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 on 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: For just a few dollars a month, you can get
Speaker 1: access to all seven seasons of Nothing Much Happens with
Speaker 1: zero ads, and a bonus episode every month that won't
Speaker 1: be available anywhere else. The first bonus episode is already
Speaker 1: there waiting for you. It's called Mother Nature, and I
Speaker 1: can't wait for you to fall asleep listening to it.
Speaker 1: We have a special founder's price, only available for a
Speaker 1: short time, so don't miss out. Sign up right now
Speaker 1: at Nothing Much Happens dot com. Now I'm going to
Speaker 1: tell you a story. I'll tell it twice, going a
Speaker 1: little slower the second time through. All you need to
Speaker 1: do is to rest your attention on my voice and words,
Speaker 1: and this will shift your brain from its busy default
Speaker 1: mode into task mode. We're sleep and rest are accessible.
Speaker 1: If you wake in the middle of the night, you
Speaker 1: could listen again or just think through any part of
Speaker 1: the story that you can remember. You'll flip that switch
Speaker 1: again and drop right back off. Now, Lights out, campers,
Speaker 1: Snuggle down and get as comfortable as you can. If
Speaker 1: you tend to clench your jaw at night, place the
Speaker 1: tip of your tongue at the spot where your upper
Speaker 1: teeth meet the gums on the inside. That will may
Speaker 1: get a lot easier to keep your jaw relaxed. Let's
Speaker 1: take a slow breath in through your nose and let
Speaker 1: it out with a sigh. Do one more then and
Speaker 1: out good. Our story tonight is called housewarming, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about an event marked on the calendar to
Speaker 1: look forward to. It's also about a window seat full
Speaker 1: of house plants, an invitation in a red envelope, and
Speaker 1: a memory of a perfectly wrapped present housewarming. This morning,
Speaker 1: a cool spring morning, I found a square red envelope
Speaker 1: in my mailbox. Along with it were flyers and bills
Speaker 1: and a catalog her summer community ed programs with a
Speaker 1: picture on its paper cover of children planting seeds and
Speaker 1: raised boxes beside the library. Though I was eager to
Speaker 1: flip through the pages of the catalog and see what
Speaker 1: classes and camps were scheduled for the next few months.
Speaker 1: That red envelope called to me, and I sat right
Speaker 1: down on my front step to open it. The flap
Speaker 1: had been stuck down just at the tip, so I
Speaker 1: could slide a finger under it to pop it open.
Speaker 1: It reminded me of the way my grandmother had always
Speaker 1: sent cards. I don't think she'd ever sealed an envelope
Speaker 1: in her life. She just tucked the flap in and
Speaker 1: assumed no one would try to open it until it
Speaker 1: got to its intended recipient, even when she sent a
Speaker 1: card with birthday money inside. She must have had a
Speaker 1: lot of faith in people, and I liked that. I
Speaker 1: also laughed, guessing that she'd sent in her gas and
Speaker 1: electric bills in the same way. I imagined an office
Speaker 1: worker at a desk with a pile of mail and
Speaker 1: a letter opener in her hand until she came to
Speaker 1: my grandmother's envelope, which, just by pulling it open, would
Speaker 1: send the check fluttering down onto the pile. The chill
Speaker 1: of the front step under me brought me back to
Speaker 1: the intriguing piece of mail I held in my hands.
Speaker 1: I slid out a thick, creamy white card from the
Speaker 1: red envelope and saw that it had been addressed and
Speaker 1: fancy looping calligraphy, an invitation to a housewarming party next
Speaker 1: Saturday afternoon. It was from an old friend who had
Speaker 1: bought his very first home, and I was so glad
Speaker 1: he was celebrating it. Gave the detail the time and place,
Speaker 1: promised appetizers and cocktails on his new deck, and with
Speaker 1: a cheeky flourish in the last line, informed me that
Speaker 1: gifts would be graciously expected. I laughed, sitting on the
Speaker 1: step and drummed my fingers on the card, thinking about
Speaker 1: what gift to give. I stood up and brushed myself
Speaker 1: off and carried my bundle of mail into the house.
