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, we are building more resources for you, not
Speaker 1: only to relax and fall asleep, but also to help
Speaker 1: you improve your focus, give you helpful habits, and create
Speaker 1: more good feeling in your day. Join me for simple
Speaker 1: ten minute guided meditations on my podcast. First. This available
Speaker 1: wherever you listen, and soon we'll have another show to
Speaker 1: tell you about. Stay in the loop by following us
Speaker 1: on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or our website Nothing Much Happens
Speaker 1: dot com, where you can sign up for ad free
Speaker 1: and bonus episodes. Now Here is something very useful to
Speaker 1: understand about sleep. The most effective way to fall asleep
Speaker 1: is to stop trying to fall asleep. Instead, we need
Speaker 1: a positive distraction for your mind. That's what keeps your
Speaker 1: brain activity in your task. Positive network. Now, don't worry
Speaker 1: about what that means. All you need to know is
Speaker 1: that by following along with the bedtime story and listening
Speaker 1: to the sound of my voice, you will be setting
Speaker 1: yourself up for reliable, consistent sleep. I'll tell the story twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: If you wake in the middle of the night, rather
Speaker 1: than trying to fall asleep, shift your attention to something else.
Speaker 1: You could start the story over again, or think your
Speaker 1: way through a simple, familiar task. I promise this will
Speaker 1: get better with time. It's like flexing a muscle each night.
Speaker 1: Your skill will improve. Now turn out your light, slip
Speaker 1: down into your sheets and feel how cool and soft
Speaker 1: they are around you. Get your pillow in just the
Speaker 1: right spot, and let your whole body relax. Whatever today
Speaker 1: was like his what it was like, and now it
Speaker 1: is over. So let's take a deep breath in through
Speaker 1: the nose and out through the mouth. Do that again
Speaker 1: in let it go good. Our story tonight is called
Speaker 1: Rain and Shine, and it's a story about a salad
Speaker 1: day's effort in the garden, followed by a long shower
Speaker 1: and dinner as the storm clouds roll in. It's also
Speaker 1: about the way the rain sounds falling on the roof,
Speaker 1: walnuts and pumpkin seeds, and a night of excellent sleeping weather.
Speaker 1: Rain and Shine. The air had been thick and humid
Speaker 1: all day, and I've managed to spend most of it
Speaker 1: in the garden, weeding and thinning out my vegetable patch.
Speaker 1: I was pruning my tomato plants this year, a technique
Speaker 1: I'd learned from a few gardener friends, though it seemed
Speaker 1: there were as many proponents as detractors, and I realized
Speaker 1: with every snip that I was taking a risk. But
Speaker 1: that is gardening in general. It is a reckoning of
Speaker 1: how little you can control, how much is out of
Speaker 1: your hands, and planting seeds anyway with the hope that
Speaker 1: some will grow. Along with my tomatoes, the beans were
Speaker 1: climbing up the strings I'd tucked into place on the
Speaker 1: border fence, and the rows of lettuce were full and
Speaker 1: ready to pick. There were flowers on the zucchini and
Speaker 1: summer squash, and one tiny butternut squash that I was
Speaker 1: crossing my fingers over, hoping the deer wouldn't eat it
Speaker 1: before I could. It wasn't a big garden, I'd learned
Speaker 1: that lesson the year before. I wanted to enjoy my
Speaker 1: time in it, and when I made it too big,
Speaker 1: it became all work and no play. So this year
Speaker 1: it was just a few rows. What I couldn't grow,
Speaker 1: I could buy from the other excellent gardeners around me.
Speaker 1: I didn't have to do everything myself. After my time
Speaker 1: working in the sun, I was pleasantly exhausted and headed
Speaker 1: in to peel off my soil scuffed clothes and start
Speaker 1: the shower. I'd bought a big bunch a fresh eucalyptus
Speaker 1: from the market the day before, and I hung it
Speaker 1: by its twine tie from the shower head. As the
Speaker 1: water steamed, the room filled with the scent. I stepped
Speaker 1: in and took a minute just to enjoy the feeling
Speaker 1: of the water on my skin. The eucalyptus opened my sinuses,
Speaker 1: and I closed my eyes and took deep breaths of it.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I felt too tired for a shower, but as
Speaker 1: soon as I stepped in, I always felt better. I
Speaker 1: reached for my water cloth and started to lather up
Speaker 1: each part of myself, face and hair and body, till
Speaker 1: I was squeaky clean and refreshed. I drew shapes on
Speaker 1: the fogged up shower door and hummed, and didn't think
Speaker 1: of much till I was done and ready to step out.
