Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime Stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
Speaker 1: you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
Speaker 1: I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio
Speaker 1: Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. If you are looking for
Speaker 1: more nothing much in your life. We have two dozen
Speaker 1: bonus stories on our Premium plus feed. All episodes there
Speaker 1: are also completely ad free. It's a lovely way to
Speaker 1: support what we do, and you can subscribe through the
Speaker 1: link tree in our show notes. We give to a
Speaker 1: charity each week, and this week we are giving to
Speaker 1: a member of the International Red Cross, the Turkish Red Cross,
Speaker 1: and they are providing aid for needy and defenseless people
Speaker 1: affected by the earthquake in Turkey. See their link in
Speaker 1: our show notes. Now, busy minds need a place to rest.
Speaker 1: The story I have for you is just that, a soft,
Speaker 1: safe landing spot. Just by listening and following along with
Speaker 1: the sound of my voice, We'll be conditioning your brain
Speaker 1: to relax and fall asleep. I'll tell the story twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: If you wake later in the night, listen again and
Speaker 1: you'll go right back to sleep. Okay, lights out, campers,
Speaker 1: Snuggle down and get as comfortable as you can. I'll
Speaker 1: be here watching over with my voice. It's safe to
Speaker 1: let go now. There's nothing left to do today but rest.
Speaker 1: Take a slow breath in through your nose and sigh
Speaker 1: through your mouth. Nice again, fill it up and release
Speaker 1: it good. Our story tonight is called Snowfall at the Bakery,
Speaker 1: Part three, and it's a story about the snowmen in
Speaker 1: the park and the sledding hill behind them. It's also
Speaker 1: about a memory of a grandfather in front of a fire,
Speaker 1: a pocket full of dog treats, and the simple joy
Speaker 1: of playing in the snow. Snowfall at the Bakery Part three.
Speaker 1: I could hear them shouting and playing as I got
Speaker 1: closer to the park. They'd built a dozen snow men
Speaker 1: and found spindley sticks to give them arms. A few
Speaker 1: had scarves tied around their necks or floppy knitted hats
Speaker 1: perched on their heads. I stopped at the edge of
Speaker 1: the park where the kiosk that sold papers and magazines stood.
Speaker 1: I was surprised to see that it was still open.
Speaker 1: The man inside sat on a stool looking out through
Speaker 1: the kiosk window. At the kids in the snow with
Speaker 1: a smile on his face. He saw me coming and
Speaker 1: waved through the flakes falling between us. I often stopped
Speaker 1: by on my way home from the bakery to peruse
Speaker 1: the magazines, and today I saw he'd already brought down
Speaker 1: all the papers and circulars that were usually clipped to
Speaker 1: his stand with clothes pins. I thought you'd be packed
Speaker 1: up and gone by now with all this snow, I said, Ah,
Speaker 1: while there aren't any customers now, that's for sure, but
Speaker 1: I've been having fun watching the kids make their snowmen.
Speaker 1: I was just about to close up. He had a
Speaker 1: little heater in his stand and had told me on
Speaker 1: other chilly days that he stayed toasty even when the
Speaker 1: temperature dropped down low. But I thought that his warmth
Speaker 1: must come more from his perspective than his heater or
Speaker 1: his gloved hands. He seemed to love to talk to
Speaker 1: customers each day. Loved to look out at the park,
Speaker 1: whether there were daffodils blooming and ducks swimming on the pond,
Speaker 1: or like today, a snowy blur of kids at play,
Speaker 1: I could relate. I loved to bake, but my favorite
Speaker 1: part of my work, was watching a customer take their
Speaker 1: first bite of something I had made, to see their
Speaker 1: eyes close and pleasure and powdered sugar cling to their smile.
