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 with audio engineering by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. You may have noticed that all my stories
Speaker 1: take place in the same village, the Village of Nothing Much.
Speaker 1: If you'd like to see what I imagine the village
Speaker 1: looks like and discover some of the Easter eggs you
Speaker 1: miss while you are snoozing away, follow us on Instagram
Speaker 1: or Facebook or Twitter. You can also subscribe to our
Speaker 1: ad free and bonus episode and get some sweet Nothing
Speaker 1: Much Happens merch to bundle up in all at Nothing
Speaker 1: Much Happens dot com. Now let's get ready to sleep.
Speaker 1: I'll read you a story. It's a place to rest
Speaker 1: your mind, Like an upturned leaf resting on the surface
Speaker 1: of a river. Your mind will follow along with the
Speaker 1: moving current of my voice and our story, and before
Speaker 1: you know it, it will ease you into a deep sleep.
Speaker 1: I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little
Speaker 1: slower on the second read. If you waken the night,
Speaker 1: take yourself back into the story, thinking back through any
Speaker 1: you can remember. This interrupts your brain's tendency to cycle
Speaker 1: through thought, and we'll put you right back into sleep mode.
Speaker 1: It's brain training, and it might take a bit of practice,
Speaker 1: so be patient if you are new to this. Now
Speaker 1: it's time to switch off the light. Set aside anything
Speaker 1: you've been looking at or working on, adjust your pillows
Speaker 1: and comforter until you feel completely at ease. You have
Speaker 1: done enough for today. It is enough, I promise, and
Speaker 1: all that remains now is a good long rest. So
Speaker 1: let's take a deep breath in through your nose and
Speaker 1: sigh out of the mouth again. Breathe in and let
Speaker 1: it go good. Our story tonight is called the Silarium,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about a sunny break in a
Speaker 1: cold month. It's also about sweet smelling citrus, a warm,
Speaker 1: bright place to read a book, and taking the time
Speaker 1: to charge your battery all the way up the silarium.
Speaker 1: This was the part of the winter when the snow
Speaker 1: just stayed, when a few inches piled onto the few
Speaker 1: inches below them, and so on, when the top layer
Speaker 1: was gently warmed by the noontime sun and froze over
Speaker 1: again at dusk into a crust that crackled in a
Speaker 1: satisfying way when a boot stepped through it, When the
Speaker 1: drifts grew taller and taller alongside the path in the park,
Speaker 1: and the pond was covered with a thick layer of
Speaker 1: sturdy ice all the way to its center. I'd come
Speaker 1: to look forward to this part of the winter, the coldest,
Speaker 1: quietest part, as a time to draw a line around myself,
Speaker 1: to unabashedly curtail anything that seemed extraneous or even unpleasant.
Speaker 1: Deep winter was a time of needs must and my
Speaker 1: needs in these weeks and months were small and simple.
Speaker 1: Good hardy food, full nights of sleep, walks in the
Speaker 1: cold air, books, so many books, and sunshine. It was
Speaker 1: the sunshine that had been lacking lately. We'd had a
Speaker 1: week or more of thick low clouds, and with the
Speaker 1: days still being rather short, I was feeling the short
Speaker 1: fall of brightness inside me. I looked for other ways
Speaker 1: to feel sunny. I juiced to picture full of citrus fruits,
Speaker 1: navel oranges, mandarins, yuzus, and tart lemons, and drank it
Speaker 1: from a fancy glass. I served frozen drinks in During
Speaker 1: the summer, I had a solo dance party in my
Speaker 1: kitchen and sang along to Stevie Wonder as I bopped
Speaker 1: around on the wood floor. I'd booked an hour in
Speaker 1: the sauna at the spa down town and sat alone
Speaker 1: in the steamy heat with my eyes closed and day
Speaker 1: dreamed about far off places with long stretches of sand
Speaker 1: beside the ocean and turquoise water to paddle in. It
Speaker 1: had all helped, but still I found myself feeling like
Speaker 1: I couldn't quite get my battery to charge all the
Speaker 1: way up. Then last night, as I was drifting between dreams,
Speaker 1: I heard the wind blowing hard and fast around my house,
Speaker 1: and when I woke up to day, I found that
Speaker 1: while we had four or five fresh inches of snow
Speaker 1: to add to our growing piles, those winds had eventually
Speaker 1: blown the clouds away, and the sun was making a
Speaker 1: bright climb up out of the line of the horizon
Speaker 1: after days of not seeing it. I was giddy as
Speaker 1: I watched from my window. The sunrise was bright orange
Speaker 1: against all of the snow and dark tree branches. It
Speaker 1: reflected off my window panes, and I imagined someone on
Speaker 1: the street watching the sunrise mirrored there, doubling the effect.
