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 read and write all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Listeners
Speaker 1: all over the world frequently tell me they wish they
Speaker 1: could listen to my stories in their own language. And
Speaker 1: I'll have some more updates about that soon, But for now,
Speaker 1: I want to let you know that my audio book,
Speaker 1: also called Nothing Much Happens, is already available in many
Speaker 1: many languages. Just search wherever you listen. We give to
Speaker 1: a different charity each week at Nothing Much Happens, and
Speaker 1: this week we are giving to the National Alliance to
Speaker 1: End Homelessness at end Homelessness dot org. They are committed
Speaker 1: to preventing and ending homelessness in the United States. Now
Speaker 1: your work for the day is done. Let me take
Speaker 1: over from here. I'll read you a story, and as
Speaker 1: you listen, your thinking mind will be engaged and unable
Speaker 1: to wander. Your brain activity will shift from default mode
Speaker 1: to task mode, and that is the great secret to
Speaker 1: falling and returning to sleep. I'll read the story twice
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: If you find yourself awake again in the night, think
Speaker 1: back through any parts you can remember, or restart the story.
Speaker 1: But please don't waste time wondering if you should just
Speaker 1: press play and you'll sleep again. Lights out, devices down,
Speaker 1: pull the comforter up over your shoulder, and notice how
Speaker 1: good it is to be safe and in your bed.
Speaker 1: I'll be here watching over even after you've fallen asleep.
Speaker 1: All is well. Take a slow, deep breath in through
Speaker 1: your nose and side through your mouth one more time.
Speaker 1: Breathe in and let it out good. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called Snowfall at the Bakery, and it's a story
Speaker 1: about the reappearance of winter after a few weeks of
Speaker 1: mild weather. It's also about hot chocolate made with care,
Speaker 1: school children let out early, and the prospect of snow
Speaker 1: men in the park. Snowfall at the Bakery it had
Speaker 1: been a few weeks now that we'd had no snow,
Speaker 1: and honestly I hadn't missed it yet. It was kind
Speaker 1: of lovely to walk through town on dry sidewalks and
Speaker 1: leave the house in my sneakers rather than my tall,
Speaker 1: heavy boots. In the evenings there would be a faint
Speaker 1: scent of spring in the air, not that I believed it.
Speaker 1: It was fool's spring, and I knew it there was
Speaker 1: plenty of winter still to come. But it smelled lovely,
Speaker 1: that rich, dark earth scent, the aroma of rain and soil.
Speaker 1: It felt like a sneak preview of something that, while
Speaker 1: it wasn't coming very soon, would come again and would
Speaker 1: feel fresh and revitalizing when it arrived. So when it
Speaker 1: started to snow to day, Wow, I took my breath away.
Speaker 1: I'd forgotten just how beautiful our little down town was
Speaker 1: when it was covered in a blanket of white. It
Speaker 1: had started just as the breakfast rush was clearing out
Speaker 1: at the bakery. I'd been wiping down tables and restarting
Speaker 1: the coffee for the third time to day when I
Speaker 1: looked out through the front windows of the shop and
Speaker 1: saw flakes falling. They were coming down so thick and
Speaker 1: fast that it looked like a movie, and I imagined
Speaker 1: a crew of folks up above somewhere hearing the cue
Speaker 1: to start the snow and turning the machine to high.
Speaker 1: People on the street were stunned as well. I saw
Speaker 1: them stop to look up, put out their gloved hands
Speaker 1: to catch snow flakes, and smile as they went back
Speaker 1: on their way. Each customer who came in mentioned it.
Speaker 1: It's really coming down, he said to each other. We're
Speaker 1: set to get five inches by the end of the day,
Speaker 1: called someone from the back of the line. Wow, we
Speaker 1: all said, and turned to look out at the street again.
Speaker 1: I decided to slip into the kitchen and set up
Speaker 1: another tray of doughnuts. I had a feeling that people
Speaker 1: would need something hot and sweet to go with this
Speaker 1: snowy day. I washed my hands at the sink and
Speaker 1: put a fresh apron on. Most of our baking happened
Speaker 1: pretty early each morning. By the time we flipped the
Speaker 1: open and sign in the window, we had fresh doughnuts
Speaker 1: and bagels and pastries in the display case ready for
Speaker 1: our customers. Then, while the morning rush was carrying on
Speaker 1: out front, we baked things that tended to sell later
Speaker 1: in the day, brand rolls, pies, and cakes. By this
Speaker 1: point in the day, unless we had a special order,
Speaker 1: we didn't have much left to do in the kitchen,
Speaker 1: and that was my favorite time to be back here.
Speaker 1: It's when I could experiment a bit test recipe as
Speaker 1: I was working on and bake with no sense of urgency.
Speaker 1: So I cut out donuts and fried them off in batches.