Speaker 1: That reminded me that I had one packet of scones
Speaker 1: left in my bag. When I reached in and brought
Speaker 1: it out, raspberry an hazel nut, I said, as I
Speaker 1: passed them over to the man. Have them with your
Speaker 1: coffee tomorrow. Oh, thank you, he said, and he pealed
Speaker 1: open the packet a bit and brought it up to
Speaker 1: his nose to inhale the scent. He smiled and said
Speaker 1: he wasn't sure they would last till tomorrow. Hazelnuts? Huh
Speaker 1: know what my grandfather called them? Filberts, I guessed, remembering
Speaker 1: my own grandfather using them to fill his squirrel feeder
Speaker 1: after he'd given up on them leaving the bird feeders
Speaker 1: alone and instead simply set them their own place at
Speaker 1: the table. That's it. He said he'd keep a bowl
Speaker 1: of them beside his chair all winter, and cracked them
Speaker 1: for an after dinner snack, one for him and one
Speaker 1: for me. I was glad those scones had been in
Speaker 1: my bag. I'd gotten to bring him a treat. And
Speaker 1: a memory. And there was one more thing in my bag,
Speaker 1: a forgotten green glove left behind in the bakery by
Speaker 1: one of the snow men builders an hour or so before,
Speaker 1: I said good bye to the man in the kiosk
Speaker 1: as he reached up to unhook the wooden shutter that
Speaker 1: sealed up his stand at night. I took the glove
Speaker 1: from my bag and tromped through the ankle high snow
Speaker 1: into the park. It was busier than I had expected.
Speaker 1: Besides the pack of children I recognized from the bakery,
Speaker 1: there were a few people with skates and hockey sticks
Speaker 1: playing on the solid surface of the pond. There were
Speaker 1: people bundled up and walking the paths, and several big
Speaker 1: fluffy dogs who looked like they were having the best
Speaker 1: day of their lives. One was laying in a snow drift,
Speaker 1: his fur slowly being covered in a layer of fresh flakes,
Speaker 1: while his dad attempted to persuade him to regain his feet.
Speaker 1: I stopped near by, laughing under my scarf, and his
Speaker 1: dad rolled his eyes good naturedly at me. This will
Speaker 1: be the story for the next few days, he said, shrugging.
Speaker 1: He would stay out in the snow all day if
Speaker 1: I let him. We baked dog biscuits at the bakery,
Speaker 1: and I kept a few in my coat pocket for
Speaker 1: just these occasions. I handed one off to the fluffy
Speaker 1: dog's dad as I passed them on the path. If
Speaker 1: it gets desperate, I said. The kids who had built
Speaker 1: the legion of snow men on the open ground had
Speaker 1: retreated to a slope and were sledding down on saucers
Speaker 1: and read toboggins. I hiked over, watching them come down
Speaker 1: the hill, holding tight to their sleds and each other,
Speaker 1: and screaming with silliness as they went over a bump
Speaker 1: and tumbled into the snow. I kept a keen eye
Speaker 1: out for anyone without gloves or with just one in
Speaker 1: the same telltale green I had now in my hand.
Speaker 1: Almost certainly school would be canceled tomorrow, and there would
Speaker 1: be pancakes for breakfast and more adventures in the snow.
Speaker 1: There would be sidewalks to shovel, and movies to watch,
Speaker 1: and board games to set up and then abandon when
Speaker 1: they got bored of them. Snow days when I was
Speaker 1: their age, were often when I would pull down a
Speaker 1: few cookbooks from the shelf and try my first recipes,
Speaker 1: try a loaf of wheat bread, cookies, or a pie crust.
Speaker 1: My most successful and therefore most made bake had been
Speaker 1: simple oatmeal raising cookies. I smiled as I watched the slaters,
Speaker 1: thinking that I hadn't made any in a while, and
Speaker 1: I was sure I had all the ingredients in my pantry. Yes,
Speaker 1: the baker on her day off was going to bake.
Speaker 1: Oh well, I was looking forward to it already. A
Speaker 1: saucer came flying down the hill in front of me,
Speaker 1: a little girl and green snow pants with a green hat.
Speaker 1: I squinted to see through the snow, and yes, one
Speaker 1: green glove, her other hand bare and chilled as it
Speaker 1: clung to the edge of the disk. Intentionally or not.
