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. Thank you for your support.
Speaker 1: Every episode is someone's first. So I like to say
Speaker 1: a bit about how this works. I'm going to tell
Speaker 1: you a story, and the story is a place to
Speaker 1: rest your mind. It's a soft landing spot after whatever
Speaker 1: your day was. By listening, you'll shift your brain activity
Speaker 1: and train yourself to sleep consistently. This improves with time,
Speaker 1: so be patient. If you're new to this, I'll tell
Speaker 1: the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. If you wake later in the night,
Speaker 1: don't hesitate to listen again. You'll go right back to sleep. Okay,
Speaker 1: it's time. Turn out the light, Set aside anything you've
Speaker 1: been looking at, arrange yourself into the most comfortable and
Speaker 1: comforting position you can find. You have done enough for
Speaker 1: the day, truly, it is enough. Nothing to do now
Speaker 1: but rest. Take a slow breath in through your nose
Speaker 1: and sighe through your mouth again, fill it up and
Speaker 1: let it go good. Our story to night is called
Speaker 1: Snowfall at the Bakery Part two, and it's a story
Speaker 1: about closing up shop and stepping out into falling flakes.
Speaker 1: It's also about a bag full of wrappt treats, knowing
Speaker 1: to day that you'll be snowed in tomorrow, and a
Speaker 1: lost glove on its way back to its owner. Snowfall
Speaker 1: at the Bakery Part two, we were getting close to
Speaker 1: closing time. We'd seen a rush in the early afternoon,
Speaker 1: first of school kids who'd gotten out of class early
Speaker 1: because of the thickly falling snow. Then a wave of
Speaker 1: folks who suspected they might just be snowed in tomorrow,
Speaker 1: and if that was going to happen, well, they wanted
Speaker 1: to be sure to have a loaf of fresh sour
Speaker 1: dough and a box of cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I'd
Speaker 1: already sent a couple of my staff home, not wanting
Speaker 1: them to be out on the roads if they didn't
Speaker 1: need to. I just had one helper left. He lived
Speaker 1: in an apartment just up the alley and had been
Speaker 1: happy to stay with me and finish wiping down the
Speaker 1: tables and prepping the kitchen for the next day. I
Speaker 1: poured the last two cups of hot chocolate from the
Speaker 1: urn for us and sent his beside the register form.
Speaker 1: I appreciated the companionable quiet between us. We both knew
Speaker 1: just what needed to be done and how, and worked
Speaker 1: together like cogs in o'clock. I wasn't sure yet if
Speaker 1: we would open tomorrow, if we would get so much
Speaker 1: snow overnight that the whole village would stay snuggled up
Speaker 1: in their houses for the day, or if it would
Speaker 1: taper off as we slept, when we'd have the magical
Speaker 1: combination of closed schools and offices, but a day lovely
Speaker 1: enough to venture out into. I looked into the pastry case,
Speaker 1: where we had a couple dozen leftover buns and cookies.
Speaker 1: We usually wrapped them up for the day old basket,
Speaker 1: but they'd go to waste if we didn't open up
Speaker 1: tomorrow morning. I wrapped a few of my colleague's favorites
Speaker 1: for him and popped them into a handle bag and
Speaker 1: hooked it over his coat in the hall. Then I
Speaker 1: wrapped the rest and little packs of two or three
Speaker 1: and added them to a bigger bag. I flipped the
Speaker 1: sign in the front window, and as I was walking
Speaker 1: back to the counter, something green caught my eye. Snagged
Speaker 1: on a chair in the back corner where the school
Speaker 1: kids had been eating their treats, was a single glove,
Speaker 1: little made for little hands that I suspected were at
Speaker 1: this moment getting pretty chilly making snow men in the park.
Speaker 1: I laughed, thinking about how many gloves and hats and
Speaker 1: even somehow coats that I had lost or left on
Speaker 1: the bus when I was little, and I thought I
Speaker 1: might be able to save this kid from a bit
Speaker 1: of trouble when they got home. I added it to
Speaker 1: the bag with the leftover pastries. I heard a voice
Speaker 1: from the back hall calling thanks for the goodies. Are
Speaker 1: you going through the front? Should I lock up the back? Yes? Please,
Speaker 1: I called back. I could hear him pause as he
Speaker 1: put on his coat and waited. He called out again,
Speaker 1: I'm putting a spoon under my pillow tonight. Maybe we'll
Speaker 1: have a snow day tomorrow. I chuckled, imagining him trying
Speaker 1: to zip his coat with crossed fingers. Maybe, I said.
