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 Buttersheim. Starting this month, we'll be bringing you even
Speaker 1: more nothing Much, so look for a new episode every
Speaker 1: single Monday. Thank you for your support. My book, also
Speaker 1: called Nothing Much Happens, is available wherever books are sold.
Speaker 1: You can access add free and bonus episodes of this
Speaker 1: show by becoming a subscriber to our Premium or Premium
Speaker 1: Plus feeds. Sign up at Nothing Much Happens dot com.
Speaker 1: Now let me say a bit about how this podcast works.
Speaker 1: I am about to tell you a bedtime story, and
Speaker 1: the story, if you let it, will become a place
Speaker 1: to rest your mind. When your mind has a place
Speaker 1: to rest, you will drop off into sleep. It really
Speaker 1: is that simple. It's when our minds run wild that
Speaker 1: we can't find sleep. So follow along with the sound
Speaker 1: of my voice and the simple shape of the tale,
Speaker 1: and probably before I finish, you'll be sound asleep. I'll
Speaker 1: read the story twice and I'll go a little slower.
Speaker 1: The second time through. If you wait again in the
Speaker 1: middle of the night, try just thinking your way back
Speaker 1: through whatever details from the story you can remember. This
Speaker 1: is a kind of brain training. Your sleep will improve
Speaker 1: over time and this response will only get stronger. But
Speaker 1: be patient. If you're new to this. All right, it's time.
Speaker 1: Turn off your light, set down anything you are looking at,
Speaker 1: Slide down into the sheets, and get as comfortable as
Speaker 1: you can. Feel your whole body getting heavier, deeply relaxed.
Speaker 1: If you tend to clench your jaw, try placing the
Speaker 1: tip of your tongue at the spot where your upper
Speaker 1: teeth meet the gums on the inside. This is a
Speaker 1: good habit to get into as you're drifting off, as
Speaker 1: it makes it pretty difficult to clench. Now, take a
Speaker 1: slow breath in through your nose, let it out with
Speaker 1: a sigh. Do one more breathe in and out. Good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called at the Diamond, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about a warm day stretched out on a
Speaker 1: blanket under a tree. It's also about jumping through a
Speaker 1: sprinkler on soft green grass, a dried flower with blue petals,
Speaker 1: and a home run hit out past center field. At
Speaker 1: the Diamond, it was becoming a Sunday afternoon tradition since
Speaker 1: the spring. Went on a walk through the neighborhood, I
Speaker 1: had seen a small crowd at the park. I had
Speaker 1: been curious and wandered over to see what was drawing
Speaker 1: people past the playground and paths. Then I heard the
Speaker 1: crack of the bat, and a few moments later the
Speaker 1: satisfying sound of a baseball landing in a glove. It
Speaker 1: had been year since I'd seen a game, and while
Speaker 1: this was just a neighborhood league in matching T shirts,
Speaker 1: it reminded me of games I'd gone to as a child,
Speaker 1: sitting high in the stands with piles of peanut shells
Speaker 1: at my feet and snow cone stains on my lips.
Speaker 1: So all summer, whenever I was free on a Sunday afternoon,
Speaker 1: I'd been making my way over to the park, sometimes
Speaker 1: cheering with the small crowd of friends from the bleachers,
Speaker 1: and sometimes stretching out on a blanket under a tree,
Speaker 1: enough out of the way to be safe from foul balls,
Speaker 1: but close enough to hear the score called out every
Speaker 1: once in a while. To day would be a blanket day.
Speaker 1: The sky was a bright, clear blue without a single cloud,
Speaker 1: and the air was warm and humid. At home, in
Speaker 1: the back hallway, I took a blanket down from the
Speaker 1: shelf in the closet and carried it out on to
Speaker 1: the patio in the back yard. I shook it out
Speaker 1: and watched as dried blades of grass fluttered down to
Speaker 1: the ground. Among the blades were a few wild flowers
Speaker 1: I'd picked the last time i'd used it. They were
Speaker 1: a faded blue with a yellow ring where the petals
Speaker 1: met the stem. I scooped them up and set them
Speaker 1: on a rock by the bird feeder, thinking they might
Speaker 1: be useful in someone's nest. I folded the blanket and
Speaker 1: went back in to fill a bottle with cold tea
Speaker 1: and fish my sunglasses from the drawer in the entryway.
