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 with Audio Engineering by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. Often people write me suggesting themes for stories
Speaker 1: they might like to hear, and just as often I
Speaker 1: have to write back and say that story exists. It's
Speaker 1: in the book. There are sixteen stories in my book
Speaker 1: that have never been heard on the podcast. So if
Speaker 1: you want to take a trip to the museum on
Speaker 1: a summer afternoon, visit the lavender farm outside of town,
Speaker 1: dive into a whole story just about beautiful and unusual
Speaker 1: words here a concert in the park, or go star
Speaker 1: gazing up in the mountains. Well, I invite you to
Speaker 1: pick up my book. It's beautifully illustrated and has a
Speaker 1: map in the front to situate you in the village
Speaker 1: of nothing Much. Would you rather hear me read those stories? Well?
Speaker 1: The audio book is also available. You can buy from
Speaker 1: your favorite bookseller or get an autographed copy at Nothing
Speaker 1: Much Happens dot com. Now let me say a little
Speaker 1: about how this podcast works. Most often when we struggle
Speaker 1: to sleep. The bit holding us back is the mind.
Speaker 1: We may even be kept awake by the worry that
Speaker 1: we won't sleep. If we can positively distract the mind,
Speaker 1: occupy it for a bit, the body will take over
Speaker 1: and sleep will come. And the more consistently you do this,
Speaker 1: the more your overall sleep will improve. So I'll tell
Speaker 1: you a story, a pleasant place to occupy your mind.
Speaker 1: I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little slower
Speaker 1: the second time through. All you need to do is listen. Really,
Speaker 1: if you just listen, everything else will fall right into place. Now,
Speaker 1: turn out your light, down into your sheets and feel
Speaker 1: how cool and soft they are. Let your body be heavy.
Speaker 1: I'll be right here, a voice in the darkness, guarding
Speaker 1: over you as you rest. I am here with you.
Speaker 1: Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose and
Speaker 1: let it out through your mouth. Do that again, Breathe
Speaker 1: in and out. Good. Our story tonight is the last
Speaker 1: installment in our Summer at the Inn series, least for now.
Speaker 1: It's a story about a book waiting to be picked
Speaker 1: up and read. It's also about a cool sleeping porch,
Speaker 1: empty and quiet in the afternoon, A cup of sweet espresso,
Speaker 1: and having a bit of time all to yourself summer.
Speaker 1: At the end part three, I had an hour all
Speaker 1: to myself most afternoons gifted me a little time to
Speaker 1: go for a bike ride, or drive into town and
Speaker 1: browse the shops, or sometimes to fall asleep with my
Speaker 1: bedroom windows open on the third floor where the breeze
Speaker 1: was cool. Today, I had a book that I'd stayed
Speaker 1: up late reading the night before. It had taken all
Speaker 1: my discipline to finally put it down and turn out
Speaker 1: the light, and it had been calling to me since then,
Speaker 1: sitting tucked under the counter at the front desk. I
Speaker 1: remembered reading this way when I was a child, being
Speaker 1: pulled into books so deeply that I could barely stand
Speaker 1: to come up for air at meal times. But as
Speaker 1: a grown up that happened less. Unless maybe younger brains
Speaker 1: are just more given to disappearing into other worlds. So
Speaker 1: when I found a book that I couldn't put down, well,
Speaker 1: what a gift. And I made it last as long
Speaker 1: as I could so all morning while I tended to
Speaker 1: my inn keeping duties, serving breakfast on the porch, helping
Speaker 1: to make up beds and fill the bird feeders, I'd
Speaker 1: been thinking about it, thinking about finding a shady spot
Speaker 1: to settle down in and read a few more chapters.
Speaker 1: But the day had been busy. We'd been visited by
Speaker 1: one of our local farmers, bought fresh produce from the
Speaker 1: open bed of her truck, and laid out lunch for
Speaker 1: our guests on the back porch. Then I'd eaten a
Speaker 1: plate of sandwiches and cucumber salad down in the cool
Speaker 1: kitchen while Chef shuffled pots and pans around on the stove.
Speaker 1: Chef was a firm believer in the importance of finishing
Speaker 1: most any meal with a small cup of sweet, strong espresso.