Speaker 1: That was what I needed, I thought, a double dose
Speaker 1: of sunshine, and that's when I remembered the Silarium. It
Speaker 1: was part of the big house down those dirt roads
Speaker 1: on the south side of town. Nobody lived there anymore,
Speaker 1: but it was open to the public for tours and lectures,
Speaker 1: and had acres of walking paths that I had made
Speaker 1: good use of in the summer time. In fact, I
Speaker 1: usually just kept to the paths when I visited, and
Speaker 1: had almost forgotten about the house itself till one day,
Speaker 1: as I was arriving, I found a tour that was
Speaker 1: just about to begin in the gardens beside the tall
Speaker 1: oak front doors. Did I want to join, asked a
Speaker 1: man with a lanyard around his neck and a stack
Speaker 1: of pamphlets in his hand. Why not. I'd followed the
Speaker 1: group through the gardens, pass the Koy Pond, and into
Speaker 1: the Great House. I'd listened to the story of the
Speaker 1: portraits and stained glass windows, and was very tempted to
Speaker 1: try pulling on the books in the library in case
Speaker 1: the fireplace might swing around and reveal a hidden passage.
Speaker 1: On the top floor, I'd been mesmerized by a room
Speaker 1: full of maps, some preserved under glass in cabinets, and
Speaker 1: some carefully kept in giant books that had to be
Speaker 1: laid flat on a table and opened by two people
Speaker 1: to show the pages. We'd finished the tour back on
Speaker 1: the ground floor, beside the huge kitchen, where copper pans
Speaker 1: were still hanging from hooks in the ceiling, was a
Speaker 1: passage that led to a place called a silarium. I'd
Speaker 1: never heard of one before, but was immediately charmed by it.
Speaker 1: A room made of glass, a large one that our
Speaker 1: tour guide told us had been completely rebuilt a few
Speaker 1: years before. It had been a hefty project to turn
Speaker 1: the space, which had become a cold place of broken
Speaker 1: pains and stashed garden tools into a beautiful and inviting conservatory.
Speaker 1: They'd laid in an underfloor heating system that would keep
Speaker 1: it warm in the winter, and planted not just tropical
Speaker 1: and desert plants, though there were plenty of those, but
Speaker 1: whole fruit trees that would winter over happily in the
Speaker 1: warm air, palms and orange trees and olive trees, and
Speaker 1: lots of sweet smelling flowers. There had been benches to
Speaker 1: rest on, and even a small table where folks were
Speaker 1: welcome to eat a packed lunch as we were ushered
Speaker 1: back out into the grounds. The guide had told us
Speaker 1: that the silarium was particularly nice in winter, so that
Speaker 1: was where I would charge my battery to day. I
Speaker 1: remembered the table and packed a bag with some of
Speaker 1: those mandarins and a sleeve of crackers and a packet
Speaker 1: of salted cashews, then drove out to the big house.