Speaker 1: When I stepped out onto the front step, I lifted
Speaker 1: my face to the sunshine and let it warm me
Speaker 1: to my bones. I knew there would come a day,
Speaker 1: many months into the winter, when I would have forgotten
Speaker 1: this feeling, when it would have gone from my body,
Speaker 1: and I would day dream about blinding sun and thick heat.
Speaker 1: So I took every opportunity to build the stock in
Speaker 1: my system, hoping to make it last a little longer
Speaker 1: before I forgot it. It was a few blocks to
Speaker 1: the park, and I took my time. In the next
Speaker 1: street over a sprinkler was sending slow, rotating arcs of
Speaker 1: water into the air, tiny rainbows, appearing and disappearing as
Speaker 1: it fell. There were kids in swimsuits jumping through it,
Speaker 1: racing up to it and reeking as the cold water
Speaker 1: fell on them, and taking clumsy leaps over the bar
Speaker 1: and lining up to do it again. The water trailed
Speaker 1: down the edge of the lawn and spread over the sidewalk,
Speaker 1: and I breathed in the scent of wet pavement on
Speaker 1: a hot day. That smelled the same as when I
Speaker 1: jumped over sprinklers as a child. It's a little different
Speaker 1: than rain on pavement, though that is lovely too. Rain
Speaker 1: carried its own perfume that water from a spigot can't produce,
Speaker 1: and I found myself looking forward to the rain storms
Speaker 1: that come in the autumn. I could hear the crowd
Speaker 1: in the park calling out, hey, Bata, bata, the teasing
Speaker 1: rivalry of people who've played together for years. They were
Speaker 1: likely already a few innings in, and that was fine
Speaker 1: by me. Baseball games are long, and the nice thing
Speaker 1: about that is that you can show up a ways
Speaker 1: into play and be caught up in a blink. I
Speaker 1: carried my blanket and bottle, passed the swing sets and
Speaker 1: merry go rounds. There was a long slide with a
Speaker 1: soft pile of wood chips at its bottom, and I
Speaker 1: had a sense memory of skidding down one during recess.
Speaker 1: The soul of my sneakers pressed to the length of
Speaker 1: the shoote to slow me down and make long, squealing squeaks,
Speaker 1: a sound I never got tired of as a child,
Speaker 1: though our poor teachers and helpers probably still heard it
Speaker 1: in their dreams. Past the playground, I followed the path
Speaker 1: around the back of the baseball diamond and found a
Speaker 1: shady spot under a tree. I tossed my blanket out
Speaker 1: and kicked off my shoes and stretched out. I stuck
Speaker 1: my toes into the sun and slipped my hands behind
Speaker 1: my head to look up into the branches. So many leaves,
Speaker 1: layers and layers of them, and high up I could
Speaker 1: see a wind I couldn't feel on the ground. I
Speaker 1: knew they couldn't, but still wondered if a leaf might
Speaker 1: have a preference wanting to be up high to be
Speaker 1: tossed in the wind, or down low, nearer a bird's nest.
Speaker 1: I let my eyes close and listened to the game.
Speaker 1: From what I heard, it was the bottom of the
Speaker 1: fourth inning and the score was four to two. I
Speaker 1: didn't come to watch the play, but more to be
Speaker 1: near the atmosphere. I didn't care who won or by
Speaker 1: how much, and suspected that was true for many of
Speaker 1: the people in the bleachers and milling around by the benches.
Speaker 1: I just liked being near people doing something they enjoyed.
Speaker 1: Hearing the score called out reminded me of days riding
Speaker 1: in my grandfather's truck, the crank windows rolled down, and
Speaker 1: my legs sticking to the vinyl bench seat as I
Speaker 1: rode beside him. The baseball game seemed to be on
Speaker 1: the radio no matter what time of day it was,
Speaker 1: and while I hadn't understood the plays as they were called,
Speaker 1: I liked riding along with him, the voices of the
Speaker 1: announcers as familiar to me as his own voice. I
Speaker 1: shifted on the blanket, feeling a root under my shoulder,
Speaker 1: and sat up to take a sip of my tea.
