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 Katherine Nikolai.
Speaker 1: I write and read all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Thank
Speaker 1: you for listening and for sharing our show with others.
Speaker 1: We give to a different charity each week, and this
Speaker 1: week we are giving to the Alliance for the Great
Speaker 1: Lakes at Great Lakes dot org. They are a non
Speaker 1: partisan nonprofit working across the region to protect the fresh,
Speaker 1: clean and natural waters of the Great Lakes. If you're
Speaker 1: looking for an ad free version of the show, you
Speaker 1: can subscribe to our premium feed through Nothing Much Happens
Speaker 1: dot com. Now let's do some sleep training. We are
Speaker 1: going to settle your brain into its task positive network
Speaker 1: where you'll be able to quickly fall asleep. And we'll
Speaker 1: do that by giving your brain a teeny tiny job
Speaker 1: to do, and that is simply to listen, to follow
Speaker 1: along with the sound of my voice and a bit
Speaker 1: of the story I have for you. I'll tell it twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: If you find you are still awake at the end.
Speaker 1: Don't worry. This training can take some time if you're
Speaker 1: new to it. Keep listening, keep relaxing. Soon you'll be
Speaker 1: falling asleep within minutes. Now, lights out, campers, It's time
Speaker 1: be as comfortable as you can. Let everything relax, and
Speaker 1: sink into the bed. You are done for the day.
Speaker 1: Whatever the day was, it's over now. I take a slow,
Speaker 1: deep breath in and sigh again in through the nose,
Speaker 1: I said, long, through the mouth. Good. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called a Day at the Cottage, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about settling back into a beloved place as the
Speaker 1: weather warms up. It's also about a cupboard full of
Speaker 1: old dishes that have served family meals for decades, a
Speaker 1: stack of magazines to flip through from the lounge chair,
Speaker 1: and a love for hand me downs and the memories
Speaker 1: they carry. A Day at the Cottage. The cottage was
Speaker 1: ready for summer. We'd spent a few days cleaning with
Speaker 1: the windows open, and it felt for rush and welcoming again.
Speaker 1: We put clean sheets on the beds and shook out
Speaker 1: the rugs in the backyard. We dusted the bookshelves and
Speaker 1: the family photos in their frames. The beach towels had
Speaker 1: all been freshly washed and were waiting in a neat
Speaker 1: stack in the closet for their first trip of the
Speaker 1: summer to the water's edge. The key hanging inside the
Speaker 1: back door had been successfully wiggled into the lock on
Speaker 1: the shed, and the lawnmower convinced to start up. The
Speaker 1: smell of fresh cut grass and turned over dirt in
Speaker 1: the flower beds made summer feel real, and from time
Speaker 1: to time I'd stop and look out at the water,
Speaker 1: at the way the sunlight shimmered on the surface, and
Speaker 1: feel overwhelmed with contentment for the season and the place.
Speaker 1: In the kitchen, I'd re stocked the pantry shelves with
Speaker 1: jars of pickles for our sandwiches, jam for our toast,
Speaker 1: and sauces for all the things we'd cook up on
Speaker 1: the grill. Cottages tend to get filled up with hand
Speaker 1: me downs, old dishes that don't match or have chips
Speaker 1: along the rim, threadbare blankets, and lamps with wonky shades.
Speaker 1: When they get replaced elsewhere, they show up at the cottage,
Speaker 1: and they become precious objects again for a whole new reason,
Speaker 1: because they are a part of a beloved place and
Speaker 1: sweet memories. As I cleaned the kitchen, I washed the
Speaker 1: giant platter that had served a thousand summer suppers, the
Speaker 1: coffee cup that my father had always carried out to
Speaker 1: the water with him in the mornings, and the tiny
Speaker 1: juice glasses my grandmother had sipped wine from as she
Speaker 1: sat on the front porch. I filled the vases with
Speaker 1: wild flowers that grew in the ditch, and replaced the
Speaker 1: burnt out light bulb that shone over the back steps.