Speaker 1: But by the time I'd pushed my plate back, the
Speaker 1: moca pot had gone lukewarm. I'd volunteered to drink it
Speaker 1: as it was, but Chef took it from the counter,
Speaker 1: saying they would make me a fresh pot. I watched
Speaker 1: them take a large container from the freezer and add
Speaker 1: the tepid coffee to it. I recognized that perfect on
Speaker 1: a hot afternoon, Chef would serve up espresso granita with
Speaker 1: sweet whipped cream, the top scattered with fresh coffee grounds,
Speaker 1: or dotted with a couple chocolate covered espresso beans. They
Speaker 1: sealed up the container and slid it back into the
Speaker 1: deep freeze and set about washing out the pot and
Speaker 1: refilling it for me. While I waited for it to perk,
Speaker 1: we talked about the menu for dinner, grilled zucchini pasta
Speaker 1: with our homemade pesto and watermelon salad. Chef was still
Speaker 1: talking about which dishes to use and when we'd ring
Speaker 1: the dinner bell, but my mind was wandering back to
Speaker 1: my book. It was one of those books that I
Speaker 1: had seen a few times over the years. Maybe it
Speaker 1: had been in the window of the bookshop. I'd definitely
Speaker 1: at least seen guests read it hungrily like I was,
Speaker 1: But it wasn't one of those titles that's on every
Speaker 1: best seller list. Sometimes when too many people tell me
Speaker 1: to read something, I just can't. It's too much pressure,
Speaker 1: and by the time I finally get to it, I
Speaker 1: have a bunch of expectations and they interfere with me
Speaker 1: being able to just enjoy. So when I found this
Speaker 1: book in a guest's room after their stay, set on
Speaker 1: the dresser beside a note saying couldn't put it down.
Speaker 1: Please share with anyone in need of a good book,
Speaker 1: I thought, well, I'm in need of that, and slipped
Speaker 1: it into my pocket. Still, it had sat for weeks
Speaker 1: in my room till I'd finished a few other novels.
Speaker 1: I'd been dipping in and out of. It had been
Speaker 1: waiting for me, so patient and quiet, and all the
Speaker 1: time holding a story. I felt like it was written
Speaker 1: just for me. It made me wonder about the other
Speaker 1: books and my stack. I might not yet have read
Speaker 1: my favorite book. I might not read it for another
Speaker 1: ten years. It isn't that exciting. Chef sat my cup
Speaker 1: of espresso down in front of me and leaned their
Speaker 1: elbows on the counter. Drink up and co do whatever
Speaker 1: it is your thinking about. I chuckled and did as
Speaker 1: they said. The coffee was sweet and delicious, and did
Speaker 1: feel like it put a period at the end of
Speaker 1: my meal. I was sated and ready for my book.
Speaker 1: Chef waved me out of the kitchen and I ran
Speaker 1: up the stairs to the landing. I headed down the
Speaker 1: long hallway that ran the length of the house, where
Speaker 1: portraits hung and the polished wood paneling shone in the
Speaker 1: afternoon light. In the front office, I checked for messages,
Speaker 1: and happily there weren't any no one needed me just now.
Speaker 1: I took the book from under the counter and tucked
Speaker 1: it into the crook of my elbow. I thought about
Speaker 1: where I wanted to read. I stepped to the window
Speaker 1: and pushed aside the thin curtain. Bright sunlight was shining
Speaker 1: down through the leaves. The hammocks were probably full by now,
Speaker 1: and the lawn chairs by the water didn't have shade.
Speaker 1: It wasn't that I minded running into guests while I read,
Speaker 1: but sometimes I just liked a bit of privacy to
Speaker 1: just not be noticed for a bit. Then I remembered
Speaker 1: the sleeping porch. It was up on the second floor,
Speaker 1: a small screened in verandah with a glider and a
Speaker 1: few wicker chairs, with all the lovely spots to sit
Speaker 1: and relax around the inn. It was often forgotten by
Speaker 1: our guests, and I had a feeling it would be
Speaker 1: empty now. I carried my book up the great winding
Speaker 1: staircase and down the hall to the porch. Just as
Speaker 1: I'd hoped, it was empty, and I pulled opened the
Speaker 1: door and stepped out. The inn was full of smells
Speaker 1: when I'd started renovating it, most of them very nice.