Speaker 1: I'd let it brew a bit too long, and it
Speaker 1: was sharp and strong, but it perked me up in
Speaker 1: the heat. I propped up onto my elbows and watched
Speaker 1: the game for a few minutes. A ground ball went
Speaker 1: skidding past third base, and the shortstops scooped it up
Speaker 1: and tossed it back to the catcher, who caught it
Speaker 1: with practiced ease and dropped down into a squat as
Speaker 1: the next batter stepped to the plate. I liked watching
Speaker 1: the way a batter would work their feet into the dirt,
Speaker 1: shifting their weight and swiveling their heels till they felt
Speaker 1: well planted. Sometimes there is nothing more grounding than feeling
Speaker 1: the actual ground. The batter pulled the bat around to
Speaker 1: her back shoulder and looked out at the pitcher's mound.
Speaker 1: When the pitch came, she swung for it and sent
Speaker 1: it with a loud crack all the way over the fence.
Speaker 1: Her team hooted and called out as she ran the bases.
Speaker 1: The center fielder dropped his hat in the grass and
Speaker 1: frustration and started trotting out to get the ball. I
Speaker 1: smiled on my blanket and laid my head back in
Speaker 1: my hands at the diamond. It was becoming a Sunday
Speaker 1: afternoon tradition since the spring went on a walk through
Speaker 1: the neighborhood. I had seen a small crowd at the park.
Speaker 1: I had been curious and wandered over to see what
Speaker 1: was drawing people past the playground and paths. Then I
Speaker 1: heard the crack of the bat, and a few moments later,
Speaker 1: the satisfying sound of a baseball landing in a glove.
Speaker 1: It had been years since I'd seen a game, and
Speaker 1: while this was just a neighborhood league in matching T shirts,
Speaker 1: it reminded me of games I'd gone to as a child,
Speaker 1: sitting high in the stands with piles of peanut shells
Speaker 1: at my feet and snow cone stains on my lips.
Speaker 1: So all summer, whenever I was free on a Sunday afternoon,
Speaker 1: I'd been making my way over to the park, sometimes
Speaker 1: cheering with the small crowd of friends from the bleachers,
Speaker 1: and sometimes stretching out on a blanket under a tree,
Speaker 1: enough out of the way to be safe from foul balls,
Speaker 1: but close enough to hear the score called out every
Speaker 1: once and a while. Today would be a blanket day.
Speaker 1: The sky was a bright, clear blue, without a single cloud,
Speaker 1: and the air was warm and humid at home. In
Speaker 1: the back hallway, I took a blanket down from the
Speaker 1: shelf in the closet and carried it out onto the
Speaker 1: patio in the backyard. I shook it out and watched
Speaker 1: as dried blades of grass fluttered down to the ground.
Speaker 1: Among the blades were a few wild flowers I'd picked
Speaker 1: the last time i'd used it. They were a faded
Speaker 1: blue with a yellow ring where the petals met the stem.
Speaker 1: I scooped them up and set them on a rock
Speaker 1: by the bird feeder, thinking that they might be useful
Speaker 1: in someone's nest. I folded the blanket and went back
Speaker 1: in to fill a bottle with cold tea and fish
Speaker 1: my sunglasses from the drawer in the entryway. When I
Speaker 1: stepped out onto the front step, I lifted my face
Speaker 1: to the sun shine and let it warm me to
Speaker 1: my bones. I knew there would come a day, many
Speaker 1: months into the winter, when I would have forgotten this feeling,
Speaker 1: when it would have gone from my body, and I
Speaker 1: would day dream about blinding sun and thick heat. So
Speaker 1: I took every opportunity to build the stock in my system,
Speaker 1: hoping to make it last a little longer before I
Speaker 1: forgot it. It was a few blocks to the park
Speaker 1: when I took my time in the next street over
Speaker 1: a sprinkler was sending slowly rotating arcs of water into
Speaker 1: the air, tiny rainbows appearing and disappearing as it fell.