Speaker 1: And then we were done. We were ready to settle
Speaker 1: into the business of enjoying the summer, the water and
Speaker 1: the sun. I've always loved the way that we That is,
Speaker 1: people of all ages recognize the importance of napping in
Speaker 1: the middle of the day in the summertime, whether it
Speaker 1: is on a blanket stretched out in the sun, or
Speaker 1: with a hat tipped over your eyes, in a lounge chair,
Speaker 1: or under a big umbrella and a hammock. On any
Speaker 1: given summer day, the only logical thing to do is sleep.
Speaker 1: And even people who struggle to sit still, who keep
Speaker 1: busy nearly all the time, when they feel the warmth
Speaker 1: and smell the summer air, they start to look for
Speaker 1: a place to stretch out and catch some shut eye.
Speaker 1: I looked forward to all those summer naps that lay
Speaker 1: ahead of me as I got ready to head to
Speaker 1: the water. I made a giant glass of cold tea
Speaker 1: with mint leaves and a bit of sugar swirling around
Speaker 1: the ice cubes, and I got a few of those
Speaker 1: clean towels from the closet. I laughed as I tucked
Speaker 1: them under my arm. These towels were holding on by
Speaker 1: a literal thread. I remembered wrapping up in them when
Speaker 1: I was a kid, tying the corners around my neck
Speaker 1: like a superhero's cape. Running through the yard, my hair
Speaker 1: still wet from my latest cannonball into the water. They
Speaker 1: were still here and would probably still be here next year.
Speaker 1: A neighbor had dropped off a bundle of magazines on
Speaker 1: the front steps. We shared, sometimes passing them back and
Speaker 1: forth until we'd read them all, and I took a
Speaker 1: few with me and my sunglasses and made my way
Speaker 1: over to the water. We had an old picnic table
Speaker 1: that was tilting slowly into the soft ground. It wasn't
Speaker 1: bad enough that my glass of tea would spill, but
Speaker 1: I added it to my mental list for a fix. Up.
Speaker 1: I remembered seeing a stack of old bricks in the
Speaker 1: shed we could use to brace the legs hand me
Speaker 1: downs on fixer uppers. That was the cottage. We'd put
Speaker 1: out a few lounge chairs the day before, and I
Speaker 1: dragged one into the shade of a tall beech tree.
Speaker 1: As I struggled one handed to spread my towels over it,
Speaker 1: I remembered the chairs we'd had when I was little.
Speaker 1: There was one that folded flat, though you had to
Speaker 1: have an engineering degree to set it back up again.
Speaker 1: It was made of canvas and a wood frame, and
Speaker 1: I thought of my father flipping the fabric this way
Speaker 1: and that sure he had it this time, then trying
Speaker 1: to sit and the whole thing collapsing. Then there were
Speaker 1: the beach chairs my mother and I tried to lay on.
Speaker 1: They were the kind that folded up like a trifled
Speaker 1: wallet and made of rubbery plastic tubes that your skin
Speaker 1: would get pinched in and leave you with striped marks
Speaker 1: all over your body once you managed to stand up
Speaker 1: out of them. The frames were aluminum that rusted almost
Speaker 1: instantly and buckled when he tried to flip onto your belly.
Speaker 1: I could still remember the clicking sound the hinges made
Speaker 1: as you lowered or lifted the head rest trying to
Speaker 1: get comfortable. I was almost certain though we still had
Speaker 1: all those chairs somewhere in the cottage. Finally I settled
Speaker 1: into my spot and found a flatish patch of grass
Speaker 1: to rest my drink. I took a long, slow breath
Speaker 1: in and let it out. My magazines could wait. I
Speaker 1: wanted to watch the water. There was a light breeze
Speaker 1: to day, and a few boats out, so the surface
Speaker 1: rippled and rose in soft waves. I closed my eyes
Speaker 1: and listened. I could hear water birds calling, the far
Speaker 1: off buzz of a lawnmower, water lapping against boat hulls,
Speaker 1: and high and softer than all of it, the light
Speaker 1: rustle of the breeze, and the leaves. I knew in
Speaker 1: a minute or two that first summer nap of the
Speaker 1: season would swallow me up my doze deeply, happily warm
Speaker 1: and content, and wake to find all the ice cubes
Speaker 1: and my tea melted, and the magazine flapping in the breeze.