Speaker 1: I thought about what made my own house warm and inviting,
Speaker 1: what made it feel like a home. I stepped over
Speaker 1: to the window seat of the big bay window that
Speaker 1: looked out over the street, and reached a hand out
Speaker 1: to touch the leaves of my MONSTERA de lucioso, sometimes
Speaker 1: called the Swiss cheese plant because its shiny green leaves
Speaker 1: were spotted with holes. I could certainly gift a plant,
Speaker 1: even one of my own, as the entire window seat
Speaker 1: was taken up with them. I had spiky alo vera
Speaker 1: with long, plump leaves. It could be useful at the
Speaker 1: beginning of the summer for the inevitable sunburns. I had
Speaker 1: tall snake plants with variegated leaves. The stripes remind me
Speaker 1: of a green and yellow zebra. I had a pot
Speaker 1: of pothos, and I'd been slowly weaving its climbing vines
Speaker 1: up the edge of my bookshelf, hoping I might come
Speaker 1: home one day and find my living room transformed into
Speaker 1: a thick, leafy forest. As I thought it over, I
Speaker 1: took a small pair of snippers from a drawer and
Speaker 1: clipped out a few dead leaves. I wiped a bit
Speaker 1: of dust from my fiddle fig and chattered away to
Speaker 1: the plants. I'd always heard that you should talk to
Speaker 1: your house plants, but I did it more for a
Speaker 1: bit of conversation, then as a therapeutic device. After all,
Speaker 1: we were housemates. We needed to catch up now. And
Speaker 1: then I noticed a new stock of growth in my
Speaker 1: cocoanut palm. Its soft, just born leaf was folded back
Speaker 1: and forth on itself like a paper fan, and I
Speaker 1: congratulated her, saying I couldn't wait to see it open up.
Speaker 1: I stepped into the kitchen to fill my mister and
Speaker 1: thought that my friend might not be ready for plant parenthood.
Speaker 1: That though he was putting down roots with this new house,
Speaker 1: he loved to travel and might be away for weeks
Speaker 1: at a time, and any plant I gifted would likely
Speaker 1: spend most of its time thirsty on a window ledge
Speaker 1: with no one to talk to. After I missed it
Speaker 1: my violets and turned my easy plant to keep it
Speaker 1: from leaning, I stood in front of the painting above
Speaker 1: my hall table. Maybe a painting as a gift. Every
Speaker 1: home needs art on the walls, and there was a
Speaker 1: boutique downtown that sold pieces by local painters and photographers.
Speaker 1: I quickly discarded the idea art is too personal. Even
Speaker 1: knowing that he would be likelier to enjoy something abstract
Speaker 1: rather than say, a landscape or a piece of photorealism,
Speaker 1: I still wouldn't know if it would be something he'd
Speaker 1: enjoy looking at every day. A book, a tea kettle,
Speaker 1: a vase, m none of it seemed quite right. I
Speaker 1: settled onto the sofa, leaning back into the cushions to
Speaker 1: have a good think. I remembered going to a housewarming
Speaker 1: party with my mother was a little girl, or perhaps
Speaker 1: it had been a wedding shower. I couldn't remember whose
Speaker 1: party it had been or what gift we had brought,
Speaker 1: but what I did remember was something that doesn't much
Speaker 1: exist any more. We'd been shopping at a department store,
Speaker 1: a fancy one with a section of fine china and
Speaker 1: crystal glasses. I remembered standing at the sales desk, trying
Speaker 1: very hard to keep my hands in my pockets so
Speaker 1: as not to break anything, and hearing my mother ask
Speaker 1: to have her purchase gift wrapped. The clerk told her
Speaker 1: it would be sent directly to the gift wrapping department
Speaker 1: on the first floor, and could go down and pick
Speaker 1: out the paper and ribbons. It was something that only
Speaker 1: happened two or three times in those years, that we'd
Speaker 1: be buying a fancy gift and having it wrapped at
Speaker 1: the store. So I'd been excited and eager as she
Speaker 1: led me by the hand down the escalator to the
Speaker 1: gift wrap department inside It looked like a candy shop,
Speaker 1: with its bright colors, shiny rainbow of ribbons, and sample
Speaker 1: gifts beautifully wrapped on shelves. I loved the rolls of
Speaker 1: paper hanging on every bit of wall, and the way
Speaker 1: after my mother had pointed to one, a gift wrapper
Speaker 1: pulled down a length of it and dragged it against
Speaker 1: a serrated metal blade built right into the roll, and
Speaker 1: the perfectly cut piece of paper would be laid out
Speaker 1: on the clerk's desk. I watched, completely engrossed as the
Speaker 1: clerk folded the paper, lining the pattern up perfectly where
Speaker 1: it came together. There was something so satisfying in the