Speaker 1: I tossed them in cinnamon and sugar and carried them
Speaker 1: out on a tray to slide into the cabinet beside
Speaker 1: the cash register. Now the snow lay at least an
Speaker 1: inch or two deep all over the sidewalks and benches
Speaker 1: and tree branches. I wiped my hands on a towel
Speaker 1: and stepped over to the window. We had a little
Speaker 1: neon sign that I turned on when the donuts were hot,
Speaker 1: and I plugged it in and watched the light of
Speaker 1: it reflect in the snow outside. Across the street at
Speaker 1: the diner, they were already shoveling the sidewalks, and their
Speaker 1: windows were fogged up from the cold. A customer came
Speaker 1: in and stumped the snow from his shoes at the
Speaker 1: front door. He rubbed his hands together and breathed over them.
Speaker 1: Do nut, sir, hot I said, I saw, he said,
Speaker 1: with a laugh in his voice. I just heard that
Speaker 1: they are closing the schools before we get too much more.
Speaker 1: You should have a bunch of little ones in here
Speaker 1: eating hot chocolate in a few minutes. I'll get ready then, thinks,
Speaker 1: I said, and headed back to the kitchen. We made
Speaker 1: excellent hot chocolate, and it didn't come from a pouch
Speaker 1: of powder and some scalding water either. I made it
Speaker 1: with ground cacao and shaved chocolate and creamy oat, milk
Speaker 1: and cinnamon. My secret ingredient was a bit of tahini,
Speaker 1: and it gave the drink a richness that my customers
Speaker 1: craved but could never quite identify. In the kitchen, I
Speaker 1: heated the milk and whisked in all the ingredients with
Speaker 1: a long handled ladle. I lifted cupful of the cocoa
Speaker 1: a foot into the air and let it fall back
Speaker 1: into the pot, which frothed it as it warmed. Finally,
Speaker 1: I poured it all into an urn, and just as
Speaker 1: I was carrying it carefully to the counter, the bell
Speaker 1: over the door began to ring again and again. School
Speaker 1: had indeed been canceled for the afternoon, and kids were
Speaker 1: streaming in excitedly, dressed in snowsuits with mittens dangling from
Speaker 1: the sleeves of their coat. We sold cup after cup
Speaker 1: of hot chocolate, topped with many marshmallows, as well as
Speaker 1: all of the donuts, plus about half of the cookies.
Speaker 1: I chatted with the kids as I passed out the
Speaker 1: treats and filled their cups. They'd watched the snow coming
Speaker 1: down from inside their big brick schoolhouse a few blocks
Speaker 1: over and hoped and wished that it would just keep
Speaker 1: on falling. Over lunch, rumors flew as fast as the
Speaker 1: snow that there was a blizzard coming, the biggest in
Speaker 1: a hundred years, that they'd get snowed in at the
Speaker 1: school and have to sleep on gymnastic mats in the
Speaker 1: cafeteria and survive on beans for days. When they got
Speaker 1: bundled up for recess, the announcement had come over the
Speaker 1: loudspeaker that school was closing, and everyone, even the teachers,
Speaker 1: had cheered. Some kids were riding the bus and some
Speaker 1: getting picked up by their parents, But for the ones
Speaker 1: who walked to school while they felt they had the
Speaker 1: best luck of all. They were here for their emergency
Speaker 1: rations cocoa and doughnuts and whatever else their pocket money
Speaker 1: could afford, and then they were off to the park
Speaker 1: to roll the heavy wet snow into giant balls and
Speaker 1: stack them three high to build an army of snowmen
Speaker 1: as they tromped off with their cups and cookies. I
Speaker 1: watched from the window, glad that the winter was here
Speaker 1: to remind us how to play snowfall at the bakery.
Speaker 1: It had been a few weeks now that we'd had
Speaker 1: no snow, and honestly I hadn't missed it yet. It
Speaker 1: was kind of lovely to walk through town hundry sidewalks
Speaker 1: and leave the house in my sneakers rather than my tall,
Speaker 1: heavy boots. In the evenings there would be a faint
Speaker 1: scent of spring in the air, not that I believed it.
Speaker 1: It was fool's spring, and I knew it there was
Speaker 1: plenty of winter still to come, but it smelled lovely,
Speaker 1: the rich dark earth scent, the aroma of rain and soil.
Speaker 1: I felt like a sneak preview of something that, while
Speaker 1: it wasn't coming very soon, would come again and would
Speaker 1: feel fresh and revitalizing when it arrived. So when it
Speaker 1: started to snow today, well it took my breath away.
Speaker 1: I'd forgotten just how beautiful our little down town was
Speaker 1: when it was covered in a blanket of white. It
Speaker 1: had started just as the breakfast rush was clearing out
Speaker 1: at the bakery. I'd been and wiping down tables and
Speaker 1: restarting the coffee for the third time today when I
Speaker 1: looked out through the front windows of the shop and
Speaker 1: saw flakes falling. They were coming down so thick and
Speaker 1: fast that it looked like a movie, and I imagined
Speaker 1: a crew of folks up above somewhere, hearing the queue
Speaker 1: to start the snow and turning the machine to high.