Speaker 1: She steered past the bump that had sent everyone else
Speaker 1: a few feet into the air and let momentum carry
Speaker 1: her till she tipped into the snow. She lay for
Speaker 1: a few moments, just looking up into the flakes, and
Speaker 1: I hustled over and peered down at her, missing something,
Speaker 1: I said, dangling the glove in the air above her. Oh,
Speaker 1: she said, and she bounded to her feet and reached
Speaker 1: for it. Thanks. I was hoping it would turn up
Speaker 1: She slid it onto her bare hand and sighed in relief.
Speaker 1: She snatched up her saucer and went running for the
Speaker 1: hill again. At the top, just as I was about
Speaker 1: to turn for home. Ready now for my slippers and
Speaker 1: my hot water bottle, she waved at me and yelled out,
Speaker 1: Happy snow day. Happy snow day, I thought. Snowfall at
Speaker 1: the bakery Part three. I could hear them shouting and
Speaker 1: playing as I got closer to the park. They'd built
Speaker 1: a dozen snow men and found spindley sticks to give
Speaker 1: them arms. A few had scarves tied around their necks
Speaker 1: or floppy knitted hats perched on their heads. I stopped
Speaker 1: at the edge of the park where the kiosk that
Speaker 1: sold papers and magazines stood. I was surprised to see
Speaker 1: that it was still open. The man inside sat on
Speaker 1: a stool, looking out through the kiosk window at the
Speaker 1: kids in the snow, with a smile on his face.
Speaker 1: He saw me coming and waved through the flakes falling
Speaker 1: between us. I often stopped by on my way home
Speaker 1: from the bakery to peruse the magazines, and to day
Speaker 1: I saw he'd already brought down all the papers and
Speaker 1: circulars that were usually clipped to his stand with clothes pins.
Speaker 1: I thought Ye'd be packed up and gone by now
Speaker 1: with all this snow. I said, Ah, well, there aren't
Speaker 1: any customers now, that's for sure. But I've been having
Speaker 1: fun watching the kids make their snow men. I was
Speaker 1: just about to close up. He had a little heater
Speaker 1: in his stand and had told me on other chilly
Speaker 1: days that he stayed toasty even when the temperature dropped
Speaker 1: down low. But I thought that his warmth must come
Speaker 1: more from his perspective than his heater or his gloved hands.
Speaker 1: He seemed to love to talk to customers each day.
Speaker 1: Loved to look out at the park. Whether there were
Speaker 1: daffodils blooming and ducks swimming on the pond, or like today,
Speaker 1: a snowy blur of kids at play, I could relate.
Speaker 1: I loved to bake, but my favorite part of my
Speaker 1: work was watching a customer take their first bite of
Speaker 1: something I had made. To see their eyes close and
Speaker 1: pleasure and powder sugar cling to their smile. That reminded
Speaker 1: me that I had one packet of scones left in
Speaker 1: my bag, and I reached in and brought it out.
Speaker 1: Raspberry and hazelnut, I said, as I passed them over
Speaker 1: to the man. Have them with your coffee tomorrow. Oh
Speaker 1: thank you, he said, and he peeled open the packet
Speaker 1: a bit and brought it up to his nose to
Speaker 1: inhale the scent. He smiled and said he wasn't sure
Speaker 1: they would last till tomorrow. Hazel that's huh. Know what
Speaker 1: my grandfather used to call them, Philberts, I guessed, remembering
Speaker 1: my own grandfather using them to fill his squirrel feeder
Speaker 1: after he'd given up on them, leaving the bird feeders
Speaker 1: alone and instead simply set them their own place at
Speaker 1: the table. That's it. He said. He'd keep a bowl
Speaker 1: of them beside his chair all winter and crack them
Speaker 1: for an after dinner snack, one for him and one
Speaker 1: for me. I was glad those scones had been in
Speaker 1: my bag. I'd gotten to bring him a treat and
Speaker 1: a memory. There was one more thing in my bag,
Speaker 1: a forgotten green glove left behind in the bakery by
Speaker 1: one of the snow men builders. An hour or so
Speaker 1: before I said good bye to the man in the kiosk,
Speaker 1: as he reached up to unhook the wooden shutter that
Speaker 1: sealed up his stand. At night, I took the glove
Speaker 1: from my bag and tromped through the ankle high snow
Speaker 1: in the park. It was busier than I had expected.