Speaker 1: There were kids in swimsuits jumping through it, racing up
Speaker 1: to it and shrieking as the cold water fell on them,
Speaker 1: then taking clumsy leaps over the bar and lining up
Speaker 1: to do it again. The water trailed down the edge
Speaker 1: of the lawn and spread over the side sidewalk, and
Speaker 1: I breathed in the scent of wet pavement on a
Speaker 1: hot day. That smelled the same as when I jumped
Speaker 1: over sprinklers as a child. It's a little different than
Speaker 1: rain on pavement, though that is lovely too. Rain carried
Speaker 1: its own perfume that water from a spigot can't produce,
Speaker 1: and I found myself looking forward to the rainstorms that
Speaker 1: would come in the autumn. I could hear the crowd
Speaker 1: in the park calling out, hey, bada bata, the teasing
Speaker 1: ivalry of people who've played together for years. They were
Speaker 1: likely already a few innings in, and that was fine
Speaker 1: by me. Baseball games are long, and the nice thing
Speaker 1: about that is that you can show up a ways
Speaker 1: into play and be caught up in a blink. I
Speaker 1: carried my blanket and bottle past the swing sets and
Speaker 1: merry go rounds. There was a long slide with a
Speaker 1: soft pile of wood chips at its bottom, and I
Speaker 1: had a sense memory of skidding down one during recess.
Speaker 1: The soles of my sneakers pressed to the length of
Speaker 1: the chute to slow me down and make long, squealing squeaks,
Speaker 1: a sound I never got tired of as a child,
Speaker 1: though our poor teachers and helpers probably still heard it
Speaker 1: in their dreams. Past the playground, I followed the path
Speaker 1: around the back of the baseball diamond and found a
Speaker 1: shady spot under a tree. I tossed my blanket out
Speaker 1: and kicked off my shoes and stretched out. I stuck
Speaker 1: my toes into the sun, slipped my hands behind my
Speaker 1: head to look up into the branches. So many leaves,
Speaker 1: layers and layers of them, and high up I could
Speaker 1: see a wind I couldn't feel on the ground. I
Speaker 1: knew they couldn't, but I'm still wondered if a leaf
Speaker 1: might have a preference wanting to be up high, to
Speaker 1: be tossed in the wind or down low, nearer a
Speaker 1: bird's nest, and I let my eyes close and listened
Speaker 1: to the game. From what I heard, it was the
Speaker 1: bottom of the fourth inning and the score was four
Speaker 1: to two. I didn't come to watch the play, but
Speaker 1: more to be near the atmosphere. I didn't care who
Speaker 1: won or by how much, and suspected that was true
Speaker 1: for many of the people in the bleachers and milling
Speaker 1: around by the benches. I just liked being near people
Speaker 1: doing something they enjoyed. Hearing the score called out reminded
Speaker 1: me of days riding in my grandfather's truck, the crank
Speaker 1: windows rolled down, and my legs sticking to the vinyl
Speaker 1: bench seat as I rode beside him. The baseball game
Speaker 1: seemed to be on the radio no matter what time
Speaker 1: of day it was, and while I hadn't understood the
Speaker 1: plays as they were called, I liked riding along with him,
Speaker 1: the voices of the announcers as familiar to me as
Speaker 1: his own voice. I shifted on the blanket, feeling a
Speaker 1: root under my shoulder, and sat up to take a
Speaker 1: s of my tea. I'd let it brew a bit
Speaker 1: too long, and it was sharp and strong, but it
Speaker 1: perked me up in the heat. I propped up onto
Speaker 1: my elbows and watched the game for a few minutes.
Speaker 1: A ground ball went skidding past third base, and the
Speaker 1: shortstop scooped it up and tossed it back to the catcher,
Speaker 1: who caught it with practiced ease and dropped back down
Speaker 1: into a squat. As the next batter stepped to the plate.
Speaker 1: I liked watching the way of batter would work their
Speaker 1: feet into the dirt, shifting their weight and swiveling their
Speaker 1: heels till they felt well planted. Sometimes there is nothing
Speaker 1: more grounding than feeling the actual ground. The batter pulled
Speaker 1: the bat around to her back shoulder and looked out
Speaker 1: to the pitcher's mound. When the pitch came, she swung
Speaker 1: for it and sent it with a loud crack all
Speaker 1: the way over the fence. Her team hooted and called
Speaker 1: out as she ran the bases. The center fielder dropped
Speaker 1: his hat in the grass and frustration and started trotting
Speaker 1: out to get the ball. I smiled on my blanket
Speaker 1: and laid my head back in my hands. Sweet dreams