Speaker 1: way the paper was creased, a finger running along the
Speaker 1: fold to press it into a neat line. Then the
Speaker 1: ribbons pulled from the spools in long strands and clipped
Speaker 1: in a flash with sharp silver scissors and wound beautifully
Speaker 1: around the gift. They were tied in a bow and
Speaker 1: their edges curled along the blade of the scissors. There
Speaker 1: were tiny cards and matching envelopes on a display on
Speaker 1: the desk, and my mother let me choose one to
Speaker 1: go with the gift and slipped it under the ribbon
Speaker 1: so it wouldn't get lost. I think if you'd asked
Speaker 1: me right then what I wanted to be when I
Speaker 1: grew up, I would have said a gift wrapper. Actually,
Speaker 1: it still sounded like a good choice. I had a
Speaker 1: few more days to think through my gift giving options,
Speaker 1: but I was sure whatever I gave it would be
Speaker 1: wrapped with as much love and care as I could
Speaker 1: muster housewarming. This morning, a cool spring morning, I found
Speaker 1: a square red envelope in my mailbox. Along with it
Speaker 1: were flyers and bills and a catalog for summer community
Speaker 1: ed programs, with a picture on its paper cover of
Speaker 1: children planting seeds in raised boxes beside the library. Though
Speaker 1: I was eager to flip through the pages of the
Speaker 1: catalog and see what classes and camps were scheduled for
Speaker 1: the next few months, that red envelope called to me,
Speaker 1: and I sat right down on my front step to
Speaker 1: open it. The flap had been stuck down just at
Speaker 1: the tip, so I slide a finger under it to
Speaker 1: pop it open. It reminded me of the way my
Speaker 1: grandmother I'd always sent cards. I don't think she'd ever
Speaker 1: sealed an envelope in her life. She just tucked the
Speaker 1: flap in and assumed no one would try to open
Speaker 1: it until it got to its intended recipient, even when
Speaker 1: she sent a card with birthday money inside. She must
Speaker 1: have had a lot of faith in people, and I
Speaker 1: liked that. I also laughed, guessing that she'd sent in
Speaker 1: her gas in electric bills. In the same way, I
Speaker 1: imagined an office worker at a desk with a pile
Speaker 1: of mail and a letter open her in her hand
Speaker 1: until she came to my grandmother's envelope, which, just by
Speaker 1: pulling it open, would send the check fluttering down onto
Speaker 1: the pile. The chill of the front step under me
Speaker 1: brought me back to the intriguing piece of mail I
Speaker 1: held in my hands. I slid out a thick, creamy
Speaker 1: white card from the red envelope and saw that it
Speaker 1: had been addressed and fancy looping calligraphy. An invitation to
Speaker 1: a housewarming party next Saturday afternoon. It was from an
Speaker 1: old friend who had bought his very first home, and
Speaker 1: I was so glad he was celebrating it. Gave the
Speaker 1: details the time and place, promised appetizers and cocktails on
Speaker 1: his new deck, and with a cheeky flourish in the
Speaker 1: last line, informed me that gifts would be graciously expected.
Speaker 1: I laughed, sitting on the step and drummed my fingers
Speaker 1: on the card, thinking about what gift to give. I
Speaker 1: stood up and brushed myself off and carried my bundle
Speaker 1: of mail into the house. I thought about what made
Speaker 1: my own house warm and inviting, what made it feel
Speaker 1: like a home. I stepped over to the window seat
Speaker 1: of the big bay window that looked out over the
Speaker 1: street and reached a handout to touch the leaves of
Speaker 1: my monstera delucioso, sometimes called the Swiss cheese plant because
Speaker 1: its shiny green leaves were spotted with holes. I could
Speaker 1: certainly gift a plant, even one of my own, as
Speaker 1: the entire window seat was taken up with them. I
Speaker 1: had spiky alo vera with long, plump leaves. I could
Speaker 1: be useful at the beginning of the summer for the
Speaker 1: inevitable sun burns. I had tall snake plants with variegated leaves,
Speaker 1: the stripes reminding me of a green and yellow zebra.
Speaker 1: I had a pot of pothos, and I'd been slowly
Speaker 1: weaving its climbing vines up the edge of my bookshelf,
Speaker 1: hoping I might come home one day and find my
Speaker 1: living room transformed into a thick, leafy forest. As I
Speaker 1: thought it over, I took a small pair of snippers
Speaker 1: from Azure and clipped out a few dead leaves. I
Speaker 1: wiped a bit of dust from my fiddle fig and
Speaker 1: chattered away to the plants. I'd always heard that you
Speaker 1: should talk to your house plants, but I did it
Speaker 1: more for a bit of conversation than as a therapeutic device.