Speaker 1: Besides the pack of children I recognized from the bakery,
Speaker 1: there were a few people with skates and hockey sticks
Speaker 1: playing on the solid surface of the pond. There were
Speaker 1: people bundled up and walking the paths when several big
Speaker 1: fluffy dogs who looked like they were having the best
Speaker 1: day of their lives. One was laying in a snow drift,
Speaker 1: his fur slowly being covered in a layer of fresh flakes,
Speaker 1: while his dad attempted to persuade him to regain his feet.
Speaker 1: I stopped near by, laughing under my scarf, and his
Speaker 1: dad rolled his eyes could naturedly at me. This will
Speaker 1: be the story for the next few days, he said, shrugging.
Speaker 1: He'd stay out in the snow all day if I
Speaker 1: let him. We baked dog biscuits at the bakery, and
Speaker 1: I always kept a few in my coat pocket for
Speaker 1: just these occasions. I handed one off to the fluffy
Speaker 1: dogstad as I passed them on the path. If it
Speaker 1: gets desperate, I said. The kids who'd built the legion
Speaker 1: of snowmen on the open ground had retreated to a
Speaker 1: slope and were sledding down on saucers and read toboggins.
Speaker 1: I hiked over, watching them come down the hill, holding
Speaker 1: tight to their sleds and each other, and screaming with
Speaker 1: silliness as they went over a bump and tumbled into
Speaker 1: the snow. I kept a keen eye out for any
Speaker 1: one without gloves or with just one in the same
Speaker 1: tell tale green I had now in my hand. Almost
Speaker 1: certainly school would be canceled tomorrow, and there would be
Speaker 1: pancakes for breakfast and more adventures in the snow. There
Speaker 1: would be sidewalks to shovel, and movies to watch, and
Speaker 1: board games to set up and then abandon when they
Speaker 1: got bored of them. Snow days when I was their age,
Speaker 1: or often when I would pull down a few cook
Speaker 1: books from the shelf and try my first recipes, try
Speaker 1: a loaf of wheat bread, cookies or a pie crust.
Speaker 1: My most successful and therefore most made bake had been
Speaker 1: simple full oatmeal raisin cookies. I smiled as I watched
Speaker 1: the sletters, thinking that I hadn't made any in a while,
Speaker 1: and that I was sure I had all the ingredients
Speaker 1: in my pantry. Yes, the baker on her day off
Speaker 1: was going to bake. Oh wow, I was looking forward
Speaker 1: to it already. A saucer came flying down the hill
Speaker 1: in front of me, a little girl in green snow
Speaker 1: pants with a green hat. I squinted to see through
Speaker 1: the snow, and yes, one green glove, her other hand
Speaker 1: bare and chilled as it clung to the edge of
Speaker 1: the disk. Intentionally or not. She steered past the bump
Speaker 1: that had sent everyone else a few feet into the
Speaker 1: air and let momentum carry her until she tipped into
Speaker 1: the snow. She lay for a few moments, just looking
Speaker 1: up into the flakes, and I hustled over and peered
Speaker 1: down at her, missing something, I said, dangling the glove
Speaker 1: in the air above her. Oh, she said, and bounded
Speaker 1: to her feet and reached for it. Thanks. I was
Speaker 1: hoping it would turn up. She slid it onto her
Speaker 1: bare hand and sighed in relief. She snatched up her
Speaker 1: saucer and went running for the hill again. At the top,
Speaker 1: just as I was about to turn for home. Ready
Speaker 1: now for my slippers and my hot water bottle, she
Speaker 1: waved at me and yelled out Happy snow day, Happy
Speaker 1: snow day, I thought, sweet dreams,