Speaker 1: Not many people were on the roads, which were still
Speaker 1: a bit snowy. I liked the idea of us all
Speaker 1: tucked in at home, like squirrels and rabbits in their burrows,
Speaker 1: and guessed that as eager as I was to get
Speaker 1: out and feel the sun on my face, I'd be
Speaker 1: happy to get back home in a few hours, and
Speaker 1: returned to my cozy nesting. I was worried as my
Speaker 1: car trundled down the dirt road that the house might
Speaker 1: not be opened to day, but the tall gates were
Speaker 1: pushed back and I saw a few cars and even
Speaker 1: a brave fat tire bike in the lot. The sunlight
Speaker 1: was magnificent, brighter than it had been in weeks, and
Speaker 1: now that it was bouncing off all of that snow,
Speaker 1: it made me close my eyes as I stepped out
Speaker 1: of the car and just feel it warm and uplifting
Speaker 1: on my face. That was how it felt, uplifting, like
Speaker 1: a pat on the back, a small encouraging gesture to
Speaker 1: keep faith through the long nights. I kept to the
Speaker 1: shoveled paths and knocked the little bit of snow off
Speaker 1: my boots. At the front door, behind a desk in
Speaker 1: the entryway, wrapped in a long, fuzzy sweater, was a
Speaker 1: woman I'd seen before guiding tours and walking the labyrinth
Speaker 1: on the far side of the house. She smiled at
Speaker 1: me as I entered and rested her finger on a
Speaker 1: spot in her book. I held up my packed snack
Speaker 1: and asked, is the solarium open? It is, she said,
Speaker 1: as she gestured down the hall, and it's the perfect
Speaker 1: day for it. I brought my own book, thinking I
Speaker 1: might read all afternoon in the sunlight. But once I
Speaker 1: was in that space, all I wanted to do was
Speaker 1: feel the warmth on my face. So I found a
Speaker 1: spot on a bench and slowly peeled my Mandarin and
Speaker 1: ate the sections as my battery charged. This one would
Speaker 1: last me a good long while. The silarium. This was
Speaker 1: the part of the winter when the snow just stayed
Speaker 1: when a few inches piled onto the few inches below them,
Speaker 1: and so on, when the top layer was gently warmed
Speaker 1: by the noontime sun and froze over again at dusk
Speaker 1: into a crust that crackled in a satisfying way when
Speaker 1: a boot stepped through it. When the drifts grew taller
Speaker 1: and taller alongside the path in the park, and the
Speaker 1: pond was covered with a thick layer of sturdy ice
Speaker 1: all the way to its center. I'd come to look
Speaker 1: forward to this part of the winter, the coldest, quietest part,
Speaker 1: as a time to draw a line around myself, to
Speaker 1: unabashedly curtail anything that seemed extraneous or even when pleasant.
Speaker 1: Deep winter was a time of needs must and my
Speaker 1: needs in these weeks and months were small and simple. Good,
Speaker 1: hardy food, full nights of sleep, walks in the cold air, books,
Speaker 1: so many books, and sunshine. It was the sunshine that
Speaker 1: had been lacking lately. We'd had a week or more
Speaker 1: of thick, low clouds, and with the days still being
Speaker 1: rather short, I was feeling the short fall of brightness
Speaker 1: inside me. I looked for other ways to feel sunny.
Speaker 1: I juice a pitcherful of citrus fruits, naval oranges, mandarins, yuzus,
Speaker 1: and tart lemons, and drank it from a fancy glass
Speaker 1: I served frozen drinks him. During the summer, I had
Speaker 1: a solo dance party in my kitchen and sang along
Speaker 1: to Stevie Wonder as I bopped around on the wood floor.
Speaker 1: I'd booked an hour in the sauna at the Spa
Speaker 1: downtown and sat alone and the steamy heat with my
Speaker 1: eyes closed and day dreamed about far off places with
Speaker 1: long stretches of sand beside the ocean and turquoise water
Speaker 1: to paddle in. It had all helped, but still I
Speaker 1: found myself feeling like I couldn't get my battery to
Speaker 1: charge all the way up. Then last night, as I
Speaker 1: was drifting between dreams, I heard the wind blowing hard
Speaker 1: and fast around my house. And when I woke up today,
Speaker 1: I found that while we had four or five fresh
Speaker 1: inches of snow to add to our growing piles, those
Speaker 1: winds had also eventually blown the clouds away, and the
Speaker 1: sun was making a bright climb up out of the
Speaker 1: line of the horizon after days of not seeing it.
Speaker 1: I was giddy as I watched from my window. The
Speaker 1: sunrise was bright orange against all of the snow and
Speaker 1: dark tree branches. It reflected off my window panes, and
Speaker 1: I imagined someone on the street watching the sunrise mirrored there,
Speaker 1: doubling the effect. That was what I needed, I thought,
Speaker 1: a double dose of sunshine, and that's when I remembered
Speaker 1: the Solarium. It was part of the big house down
Speaker 1: those dirt roads on the south side of town. Nobody
Speaker 1: lived there anymore, but it was open to the public
Speaker 1: for tours and lectures, and had acres of walking paths
Speaker 1: that I'd made good use of in the summertime. In fact,
Speaker 1: I usually just kept to the paths when I visited,
Speaker 1: and had almost forgotten about the house itself till one day,
Speaker 1: as I was arriving, I found a tour that was
Speaker 1: just about to begin in the gardens beside the tall
Speaker 1: oak front doors. Did I want to join, asked a
Speaker 1: man with a lanyard around his neck and a stack
Speaker 1: of pamphlets in his hand. Why not. I had followed
Speaker 1: the group through the gardens, past the coy pond and
Speaker 1: into the Great House. I had listened to the stories
Speaker 1: of the portraits and stained glass windows, and was very
Speaker 1: tempted to try pulling on the books in the library
Speaker 1: in case the fireplace might swing around and reveal a
Speaker 1: hidden passage. On the top floor, I had been mesmerized
Speaker 1: by a room full of maps, some preserved under glass
Speaker 1: in cabinets and some carefully kept in giant books that
Speaker 1: had to be laid flat on a table and opened
Speaker 1: by two people to show the pages. We'd finished the tour.