Speaker 1: The door closed behind him, and I could hear him
Speaker 1: locking it and pulling on the door once to make
Speaker 1: sure it was secure. Sometimes we all need a day off,
Speaker 1: I thought, and I decided right then that snow or not,
Speaker 1: we'd take tomorrow for ourselves. I'd call my staff to
Speaker 1: let them know when I got home, because often the
Speaker 1: best part of a day off is the night before,
Speaker 1: when you know you don't have to get up in
Speaker 1: the morning. I put my own coat on and made
Speaker 1: a sign for the window to let customers know we'd
Speaker 1: be closed the next day. Then I pulled a hat
Speaker 1: over my years, picked up my bag, and stepped out
Speaker 1: the front door. The snow was still falling, and I
Speaker 1: let a few flakes, catching my eyelashes. The air smelled
Speaker 1: brand new and just slightly sweet. I locked the door
Speaker 1: and started to walk toward the park. I noticed a
Speaker 1: few other shops that were closed early as well, and
Speaker 1: I hoped they would take the day off tomorrow too,
Speaker 1: if they could. When I first took over the bakery,
Speaker 1: I worked too hard. I worried that if I closed
Speaker 1: for a day or took time off, everything might fall
Speaker 1: apart in my absence. Pretty quickly, I learned that if
Speaker 1: I carried on like that, I would burn out. The
Speaker 1: joy of what I did would be overtaken by exhaustion.
Speaker 1: I'd been given a good talking to by a friend,
Speaker 1: the man who'd owned the bakery before me, who had
Speaker 1: taught me to bake and given me his secret recipes.
Speaker 1: He'd stopped by one afternoon and found me worn out
Speaker 1: in the office with my head on the desk. Okay,
Speaker 1: he said, that's enough. I looked up at him and
Speaker 1: knew exactly what he meant. He'd sat with me and
Speaker 1: assured me that my customers would give me grace When
Speaker 1: I needed to close up. He pulled my calendar from
Speaker 1: the wall and we marked off days for a much
Speaker 1: needed vacation. Then he went into the kitchen and reorganized
Speaker 1: the fridges and the baking stations. From then on out,
Speaker 1: I'd not lost sight of taking care of myself and
Speaker 1: my staff, even as the bakery got busier. I learned
Speaker 1: to let other people give to me. Sometimes the hardest
Speaker 1: lesson is to learn to receive. The diner was still open,
Speaker 1: and I pushed through their door and stepped up to
Speaker 1: the counter. A friendly face peeked through the kitchen window
Speaker 1: and smiled when she recognized me. HI need a coffee,
Speaker 1: No thanks, I'm on my way home, just dropping off
Speaker 1: some leftovers. I held up the bag. Oh what a tree.
Speaker 1: Thank you. I did a headcount of the waite staff,
Speaker 1: then added more for the cooks and dishwashers, and left
Speaker 1: the packets on the counter. Take care, she called, and
Speaker 1: I waved as I went through the door. At the
Speaker 1: next corner, I saw a regular customer clearing the snow
Speaker 1: from their windshield. I took a packet from my bag
Speaker 1: and waved it at them to catch their attention. Delivery
Speaker 1: from the cookie fairy. I chuckled. A smile broke over
Speaker 1: their face, and they wiped the snow flakes from their
Speaker 1: st beamed up glasses as they reached out for them.
Speaker 1: Do you need a ride? This snow isn't going to
Speaker 1: slow down for a while yet. Thanks, I said, but
Speaker 1: I've got one more stop to make. I'm on a mission.
Speaker 1: I held up the glove from my bag. I'm turned
Speaker 1: back to the street. I felt like I was in
Speaker 1: a snow globe, the swirling flakes all around me, the
Speaker 1: downtown street with the store front slid from within. It
Speaker 1: was a magic moment, and I determined not to miss
Speaker 1: a beat of it. Snowfall at the Baker Part two.
Speaker 1: We were getting close to closing time. We had seen
Speaker 1: a rush in the early afternoon, first of school kids
Speaker 1: who'd gotten out of class early because of the thickly
Speaker 1: falling snow. Then a wave of folks who suspected they
Speaker 1: might just be snowed in tomorrow, and that if that
Speaker 1: was going to happen, well, they wanted to be sure
Speaker 1: to have a fresh loaf of sour dough and a
Speaker 1: box of cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I'd already sent a
Speaker 1: couple of my staff home, not wanting them to be
Speaker 1: out on the roads if they didn't need to. I
Speaker 1: just had one helper left. He lived in an apartment
Speaker 1: just up the alley and had been happy to stay
Speaker 1: with me and finish wiping down the tables and prepping
Speaker 1: the kitchen for the next day. I poured the last
Speaker 1: two cups of hot chocolate from the urn for us
Speaker 1: and set his beside the register. I appreciated the companionable
Speaker 1: quiet between us. We both knew just what needed to
Speaker 1: be done and how, and worked together like cogs and o'clock.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure yet if we would open tomorrow, if
Speaker 1: we would get so much snow, overnight that the whole
Speaker 1: village would stay snuggled up in their houses for the day,
Speaker 1: or if it would taper off as we slept, and
Speaker 1: we'd have the magical combination of closed schools and offices,
Speaker 1: but a day lovely enough to venture out into. I
Speaker 1: looked into the pastry case, where we had a couple
Speaker 1: dozen leftover buns and cookies. We usually wrapped them up
Speaker 1: for the day old basket, but they'd go to waste
Speaker 1: if we didn't open up tomorrow morning. I wrapped a
Speaker 1: few of my colleague's favorites for him and dropped them
Speaker 1: into a handlebag and hooked did over his coat in
Speaker 1: the hall, then wrapped the rest in packs of two
Speaker 1: or three and added them to a bigger bag. I
Speaker 1: flipped the sign in the front window, and as I
Speaker 1: was walking back to the counter, something green caught my eye.