Speaker 1: When I was wrapped in fresh towels. I stepped over
Speaker 1: to the window. The light had changed and I pushed
Speaker 1: the curtain aside to look into the yard. The bright
Speaker 1: sun was hidden by a thick layer of cloud, and
Speaker 1: when I lifted the sash, I could feel that the
Speaker 1: humidity and heat had gone. A storm was coming. I
Speaker 1: was suddenly giddy for it, knowing it would be just
Speaker 1: what my garden needed and would cool the house off
Speaker 1: for a good night's sleep. I dressed in my pajamas
Speaker 1: and combed out my hair and took a moment to
Speaker 1: spread cream on my face and hands, then went from
Speaker 1: room to room to crack the windows. I kept the
Speaker 1: lights off where I didn't need them, enjoying the gloom
Speaker 1: after so much bright sun, and made my way to
Speaker 1: the kitchen. Earlier, I had soaked a big bowl of
Speaker 1: bulgar for tabouli. It was the perfect summer salad for
Speaker 1: hot days, as the grain could be made without turning
Speaker 1: on the stove, and it was fresh and crunchy and
Speaker 1: just needed a few ingredients. I had chopped cucumbers and
Speaker 1: tomatoes and scallions, then run my knife through a bunch
Speaker 1: of parsley and a handful of fresh mint leaves and
Speaker 1: tossed it with the bulgar and a big bowl. I
Speaker 1: squeezed lemon juice and drizzled olive oil and sprinkled salt
Speaker 1: and pepper, tasting as I went until it was tart
Speaker 1: and delicious. I spooned up a big portion onto a plate.
Speaker 1: I sprinkled walnuts and pumpkin seeds on top, just because
Speaker 1: that sounded good, and carried it with a glass of
Speaker 1: iced tea, out onto my screened in porch. The rain
Speaker 1: was minutes away, and I set myself up in a
Speaker 1: comfortable chair to wait for it, chewing slowly and watching
Speaker 1: the light change. There was a sudden gust of much
Speaker 1: cooler air, and then a sprinkle, and then the rain
Speaker 1: fell in drenching currents all around me. The sound it
Speaker 1: made on the roof, at first a pattering tattoo, grew
Speaker 1: to a rushing wash like a wave, cresting on all sides.
Speaker 1: I set my plate aside and stretched out in the
Speaker 1: chair and closed my eyes and just listened to the
Speaker 1: rain through the screens. I could smell the water breaking
Speaker 1: into the soil that fresh mineral scent, and imagined heading
Speaker 1: out to the gardens tomorrow in mud boots. I thought
Speaker 1: of the way. The water would pool in low places.
Speaker 1: How the rabbits would find spots to drink that hadn't
Speaker 1: been there the day before. In the field down the
Speaker 1: slope on the far edge of the yard was a
Speaker 1: marshy spot among the trees. It flooded easily even after
Speaker 1: short showers, and ducks would be bathing in it by morning,
Speaker 1: flipping over in the water, splash it under their wings,
Speaker 1: and shuffling them back together on their backs. The temperature
Speaker 1: had dropped speedily as the rain fell. It was at
Speaker 1: least ten degrees cooler than it had been when I
Speaker 1: had first stepped onto the porch. I relished the feeling
Speaker 1: of being just a little chilled, and took a throw
Speaker 1: from the arm of the chair and tossed it over
Speaker 1: my legs. As quickly as it had come, the rain
Speaker 1: moved on. I picked up my plate again and made
Speaker 1: a few bites, wondering if the sun would poke back out,
Speaker 1: and I hoped that it wouldn't. The brake from the
Speaker 1: heat felt wonderful, and I knew if the clouds moved out,
Speaker 1: the temperature would shoot right back up. It might even
Speaker 1: be stickier than it was before. With all the fallen rain,
Speaker 1: sitting on leaves and blades of grass, waiting to be
Speaker 1: absorbed back into the air. I had an old fashioned
Speaker 1: barometer that I'd found at a tagsail hung on the
Speaker 1: wall behind me. I remembered that it was more than
Speaker 1: a pretty piece of walnut and a polished glass case.
