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 Nikolai.
Speaker 1: I read and write all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wintersheim. We've
Speaker 1: just added a new and special episode to our Premium
Speaker 1: Plus feed. It's called Slightly More Happens, and it has
Speaker 1: all three of the recent Winter Getaway episodes cut together
Speaker 1: into a lovely long story. It's almost ninety minutes in fact,
Speaker 1: and Premium Plus is still on sale, so see the
Speaker 1: link in our show notes to subscribe. We give to
Speaker 1: a different charity each week, and this week we're giving
Speaker 1: to the ARC of the United States at the ARC
Speaker 1: ARC dot org. Their purpose is to promote and protect
Speaker 1: the human rights of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities
Speaker 1: and actively support their full inclusion and participation in the
Speaker 1: community throughout their lifetimes. Now, the best way to fall
Speaker 1: asleep is not to try. It's actually to distract your
Speaker 1: mind peacefully away from the part of yourself that is
Speaker 1: aware you're awake. So just by listening to my voice
Speaker 1: and following along with the story, we'll sneak you into dreamland.
Speaker 1: I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little
Speaker 1: bit slower on the second read through. If you wake
Speaker 1: again in the night, don't hesitate to turn me right
Speaker 1: back on, or just think through any details you can
Speaker 1: remember from the story. This is brain training and it
Speaker 1: improves with time, so be patient if you're new to this. Now,
Speaker 1: lights out, devices down, get comfortable. Feel your limbs going
Speaker 1: heavy into the mattress. Notice how good it is to
Speaker 1: be done for the day. Whatever to day was. You're
Speaker 1: done with it now and there's nothing left to do
Speaker 1: but rest. Take a slow breath in through your nose
Speaker 1: and sigh from your mouth. One more breathe in. Let
Speaker 1: it go good. Our story tonight is called Quiet Celebration,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about softly stepping into the next
Speaker 1: year of your life. It's also about a good dream
Speaker 1: that lingers after waking, a glass raised with best wishes
Speaker 1: and a cake decorated with orange slices and rosettes. Quiet Celebration.
Speaker 1: When I was growing up, each birthday was so important.
Speaker 1: How did it feel to be eight? I was asked,
Speaker 1: can you believe you're about to be ten? All the
Speaker 1: little markers that went along with the year, the new
Speaker 1: classroom i'd move into each September, the shoes I grew out, of,
Speaker 1: the pencil marks on the inside of the coat closet door,
Speaker 1: and the candles I blew out on my birthday cake.
Speaker 1: They took up a lot of space in my young mind.
Speaker 1: How did it feel? What was it like to be eleven?
Speaker 1: Maybe this is something that is generally true when we
Speaker 1: are younger or trying to establish what is important, So
Speaker 1: nearly everything feels like it is your favorite color, your
Speaker 1: favorite book, it matters to you. Then one day someone
Speaker 1: stops asking you what your favorite color is. If you're
Speaker 1: ready to be thirty seven? I was thinking of all
Speaker 1: of this today as it was my birthday, and I
Speaker 1: was reflecting on how I felt about it, what I
Speaker 1: wanted to do about it. My sweet mother, when I
Speaker 1: was little, would sneak into my room on the night
Speaker 1: before each birthday and decorate it in the darkness. I
Speaker 1: would wake up to find my bed covered in balloons,
Speaker 1: streamers in a rainbow of colors twisted together and strung
Speaker 1: from the ceiling, and confetti spilling off the edges of
Speaker 1: my desk. One year, knowing I wanted to paint my
Speaker 1: bedroom walls that I'd outgrown the lavender everything that I
Speaker 1: had been obsessed with when I was smaller. She'd painted
Speaker 1: Happy Birthday right on the wall, and I knew it
Speaker 1: meant I would get my wish. I never stopped loving
Speaker 1: that magical feeling of waking up to the balloons and
Speaker 1: surprises on my birthday as a child, even when I
Speaker 1: was a teenager and in every other way eager to
Speaker 1: be a grown up to be treated as one, it
Speaker 1: never applied to my birthday. It had been a few
Speaker 1: years now since I'd started seeing my birthday a little differently.