Speaker 1: Back on the ground floor, behind the huge kitchen, where
Speaker 1: copper pans were still hanging from hooks in the ceiling,
Speaker 1: was a passage that led to a place called a solarium.
Speaker 1: I'd never heard of one before, but was immediately charmed
Speaker 1: by it. A room made of glass, a large one
Speaker 1: that our tour guide told us had been completely rebuilt
Speaker 1: a few years before. It had been a hefty project
Speaker 1: to turn the space, which had become a cold place
Speaker 1: of broken panes and stashed garden tools into a beautiful
Speaker 1: and inviting conservatory. They'd laid in an underfloor heating system
Speaker 1: that would keep it warm in the winter, and planted
Speaker 1: not just tropical and desert plants, though there were plenty
Speaker 1: of those, but whole fruit trees that would winter over happily.
Speaker 1: In the warm air, palms and orange trees, an olive tree,
Speaker 1: and lots of sweet smelling flowers. There had been benches
Speaker 1: to rest on, and even a small table where folks
Speaker 1: were welcome to eat a packed lunch. As we were
Speaker 1: ushered back out into the grounds, the guide had told
Speaker 1: us that the silarium was particularly nice in winter, so
Speaker 1: that was where I would charge my battery today. I
Speaker 1: remembered the table and packed a bag with some of
Speaker 1: those mandarins and a sleeve of crackers and a packet
Speaker 1: of salted cashews, then drove out to the big house.
Speaker 1: Not many people were on the roads, which were still
Speaker 1: a bit snowy. I liked the idea of us all
Speaker 1: tucked in at home, like squirrels and rabbits in their burrows,
Speaker 1: and guessed that as eager as I was to get
Speaker 1: out and feel the sun on my face, I'd be
Speaker 1: happy to get back home in a few hours, and
Speaker 1: returned to my cozy nesting. I was worried as my
Speaker 1: car trundled down the dirt road that the house might
Speaker 1: not be open today, But the tall gates were pushed
Speaker 1: back and I saw a few cars and even a
Speaker 1: brave fat tire bike in the lot. The sunlight was magnificent,
Speaker 1: brighter than it had been in weeks, and now that
Speaker 1: it was bouncing off all of that snow, it made
Speaker 1: me close my eyes as I stepped out of the
Speaker 1: car and just feel it warm and uplifting on my face.
Speaker 1: That was how it felt, uplifting, like a pat on
Speaker 1: the back, a small encouraging gesture to keep faith through
Speaker 1: the long nights. I kept to the shoveled paths and
Speaker 1: knocked the little bit of snow off my boots at
Speaker 1: the front door. Behind a desk in the entryway, wrapped
Speaker 1: in a long, fuzzy sweater, was a woman I'd seen before,
Speaker 1: guiding tours and walking the labyrinth on the far side
Speaker 1: of the house. She smiled at me as I entered
Speaker 1: and rested her finger on a spot in her book.
Speaker 1: I held up my packed snack and asked, is the
Speaker 1: solarium open? It is, she said, as she gestured down
Speaker 1: the hall, and it's the perfect day for it. I'd
Speaker 1: brought my own book, thinking that I might read all
Speaker 1: afternoon in the sunlight, But once I was in that space,
Speaker 1: all I wanted to do must feel the warmth on
Speaker 1: my face, so I found a spot on a bench
Speaker 1: and slowly peeled my mandarin and ate the sections as
Speaker 1: my battery charged arched. This one would last me a
Speaker 1: good long while. Sweet Dreams