Speaker 1: After all, we were housemates. We needed to catch up now.
Speaker 1: And then I noticed a new stock of growth in
Speaker 1: my cocoanut palm. It's soft, just born leaf was folded
Speaker 1: back and forth on itself like a paper fan, and
Speaker 1: I congratulated her, saying I couldn't wait to see it
Speaker 1: open up. I stepped into the kitchen to fill my
Speaker 1: mister and thought that my friend might not be ready
Speaker 1: for plant parenthood. That though he was putting down roots
Speaker 1: with this new house, he loved to travel and might
Speaker 1: be away for weeks at a time, and any plant
Speaker 1: I gifted would likely spend most of its time thirsty
Speaker 1: on a window ledge with no one to talk to.
Speaker 1: After I misted my violets and turned my zizi plant
Speaker 1: to keep it from leaning, I stood in front of
Speaker 1: the painting above my hall table. Maybe a painting as
Speaker 1: a gift. Every home needs art on the walls, and
Speaker 1: there was a boutique downtown that sold pieces by local
Speaker 1: painters and photographers. I quickly discarded the idea art is
Speaker 1: too personal. Even knowing that he would be likelier to
Speaker 1: enjoy something abstract rather than, say, a landscape or a
Speaker 1: piece of photo realism, I still wouldn't know if it
Speaker 1: would be something he'd enjoy looking at every day. A book,
Speaker 1: a tea kettle, a vase, m None of it seemed
Speaker 1: quite right. I settled on to the sofa, leaning back
Speaker 1: into the cushions to have a good think. I remembered
Speaker 1: going to a housewarming party with my mother was a
Speaker 1: little girl, or perhaps it had been a wedding shower.
Speaker 1: I couldn't remember whose party it had been, or what
Speaker 1: gift we had brought, but what I did remember was
Speaker 1: something that doesn't much exist anymore. We'd been shopping at
Speaker 1: a department store, a fancy one with a section of
Speaker 1: fine china and crystal glasses. I remembered stand at the
Speaker 1: sales desk, trying very hard to keep my hands in
Speaker 1: my pockets so as not to break anything, and hearing
Speaker 1: my mother ask to have her purchase gift wrapped, the
Speaker 1: clerk told her it would be sent directly to the
Speaker 1: gift wrapping department on the first floor and we could
Speaker 1: go down and pick out the paper and ribbons. It
Speaker 1: was something that only happened two or three times in
Speaker 1: those years, that we'd be buying a fancy gift and
Speaker 1: having it wrapped at the store, so I'd been sighted
Speaker 1: and eager as she led me by the hand down
Speaker 1: the escalator to the gift wrap department. Inside it looked
Speaker 1: like a candy shop, with its bright colors, shiny rainbow
Speaker 1: of ribbons, and sample gifts beautifully wrapped on shelves. I
Speaker 1: loved the rolls of paper hanging on every bit of wall,
Speaker 1: and the way after my mother had pointed to one,
Speaker 1: a gift wrapper pulled down a length of it and
Speaker 1: dragged it against a serrated metal blade built right into
Speaker 1: the roll, and the perfectly cut piece of paper would
Speaker 1: be laid out on the clerk's desk. I watched, completely
Speaker 1: engrossed as the clerk folded the paper, lining the pattern
Speaker 1: up perfectly where it came together. There was something so
Speaker 1: satisfying in the way the paper was creased, a finger
Speaker 1: running along the fold to press it into a neat line.
Speaker 1: Then the ribbons pulled from their spools in long strands
Speaker 1: and clipped in a flash with sharp silver scissors and
Speaker 1: wound beautifully around the gift. They were tied in a
Speaker 1: bow and their edges curled along the blade of the scissors.
Speaker 1: There were tiny cards and matching envelopes on a display
Speaker 1: on the desk, and my mother let me choose one
Speaker 1: to go with a gift, and slipped it under the
Speaker 1: ribbon so it wouldn't get lost. I think if you'd
Speaker 1: asked me right then what I wanted to be when
Speaker 1: I grew up, I would have said a gift rapper. Actually,
Speaker 1: it still sounded like a good choice. I had a
Speaker 1: few more days to think through my gift giving options,
Speaker 1: but I was sure whatever I gave it would be
Speaker 1: wrapped with as much love and care as I could
Speaker 1: muster sweet dreams