Speaker 1: I didn't resent it, certainly not. Aging is a gift
Speaker 1: not given to everyone, and I found the older I got,
Speaker 1: the more I understood myself and loved myself. But I
Speaker 1: also didn't feel the need for the whole world to
Speaker 1: stop and celebrate the day with me. Sometimes I made
Speaker 1: dinner for friends or was taken out for a night
Speaker 1: on the town, but when I spent it alone, I
Speaker 1: was just as happy. It felt a little more personal
Speaker 1: each year, and sometimes I wanted to celebrate and quiet
Speaker 1: small ways, just giving myself all the best that I
Speaker 1: could for the day. And that was what I was
Speaker 1: doing today. I'd taken the day off, and I wasn't
Speaker 1: checking anything that had to do with work. I could wait.
Speaker 1: I laid in bed for a long time. In fact,
Speaker 1: I had that rare, magical experience of waking at my
Speaker 1: usual time and feeling pretty sure that I was up,
Speaker 1: then falling back to sleep and having sweet, silly dreams
Speaker 1: for a while, and not waking again until the sun
Speaker 1: was fully risen and shining through my window. I'd of
Speaker 1: a dog I had years ago, a sweet, goofy hound
Speaker 1: dog who'd howled at falling leaves and snored from the
Speaker 1: foot of my bed. As she got older, I carried
Speaker 1: her carefully down the stairs each day, her old legs
Speaker 1: having grown stiff and sore. But in my dream, she'd
Speaker 1: run down the stairs and raced to me. When I woke,
Speaker 1: I kept my eyes closed for a while, just letting
Speaker 1: the memory and the feeling of it in my body
Speaker 1: swirl within me. It was like finding my robe decorated
Speaker 1: all over again, a gift given to me as I slept,
Speaker 1: and I savored it, marking it as a memory to
Speaker 1: keep close. When I pushed myself up in bed, I
Speaker 1: took deep breaths and stretched my arms up over my head.
Speaker 1: I watched the bare branches of the trees outside my
Speaker 1: window moving slightly in the breeze, and listened to the
Speaker 1: clicking and creaking of my radiators. I smiled deeply, wished
Speaker 1: myself a happy birthday, and wondered what I might like
Speaker 1: to do with my day. It looked like it might
Speaker 1: be a nice morning for a walk. I liked a
Speaker 1: morning walk, even when it was cold out. I just
Speaker 1: bundle up tightly, but the morning light on my face,
Speaker 1: a little bit of movement and fresh air, it woke
Speaker 1: me up and set me on a good path for
Speaker 1: the day, as well as seeming to help me sleep
Speaker 1: better at night. So a walk, what else? Well? At
Speaker 1: some point cake obvious there would be cake. In fact,
Speaker 1: I'd made a New Year's resolution this year, and I
Speaker 1: was sticking to it that at least once a month,
Speaker 1: I'd make sure to have a very nice piece of cake.
Speaker 1: Often it was chocolate. Honestly, I couldn't imagine it not
Speaker 1: being chocolate. But a friend of mine had dropped off
Speaker 1: a homemade orange cake the day before. It was actually
Speaker 1: made with blood oranges, so it was rosy pink and
Speaker 1: iced with sweet white frosting and topped with candied orange slices.
Speaker 1: She'd even gotten out her piping bag and made a
Speaker 1: few rosettes to decorate the top. It was a little cake,
Speaker 1: cute as a button, and I felt so honored that
Speaker 1: she'd made it with her own two hands for me.
Speaker 1: So a walk and cake and what else? I thought
Speaker 1: about it as I wrapped myself in my robe and
Speaker 1: wandered down to the kitchen. Maybe I'd take a drive.