Speaker 1: People on the street were as well. I saw them
Speaker 1: stop to look up, put out their gloved hands to
Speaker 1: catch snow flakes, and smile as they went back on
Speaker 1: their way. Each customer who came in mentioned it. It's
Speaker 1: really coming down. We said to each other. We're set
Speaker 1: to get five inches by the end of the day,
Speaker 1: called someone from the back of the line. Wow, we
Speaker 1: all said, and turned to look out at the street again.
Speaker 1: I decided to slip into the kitchen and set up
Speaker 1: another tray of donuts. I had a feeling that people
Speaker 1: would need something hot and sweet to go with this
Speaker 1: snowy day. I washed my hands in the sink and
Speaker 1: put a fresh apron on. Most of our baking happened
Speaker 1: pretty early each morning. By the time we flipped the
Speaker 1: open sign in the window. We had fresh donuts and
Speaker 1: bagels and pastries in the display case ready for our customers. Then,
Speaker 1: while the morning rush was carrying on, we baked things
Speaker 1: that tended to sell later in the day, bread rolls, pies,
Speaker 1: and cakes. By this point in the day, unless we
Speaker 1: had a special order, we didn't have much left to do,
Speaker 1: and that was my favorite time to be in the kitchen.
Speaker 1: It's when I could experiment a bit, test recipes I
Speaker 1: was working on, and bake with no sense of urgency.
Speaker 1: So I cut out doughnuts and fried them off in batches,
Speaker 1: tossed them in cinnamon and sugar, and carried them on
Speaker 1: a tray to slide into the cabinet beside the cash register. Now,
Speaker 1: the snow lay at least an inch or too deep
Speaker 1: all over the sidewalks and benches and tree branches. I
Speaker 1: wiped my hands on a towel and stepped over to
Speaker 1: the window. We had a little neon sign that I
Speaker 1: turned on when the donuts were hot. When I plugged
Speaker 1: it in and watched the light of it reflect in
Speaker 1: the snow outside. Across the street at the diner, they
Speaker 1: were already shoveling the sidewalks and their windows were fogged
Speaker 1: up from the cold. A customer came in and stumped
Speaker 1: the snow from his shoes at the front door. He
Speaker 1: rubbed his hands together and breathed over them. The donuts
Speaker 1: are hot, I said, I saw, he said, with a laugh.
Speaker 1: I just heard that they are closing the schools before
Speaker 1: we get too much more. You should have a bunch
Speaker 1: of little ones in here neating hot chocolate in a
Speaker 1: few minutes. I'll get ready then, thanks, I said, and
Speaker 1: headed back to the kitchen. We make excellent hot chocolate,
Speaker 1: and it didn't come from a pouch of powder and
Speaker 1: some scalding water either. I made it with ground cacao
Speaker 1: and shaved chocolate and creamy oat milk and cinnamon. My
Speaker 1: secret ingredient was a bit of tahini, and it gave
Speaker 1: the drink a richness that my customers craved but could
Speaker 1: never quite identify. In the kitchen, I heated the milk
Speaker 1: and whisked in all the ingredients with a long handled ladle.
Speaker 1: I lifted cupfuls of the cocoa a foot into the
Speaker 1: air and let it fall back into the pot, which
Speaker 1: frothed it as it warmed. Finally, I poured it into
Speaker 1: an urn and just as I was carrying it carefully
Speaker 1: to the counter, the bell over the door began to
Speaker 1: ring again and again. School had indeed been canceled for
Speaker 1: the afternoon, and kids were streaming in excitedly, dressed in
Speaker 1: snow suits with mittens dangling from the sleeves of their coats.
Speaker 1: We sold cup after cup of hot chocolate topped with
Speaker 1: many marshmallows, as well as all of the doughnuts, plus
Speaker 1: about half of the cookies. I chatted with the kids
Speaker 1: as I pass asked out the treats and filled their cups.
Speaker 1: They'd watched the snow coming down from inside their big
Speaker 1: brick schoolhouse a few blocks over and hoped and wished
Speaker 1: that it would just keep on falling. Over lunch, rumors
Speaker 1: flew as fast as the snow that there was a
Speaker 1: blizzard coming, the biggest in a hundred years, that they'd
Speaker 1: get snowed in at the school and have to sleep
Speaker 1: on gymnastic mats in the cafeteria and survive on beans
Speaker 1: for days. When they got bundled up for recess, the
Speaker 1: announcement had come over the loudspeaker that school was closing,
Speaker 1: and everyone, even the teachers, had cheered. Some kids were
Speaker 1: riding the bus and some getting picked up by parents.
Speaker 1: But for these kids who walked to school, well, they
Speaker 1: felt they had the best luck of all. They were
Speaker 1: here for their emergency rations cocoa and doughnuts and whatever
Speaker 1: else their pocket money could have board, And then they
Speaker 1: were off to the park to roll the heavy wet
Speaker 1: snow into giant balls and stack them three high to
Speaker 1: build an army of snowmen. As they tromped off with
Speaker 1: their cups and cookies, I watched from the window, glad
Speaker 1: that the winter was here to remind us how to
Speaker 1: play sweet dreams.