Speaker 1: The scent of old wood books and curling wallpaper. But
Speaker 1: with all the work we'd done, most rooms had lost
Speaker 1: those bits of atmosphere, which sometimes made me a little nostalgic.
Speaker 1: But this porch had barely been touched. We'd replaced the
Speaker 1: screens where they had rotted away, and brought down the
Speaker 1: chairs from the attic, cleaning and polishing and adding new cushions.
Speaker 1: Once the space was swept out and set up, we'd
Speaker 1: left it, and it held the scent of nearly a
Speaker 1: hundred and fifty summers, the dry wood of the screen
Speaker 1: frames and the cool stone floors. I caught the sunlight
Speaker 1: in the morning, but by design, in the afternoons it
Speaker 1: sat on the shaded side of the house and the
Speaker 1: temperature was perfect. I settled on to the glider and
Speaker 1: tucked my feet underneath me. I had an hour at least,
Speaker 1: maybe more before anyone was likely to need anything. I
Speaker 1: opened my book Summer at the Inn, Part three. I
Speaker 1: had about an hour to myself. Most afternoons gifted me
Speaker 1: a little time to go for a bike ride, or
Speaker 1: drive into town and browse the shops, or sometimes to
Speaker 1: fall asleep with my bedroom windows open high on the
Speaker 1: third floor, where the breeze was cool today. I had
Speaker 1: a book that I'd stayed up late reading the night before.
Speaker 1: It had taken all my discipline to finally put it
Speaker 1: down and turn out the light, and it had been
Speaker 1: calling to me since then, sitting tucked under the counter
Speaker 1: at the front desk. I remembered reading this way when
Speaker 1: I was a child, being pulled into books so deeply
Speaker 1: that I could barely stand to come up for air
Speaker 1: at meal times. But as a grown up that happened
Speaker 1: less and less. Maybe younger brains are just more given
Speaker 1: to disappearing into other worlds. So when I found a
Speaker 1: book that I couldn't put down, well, what a gift.
Speaker 1: And I made it last as long as I could.
Speaker 1: So all morning, while I tended to my inn keeping duties,
Speaker 1: serving breakfast on the porch, helping to make up beds,
Speaker 1: filling the bird feeders, I'd been thinking about it, thinking
Speaker 1: about finding a shady spot to settle down and read
Speaker 1: a few more chapters. But the day had been busy.
Speaker 1: We'd been visited by one of our local farmers, bought
Speaker 1: produce from the open bed of her truck, and laid
Speaker 1: out lunch for our guests on the back porch. Then
Speaker 1: I'd eaten a plate of sandwiches and cucumber salad down
Speaker 1: in the cool kitchen while Chef shuffled pots and pans
Speaker 1: around on the stove. Chef was a firm believer in
Speaker 1: the importance of finishing most any meal with a small
Speaker 1: cup of sweet, strong espresso. But by the time I'd
Speaker 1: pushed my plate back, the moca pot had gone lukewarm.
Speaker 1: I'd volunteered to drink it as it was, but Chef
Speaker 1: took it from the counter, saying they would make me
Speaker 1: a fresh pot. I watched them take a large container
Speaker 1: from the freezer and add the tepid coffee to it.
Speaker 1: Oh I recognized that perfect on a hot afternoon, Chef
Speaker 1: would serve up espresso granita with sweet whipped cream, the
Speaker 1: top scattered with fresh coffee grounds, or dotted with a
Speaker 1: couple chocolate covered espresso beans. They sealed up the container
Speaker 1: and slid it back into the deep freeze, and set
Speaker 1: about washing out the pot and refilling it for me.
Speaker 1: While I waited for it to perk, we talked about
Speaker 1: the menu for dinner, grilled zucchini pasta with our own
Speaker 1: homemade pesto and watermelon salad. Chef was still talking about
Speaker 1: which dishes to use and when we'd ring the dinner bell,
Speaker 1: but my mind was wandering back to the book. It
Speaker 1: was one of those books that I'd seen a few
Speaker 1: times over the years. Maybe it had even been in
Speaker 1: the window of the bookshop. I definitely seemed guests read
Speaker 1: it hungrily like I was, But it wasn't one of
Speaker 1: those titles that's on every best seller list. Sometimes when
Speaker 1: too many people tell me to read something, I just can't.