Speaker 1: I loved a long drive by myself, with music playing
Speaker 1: and a cup of coffee in the holder, just a
Speaker 1: direction rather than a destination, seeing some play I'd never
Speaker 1: been before. That always felt like an adventure and a
Speaker 1: good way to celebrate. Maybe I'd drive into another town,
Speaker 1: find their coffee shop or a bistro with check tablecloths,
Speaker 1: and I'd have a meal and watch the people walking
Speaker 1: on the sidewalks. If they had a bookshop, I'd stop
Speaker 1: and buy myself a whole stack of hardcovers. It was
Speaker 1: my birthday, after all. I'd stay out till I felt
Speaker 1: a bit tired, cold from the chill air, and then
Speaker 1: i'd come home again with my new books and get
Speaker 1: into my softest pajamas and cut a slice of cake.
Speaker 1: I'd raise a glass of something fizzy to all the
Speaker 1: people who were born to day, all my birthday siblings
Speaker 1: in the world, and wish them a year of good things.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure any more what my favorite color was,
Speaker 1: and my age didn't take up very much space in
Speaker 1: my mind. But I was happy now. I felt celebrated
Speaker 1: and loved now, and those were excellent gifts, quiet celebration.
Speaker 1: When I was growing up, each birthday was so important.
Speaker 1: How did it feel to be eight? I was asked,
Speaker 1: Can you believe you're about to be ten? All the
Speaker 1: little markers that went along with the year, the new
Speaker 1: classroom i'd move into each September, the shoes I grew
Speaker 1: out of, the pencil marks on the inside of the
Speaker 1: coat closet door, and the candles I blew out on
Speaker 1: my birthday cake. They took up a lot of space
Speaker 1: in my young mind. How did it feel? What was
Speaker 1: it like to be eleven? Maybe this is something that
Speaker 1: is generally true. When we are younger. We're trying to
Speaker 1: establish what is important, so nearly everything feels like it
Speaker 1: is your favorite color, your favorite book, It matters to you.
Speaker 1: Then one day someone stops asking you what your favorite
Speaker 1: color is, or if you're ready to be thirty seven.
Speaker 1: I was thinking of all of this today, as it
Speaker 1: was my birthday, and I was reflecting on how I
Speaker 1: felt about it, what I wanted to do about it.
Speaker 1: My sweet mother, when I was little, would sneak into
Speaker 1: my room on the night before each birthday and decorate
Speaker 1: it in the darkness. I would wake up to find
Speaker 1: my bed covered in balloons, streamers, in a rainbow of
Speaker 1: colors twisted together and strung from the ceiling, and confetti
Speaker 1: spilling off the edges of my desk. One year, knowing
Speaker 1: I wanted to paint my bedroom walls that I'd outgrown
Speaker 1: the lavender everything that I had been obsessed with when
Speaker 1: I was younger, she'd painted Happy Birthday right on the wall,
Speaker 1: and I knew it meant I would get my wish.
Speaker 1: I never stopped loving that magical feeling of waking up
Speaker 1: to the balloon and surprises on my birthday, even when
Speaker 1: I was a teenager and in every other way eager
Speaker 1: to be a grown up to be treated as one.
Speaker 1: It never applied to my birthday. It had been a
Speaker 1: few years now since I had started seeing my birthday
Speaker 1: a little differently. I didn't resent it, certainly not. Aging
Speaker 1: is a gift not given to everyone, and I found
Speaker 1: the older I got, the more I understood myself and
Speaker 1: loved myself. But I also didn't feel the need for
Speaker 1: the whole world to stop and celebrate the day with me.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I made dinner for friends or was taken out
Speaker 1: for a night on the town, but when I spent
Speaker 1: it alone, I was just as happy. I felt a
Speaker 1: little more personal each year, and sometimes I wanted to
Speaker 1: celebrate in quiet, small ways, just giving myself all the
Speaker 1: best that I could for the day. And that was
Speaker 1: what I was doing today. I'd taken the day off,
Speaker 1: and I wasn't checking anything that had to do with work.
Speaker 1: It could wait. I laid in bed for a long time.