Speaker 1: I turned to look at it, squinting at the dial,
Speaker 1: and saw that its needle was spun well away from
Speaker 1: the fair weather mark and had even dropped below rain
Speaker 1: to where stormy was painted in large copper plate letters.
Speaker 1: A moment later, I saw a flash out of the
Speaker 1: corner of my eye and waited for the thunder to clap.
Speaker 1: When it did and the rain began lashing down again,
Speaker 1: it seemed like my cue to carry my things and
Speaker 1: myself back in and enjoy the rest of the storm
Speaker 1: from the window seat by the kitchen table. I knew
Speaker 1: that when I tucked myself into bed and felt the
Speaker 1: cool sheets against my skin, with a hard day's work
Speaker 1: behind me and a night of rain and thunder ahead
Speaker 1: of me, I would fall right to sleep, rain and shine.
Speaker 1: The air had been thick and humid all day, and
Speaker 1: I'd managed to spend most of it in the garden
Speaker 1: weeding and thinning out my vegetable patch. I was pruning
Speaker 1: my tomato plants this year, a technique I'd learned from
Speaker 1: a few gardener friends, though it seemed there were as
Speaker 1: many proponents as detractors, and I realized with every snip
Speaker 1: that I was taking a risk. But that is gardening
Speaker 1: in general. It is a reckoning of how little you
Speaker 1: can control, how much is out of your hands, and
Speaker 1: planting seeds anyway with the hope that some will grow.
Speaker 1: Along with my tomatoes. The beans were climbing up the
Speaker 1: strings I tacked into place on the border fence, and
Speaker 1: the rows of lettuce were full and ready to pick.
Speaker 1: There were flowers on the zucchini and summer squash plants,
Speaker 1: and one tiny butternut squash that I was crossing my
Speaker 1: fingers over, hoping the year wouldn't eat it before I could.
Speaker 1: It wasn't a big garden, I'd learned that lesson the
Speaker 1: year before. I wanted to enjoy my time in it,
Speaker 1: and when I made it too big, it became all
Speaker 1: work and no play. So this year it was just
Speaker 1: a few rows. When I couldn't grow, I could always
Speaker 1: buy from the other excellent gardeners around me. I didn't
Speaker 1: have to do everything myself. After my time working in
Speaker 1: the sun, I was pleasantly exhausted and headed in to
Speaker 1: peel off my soil scuffed clothes and start the shower.
Speaker 1: I'd bought a big bunch of fresh eucalyptus from the
Speaker 1: market the day before, and I hung it by its
Speaker 1: twine tie from the shower head. As the water steamed,
Speaker 1: the room filled with the scent. I stepped in and
Speaker 1: took a minute just to enjoy way the feeling of
Speaker 1: the water on my skin. The eucalyptus opened my sinuses,
Speaker 1: and I closed my eyes and took deep breaths of it.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I felt too tired for a shower, but once
Speaker 1: I stepped in, I always felt better. I reached for
Speaker 1: my washcloth and started to lather up each part of myself,
Speaker 1: face and hair and body, till I was squeaky clean
Speaker 1: and refreshed. I drew shapes on the fogged up shower
Speaker 1: door and hummed and didn't think of much till I
Speaker 1: felt done and ready to step out. When I was
Speaker 1: wrapped in fresh towels, I stepped over to the window.
Speaker 1: The light had changed, and I pushed the curtain aside
Speaker 1: to look into the yard. The bright sun was hidden
Speaker 1: by a thick layer of clouds, and when I lifted
Speaker 1: the sash, I could feel that the humidity and heat
Speaker 1: had gone. A storm was coming. I was suddenly giddy
Speaker 1: for it, knowing it would be just what my garden
Speaker 1: needed and would cool the house off for a good
Speaker 1: night's sleep. I dressed in my pajamas and combed out
Speaker 1: my hair, and took a moment to spread cream on
Speaker 1: my face and hands, and then went from room to
Speaker 1: room to crack the windows. I kept the lights off
Speaker 1: where I didn't need them, enjoying the gloom after so
Speaker 1: much bright sun, and made my way to the kitchen. Earlier,
Speaker 1: i'd soaked a big bowl of bulgar for tabuli. It
Speaker 1: was the perfect summer salad for hot days, as the
Speaker 1: grain could be made without turning on the stove, and
Speaker 1: it was fresh and crunchy and just needed a few ingredients.