Speaker 1: It's too much pressure, and by the time I finally
Speaker 1: get to it, I have a bunch of expectations and
Speaker 1: they interfere with me being able to just enjoy. So
Speaker 1: when I found this book in a guest's room after
Speaker 1: their stay, set on the dresser beside a note saying
Speaker 1: couldn't put it down, please share with anyone in need
Speaker 1: of a good book, I thought, well, I'm in need
Speaker 1: of that, and slipped it into my pocket. Still it
Speaker 1: had sat for weeks in my room till i'd finished
Speaker 1: a few other novels I'd been dipping in and out of.
Speaker 1: It had been waiting for me, so patient and quiet,
Speaker 1: and all the time holding a story. It felt like
Speaker 1: it was written just for me. It made me wonder
Speaker 1: about the other books in my stack. I might not
Speaker 1: yet have read my favorite book. I might not read
Speaker 1: it for another ten years, and isn't that exciting. Chef
Speaker 1: set down my cup of espresso in front of me
Speaker 1: and leaned their elbows on the counter. Drink up and
Speaker 1: go do whatever it is you're thinking about. I chuckled
Speaker 1: and did as they said. The coffee was sweet and delicious,
Speaker 1: and did feel like it put a period at the
Speaker 1: end of my meal. I was sated and ready for
Speaker 1: my book. Chef waved me out of the kitchen, and
Speaker 1: I ran up the stairs to the landing. I headed
Speaker 1: down the long hallway that ran the length of the house,
Speaker 1: where portraits hung and the polished wood paneling shone in
Speaker 1: the afternoon light. In the front office, I checked for messages.
Speaker 1: Unhappily there weren't any. No one neaded me just now.
Speaker 1: I took the book from under the counter and tucked
Speaker 1: it into the crook of my elbow. I thought about
Speaker 1: where I wanted to read. I stepped to the window
Speaker 1: and pushed aside the thin curtain. Bright sunlight was shining
Speaker 1: down through the leaves. The hammocks were probably full by now,
Speaker 1: and the lawn chairs by the water didn't have shade.
Speaker 1: It wasn't that I minded running into guests while I read,
Speaker 1: but sometimes I liked a bit of privacy, just to
Speaker 1: not be noticed for a bit. Then I remembered the
Speaker 1: sleeping porch. It was up on the second floor, a
Speaker 1: small screened in verandah, with a glider and a few
Speaker 1: wicker chairs, with all the lovely spots to sit and
Speaker 1: relax around the inn. It was often forgotten by our guests,
Speaker 1: and I had a feeling it would be empty. Now.
Speaker 1: I carried my book up the great winding staircase and
Speaker 1: down the hall to the porch. Just as I i'd hoped,
Speaker 1: it was empty, and I pulled open the door and
Speaker 1: stepped out. The inn was full of smells when I'd
Speaker 1: started renovating it, most of them very nice, the scent
Speaker 1: of old wood, books, a curling wallpaper. But with all
Speaker 1: the work we'd done, most rooms had lost those bits
Speaker 1: of atmosphere, which sometimes made me a little nostalgic. But
Speaker 1: this porch had barely been touched. We'd replaced the screens
Speaker 1: where they'd rotted away, and brought down the chairs from
Speaker 1: the attic. Cleaning and polishing and adding new cushions. Once
Speaker 1: the space was swept out and set up, we'd left it,
Speaker 1: and it held the scent of nearly a hundred and
Speaker 1: fifty summers. The dry wood of the screen frames on
Speaker 1: the cool stone floors caught the sunlight in the morning,
Speaker 1: but by design, in the afternoons it sat on the
Speaker 1: shaded side of the house and the temperature was perfect.
Speaker 1: I settled on to the glider and tucked my feet
Speaker 1: underneath me. I had an hour at least, maybe more
Speaker 1: before anyone was likely to need anything. I opened my book,
Speaker 1: Sweet Dreams,