the best
Speaker 1: parts of each other. I heard the rumble of an
Speaker 1: engine and looked down through the window beside my bed
Speaker 1: to spy a school bus climbing up the street. It
Speaker 1: stopped at the house next door, and I heard the
Speaker 1: pneumatic hiss of the side door opening and my neighbor
Speaker 1: hurrying his little one out to climb the steps. She
Speaker 1: had a poster board rolled up into a tube and
Speaker 1: fastened with paper clips at either end under one arm,
Speaker 1: and a lunchbox dangling from the other hand. I smiled
Speaker 1: watching her make her way up the stairs, remembering that
Speaker 1: she had told me proudly a few days before, but
Speaker 1: she had been working on her science fair project. I
Speaker 1: thought back to my own science fair days and remembered
Speaker 1: walking up and down the aisles of tables set up
Speaker 1: in the gym, excited to see how a lemon could
Speaker 1: be a battery, how a dozen tiny plants might have
Speaker 1: grown differently because they'd been fed their sunlight in east
Speaker 1: facing windows or west. And of course, the show stopper,
Speaker 1: an ambitious parent child team built paper machee volcano, hand
Speaker 1: painted with tiny pots of poster paint and erupting with
Speaker 1: baking soda and vinegar. I wondered what her little mind
Speaker 1: was curious about, what bit of the natural world had
Speaker 1: she explored, and vowed to ask her when she got
Speaker 1: off the bus. This afternoon, I went back to day
Speaker 1: dreaming as I watched the bus stop at the corner
Speaker 1: and pick up another small scientist, carrying a giant cardboard
Speaker 1: display carefully over their head. I thought about that bus
Speaker 1: full of children and what they dreamed of doing when
Speaker 1: they got older. They'd be all different sorts of people.
Speaker 1: Some would travel to far away places, and others might
Speaker 1: live their whole lives in our little neighborhood. Some would
Speaker 1: make art or become athletes, discover, invent, teach, be parents
Speaker 1: themselves or maybe and they smiled thinking of it, drive
Speaker 1: a school bus and some day be there to help
Speaker 1: a student up the steps with a science fair project
Speaker 1: in their arms. It made me think of a night
Speaker 1: many years before when I'd been in a city I
Speaker 1: didn't know well, and I'd thought i'd just missed the
Speaker 1: last bus home. A man my grandfather's age had seen
Speaker 1: me running to catch it, and when I finally stopped
Speaker 1: at a corner to think what to do next, he
Speaker 1: came to ask if I was all right. He leaned
Speaker 1: on his cane as he listened to my story last
Speaker 1: buss my friends, having caught the one going the other
Speaker 1: way too far to walk. I'm not sure how to
Speaker 1: get home. There would be another buss, he promised. You'll
Speaker 1: get home just fine, he said. He waited with me,
Speaker 1: asking me about school and my summer plans, distracting me
Speaker 1: from my worries, and sure enough, a quarter of an
Speaker 1: hour later, a number four bus pulled up to the stop.
Speaker 1: I thanked him for helping me, and he watched me
Speaker 1: go up the steps and saddle in a seat. The
Speaker 1: window was pulled down a few inches, and as the
Speaker 1: door closed and the driver prepared to pull away, he
Speaker 1: called out to watch for my stop and be careful.
Speaker 1: I still thought about him, all these years later, that
Speaker 1: he'd cared for a stranger enough to sit with me
Speaker 1: and wait, that he'd taken a bit of his own
Speaker 1: time to make sure I got home safely. I certainly
Speaker 1: hoped he had to. I still hadn't moved from my
Speaker 1: warm quilt, but my mind had been back in time,
Speaker 1: thousands of miles away, and cast a bit into the
Speaker 1: future as well. Where would that drifting leaf float off to? Next?
Speaker 1: I saw the mail carrier walking up to a mail
Speaker 1: box a few houses away, and even from my nest.
Speaker 1: Upon high in my bedroom, I spotted a square, bright
Speaker 1: red envelope as it was pulled from the mail pouch
Speaker 1: and tucked into the box. What I wondered was in
Speaker 1: that envelope a birthday card, an invitation to a fancy party,
Speaker 1: a love letter confessing someone's deepest desires and hopes. The
Speaker 1: leaf went tumbling down a waterfall, rushing past a hundred possibilities.
Speaker 1: That's the promise of a letter sealed tightly in an envelope,
Speaker 1: isn't it. It's the same as the promise of the
Speaker 1: first moment of a new day. I could take you anywhere,
Speaker 1: I decided. The letter in that red envelope was from
Speaker 1: a long lost cousin, informing the recipient of a family
Speaker 1: fortune now up for grabs, if only they would come
Speaker 1: for a weekend at great Uncle's house in the country.
Speaker 1: I imagined a long dining room table with an inch
Speaker 1: of dust on the dishes, and a secret passageway that
Speaker 1: went from the false panel in the library to a
Speaker 1: door hidden by a tapestry in the hall upstairs. I
Speaker 1: conjured up a groundskeeper with a secret and an initial
Speaker 1: carved into the base of a stone statue in the
Speaker 1: center of a hedge maze. I took the last sip
Speaker 1: of my coffee, laughing at myself and the story I'd
Speaker 1: started in my mind. Not laughing in jest or derision,
Speaker 1: but in delight. This is the secret we forget as
Speaker 1: we get older, that we can go anywhere in our minds,
Speaker 1: and that day dreaming can be its own adventure and escape.
Speaker 1: When we can't travel, when we can't go back or
Speaker 1: forward in time, we can dream. And a dream doesn't
Speaker 1: have to be real to feel true. Sweet dreams,