Speaker 1: Snagged on a chair in the back corner where the
Speaker 1: school kids had been eating their treats, was a single glove,
Speaker 1: little made for little hands that I suspected were at
Speaker 1: this moment getting pretty chilly making snow men in the park.
Speaker 1: I laughed, thinking about how many gloves and hats and
Speaker 1: even somehow coats that I had lost or left on
Speaker 1: the bus when I was little, and I thought I
Speaker 1: might be able to save this kid from a bit
Speaker 1: of trouble when they got home. I added it to
Speaker 1: the bag with the leftover pastries. I heard a voice
Speaker 1: from the back hall calling, thanks for the goodies. Are
Speaker 1: you going through the front? Should I lock up the back? Yes? Please,
Speaker 1: I called back. I could hear him pause as he
Speaker 1: put on his coat, and I waited. He called again,
Speaker 1: and I am putting a spoon under my pillow tonight.
Speaker 1: Maybe we'll have a snow day tomorrow, I chuckled, imagining
Speaker 1: him trying to zip his coat with crossed fingers. Maybe,
Speaker 1: I said. The door closed behind him, and I could
Speaker 1: hear him locking it and pulling on the door once
Speaker 1: to make sure it was secure. Sometimes we all need
Speaker 1: a day off, I thought, and I decided right then
Speaker 1: that snow or not, we'd take tomorrow for ourselves. I'd
Speaker 1: call my staff to let them know when I got home,
Speaker 1: because often the best part of a day off is
Speaker 1: the night before, when you know you don't have to
Speaker 1: get up in the morning. I put my own code
Speaker 1: on and made a sign for the window to let
Speaker 1: customers know we'd be closed the next day. Then I
Speaker 1: pulled a hat over my ears, picked up my bag,
Speaker 1: and stepped out the front door. The snow was still falling,
Speaker 1: and I let a few flakes catch in my eyelashes.
Speaker 1: Bierre smelled brand new and just slightly sweet. I locked
Speaker 1: the door and started to walk toward the park. I
Speaker 1: noticed a few other shops that were closed early as well,
Speaker 1: and hoped they would take the day off tomorrow too,
Speaker 1: if they could. When I first took over the bakery,
Speaker 1: I worked too hard. I felt that if I closed
Speaker 1: for a day or took time off, everything might fall
Speaker 1: apart in my absence. Pretty quickly, I learned that if
Speaker 1: I carried on like that, I would burn out. The
Speaker 1: joy of what I did would be overtaken by exhaustion.
Speaker 1: I'd been given a good talking to by my friend,
Speaker 1: the man who'd owned the bakery before me. He'd taught
Speaker 1: me to bake and given me his secret recipes. He'd
Speaker 1: stopped by one afternoon and found me worn out in
Speaker 1: the office with my head on the desk. Okay, he said,
Speaker 1: that's enough. I looked up at him, and you exactly
Speaker 1: what he meant. He'd sat with me and assured me
Speaker 1: that my customers would give me grace when I needed
Speaker 1: to close up. He pulled my calendar from the wall
Speaker 1: and we marked off days for a much needed vacation.
Speaker 1: Then he'd gone into the kitchen and reorganized the fridges
Speaker 1: and the baking stations. From then on out, I'd not
Speaker 1: lost sight of taking care of myself and my staff,
Speaker 1: even as the bakery got busier. I learned to let
Speaker 1: other people give to me. Sometimes the hardest lesson is
Speaker 1: to learn to receive. The diner was still open, and
Speaker 1: I pushed through their door and stepped up to the counter.
Speaker 1: A friendly face peeked through the kitchen window and smiled
Speaker 1: when she recognized me. I need a coffee, No thanks,
Speaker 1: I'm on my way home, just dropping off some leftovers.
Speaker 1: Oh what a treat. Thank you. I did a head
Speaker 1: count of the waite staff, then added more for the
Speaker 1: cooks and dishwashers, and left the packets on the counter.
Speaker 1: Take care, she called, and I waved as I went
Speaker 1: through the door. At the next corner, I saw a
Speaker 1: regular customer clearing the snow from their windshield. I took
Speaker 1: a packet from my bag and waved it at them
Speaker 1: to catch their attention. Delivery from the cookie fairy. I chuckled.
Speaker 1: A smile broke over their face, and they wiped the
Speaker 1: snow flakes from their steamed up glasses as they reached
Speaker 1: out for them. Do you need a ride? This snow
Speaker 1: isn't going to slow down for a while yet, thinks
Speaker 1: I said. But I've got one more stop to make.
Speaker 1: I'm on a mission. I howled up the glove from
Speaker 1: my bag and turned back toward the street. I felt
Speaker 1: like I was in a snow globe, the swirling flakes
Speaker 1: all around me, the downtown street with the store fronts
Speaker 1: lit from within. It was a magic moment when I
Speaker 1: determined not to miss a beat of it. Sweet Dreams,