Speaker 1: I chopped cucumbers and scallions, then run my knife through
Speaker 1: a bunch of parsley and a handful of fresh mint
Speaker 1: leaves and tossed it with the vulgar and a big
Speaker 1: bowl I squeezed lemon juice and drizzled olive oil and
Speaker 1: sprinkled salt and pepper, tasting as I went until it
Speaker 1: was tart and delicious. I spooned up a big portion
Speaker 1: onto a plate and sprinkled walnuts and pumpkin seeds on top,
Speaker 1: just because that sounded good, and carried it with a
Speaker 1: glass of iced tea out onto my screened in porch.
Speaker 1: The rain was minutes away, and I set myself up
Speaker 1: in a comfortable chair to wait for it, chewing slowly
Speaker 1: and watching the light change. There was a sudden gust
Speaker 1: of much cooler air, and then a sprinkle, and then
Speaker 1: the rain fell in drenching currents all around me. The
Speaker 1: sound it made on the roof, at first a pattering tattoo,
Speaker 1: grew to a rushing wash, like a wave, crusting on
Speaker 1: all sides. I set my plate aside and stretched out
Speaker 1: in the chair and closed my eyes and just listened
Speaker 1: to the rain through the screens. I could smell the
Speaker 1: water breaking into the soil that fresh mineral scent, and
Speaker 1: imagined heading out to the garden tomorrow in mud boots.
Speaker 1: I thought of the way the water would pool in
Speaker 1: low places, how the rabbits would find spots to drink
Speaker 1: that hadn't been there the day before. In the field.
Speaker 1: Down the slope on the far edge of my yard
Speaker 1: was a marshy spot among the trees. It flooded easily
Speaker 1: even after short showers, and ducks would be bathing in
Speaker 1: it by morning, flipping over in the water, splashing it
Speaker 1: under their wings and shuffling them back together on their backs.
Speaker 1: The temperature had dropped steadily as the rain fell. It
Speaker 1: was at least ten degrees cooler than it had been.
Speaker 1: I stepped onto the porch. I relished the feeling of
Speaker 1: being just a little chilled, and took a throw from
Speaker 1: the arm of the chair and tossed it over my legs.
Speaker 1: As quickly as it had come, the rain moved on.
Speaker 1: I picked up my plate again and ate a few bites,
Speaker 1: wondering if the sun would poke back out, and I
Speaker 1: hoped that it wouldn't. The brake from the heat felt wonderful,
Speaker 1: and I knew if the clouds moved out, the temperature
Speaker 1: would shoot right back up. It might even be stickier
Speaker 1: than it was before. With all the fallen rain sitting
Speaker 1: on leaves and blades of grass waiting to be absorbed
Speaker 1: back into the air. I had an old fashioned barometer
Speaker 1: that I'd found at a tagsail, hung on the wall
Speaker 1: behind me. I remembered that it was more than a
Speaker 1: pretty piece of walnut an a polished glass case. I
Speaker 1: turned to look at it, squinting at the dial, and
Speaker 1: saw that its needle was spun well away from the
Speaker 1: fair weather mark and had even dropped below rain to
Speaker 1: where stormy was painted in large copper plate letters. A
Speaker 1: moment later, I saw a flash out of the corner
Speaker 1: of my eye and waited for the thunder to clap.
Speaker 1: When it did, and the rain began lashing down again,
Speaker 1: it seemed like my cue to carry my things and
Speaker 1: myself back in and enjoy the rest of the storm
Speaker 1: from the window seat by the kitchen table. I knew
Speaker 1: that when I tucked myself into bed and felt the
Speaker 1: cool sheets against my skin, with a hard daze work
Speaker 1: behind me and a night of rain and thunder ahead
Speaker 1: of me, I would fall right to sleep, sweet dreams.