Speaker 1: In fact, I had that rare, magical experience of waking
Speaker 1: at my usual time and feeling pretty sure that I
Speaker 1: was up, then falling back to sleep and having sweet,
Speaker 1: silly dreams for a while, and not waking again until
Speaker 1: the sun had fully risen and was shining through my window.
Speaker 1: I'd dreamt of a dog I'd had years ago, a sweet,
Speaker 1: goofy hound dog who'd howled at falling leaves and snored
Speaker 1: from the foot of my bed. As she got older,
Speaker 1: I'd carried her carefully down the stairs each day, her
Speaker 1: old legs having grown stiff and sore. But in my dream,
Speaker 1: she'd run down the stairs and raced to me. When
Speaker 1: I woke, I kept my eyes closed for a while,
Speaker 1: just letting the memory and the feeling of it and
Speaker 1: my body swirl within me. It was like finding my
Speaker 1: room decorated all over again, a gift given to me
Speaker 1: as I slept, and I savored it, marking it as
Speaker 1: a memory to keep close. When I pushed myself up
Speaker 1: in bed, I took deep breaths and stretched my arms
Speaker 1: up over my head. I watched the bare branches of
Speaker 1: trees outside at my window, moving slightly in the breeze,
Speaker 1: and listened to the clicking and creaking of my radiators.
Speaker 1: I smiled sleepily, wished myself a happy birthday. I wondered
Speaker 1: what I might like to do with my day. I
Speaker 1: looked like it might be a nice morning for a walk.
Speaker 1: I liked a morning walk, even when it was cold out.
Speaker 1: I just bundle up tightly, but the morning light on
Speaker 1: my face, a little bit of movement and fresh air.
Speaker 1: They woke me up, and it set me on a
Speaker 1: good path for the day, as well as seeming to
Speaker 1: help me sleep better at night. So a walk, what else? Well,
Speaker 1: at some point cake? Obviously there would be cake. In fact,
Speaker 1: I'd made a New Year's resolution this year, and I
Speaker 1: was sticking to it that at least once a month
Speaker 1: I'd make sure to have a very nice piece of cake.
Speaker 1: Often it was chocolate. Honestly, I couldn't imagine it not
Speaker 1: being chocolate. But a friend of mine had dropped off
Speaker 1: a homemade orange cake the day before. It was actually
Speaker 1: made with blood oranges, so it was rosy pink and
Speaker 1: iced with sweet white frosting and topped with candied orange slices.
Speaker 1: She'd even gotten out her piping bag and made a
Speaker 1: few rosettes to decorate the top. It was a little cake,
Speaker 1: cute as a button, and I felt so honored that
Speaker 1: she'd made it with her own two hands for me.
Speaker 1: So a walk and cake and what else? I thought
Speaker 1: about it as I wrapped myself in my robe and
Speaker 1: wandered down to the kitchen. Maybe I'd take a drive.
Speaker 1: I loved a long drive by myself with music playing
Speaker 1: on a cup of coffee in the holder, just a
Speaker 1: direction rather than a destination. Seeing some place I'd never
Speaker 1: been before that always felt like an adventure and a
Speaker 1: good way to celebrate. Maybe I'd drive into another town,
Speaker 1: find their coffee shop or bistro with checked tablecloths, and
Speaker 1: I'd have a meal and watch the people walking on
Speaker 1: the sidewalks. If they had a bookshop, I'd stop and
Speaker 1: by myself a whole stack of hardcovers. It was my birthday,
Speaker 1: after all. I'd stay out till I felt a bit tired,
Speaker 1: cold from the chill air, and then I'd come home
Speaker 1: again with my new books and get into my softest
Speaker 1: pajamas and cut a slice of cake. I'd raise a
Speaker 1: glass of something fizzy to all the people who were
Speaker 1: born to day, all my birthday siblings in the world,
Speaker 1: and wished them a year of good things. I wasn't
Speaker 1: sure anymore what my favorite color was, and my age
Speaker 1: didn't take up very much space in my mind. But
Speaker 1: I was happy now. I felt celebrated and loved now,
Speaker 1: and those were excellent gifts. Sweet dreams.