Speaker 1: I held on to this moment for just a little longer,
Speaker 1: that sweet feeling of inevitable, heavy sleep coming to restore me.
Speaker 1: A day at the cottage. The cottage was ready for
Speaker 1: the summer. We'd spent a few days cleaning with the
Speaker 1: windows open, and it felt fresh and welcoming again. We
Speaker 1: put clean sheets on the beds and shook out the
Speaker 1: rug in the backyard. We dusted the bookshelves and the
Speaker 1: family photos in their frames. The beach towels had all
Speaker 1: been freshly washed, and we're waiting in a neat stack
Speaker 1: in the closet for their first trip of the summer
Speaker 1: to the water's edge. The key hanging inside the back
Speaker 1: door had been successfully wiggled into the lock on the shed,
Speaker 1: and the lawnmower convinced to start up. The smell of
Speaker 1: fresh cut grass and turned over dirt in the flower
Speaker 1: beds made summer feel real, And from time to time
Speaker 1: I'd stop and look out at the water, at the
Speaker 1: way the sunlight shimmered on the surface, and feel overwhelmed
Speaker 1: with contentment for the season and the place. In the kitchen,
Speaker 1: I'd re stocked the pantry with jars of pickles for
Speaker 1: our sandwiches, jam for our toast, and sauces for all
Speaker 1: the things we'd cook on the grill. Cottages tend to
Speaker 1: get filled up with hand me downs, old dishes that
Speaker 1: don't match or have chips along the rim, threadbare blankets,
Speaker 1: and lamps with wonky shades. When they get replaced elsewhere,
Speaker 1: they show up at the cottage and become precious objects
Speaker 1: again for a whole new reason, because they are a
Speaker 1: part of a beloved place and sweet memories. As I
Speaker 1: cleaned the kitchen, I washed the giant platter that had
Speaker 1: served a thousand summer suppers, the coffee cup that my
Speaker 1: father had always carried out to the water with him
Speaker 1: in the morning, and the tiny juice glasses my grandmother
Speaker 1: had sipped wine from as she sat on the front porch.
Speaker 1: I filled the vases with wild flowers that grew in
Speaker 1: the ditch, and replaced the burnt out light bulb but
Speaker 1: shone over the back steps. And then we were done.
Speaker 1: We were ready to settle into the business of enjoying
Speaker 1: the summer, the water and the sun. I've always loved
Speaker 1: the way we That is, people of all ages recognize
Speaker 1: the importance of napping in the middle of the day
Speaker 1: in the summertime, whether it is on a blanket stretched
Speaker 1: out in the sun, or with a hat tipped over
Speaker 1: your eyes in a lounge chair or under a big
Speaker 1: umbrella in a hammock. At some point on any given
Speaker 1: summer day, the only logical thing to do I sleep.
Speaker 1: And even people who struggle to sit still, who keep
Speaker 1: busy nearly all the time, when they feel that warmth
Speaker 1: and smell the summer air, they start to look for
Speaker 1: a place to stretch out and catch some shut eye.
Speaker 1: I looked forward to all those summer naps that lay
Speaker 1: ahead of me. As I got ready to head to
Speaker 1: the water. I made a glass of cold tea with
Speaker 1: mint leaves and a bit of sugar swirling around the
Speaker 1: ice cubes. I got a few of those clean towels
Speaker 1: from the closet. I laughed as I tucked them under
Speaker 1: my arm. These towels were holding on by a literal thread.
Speaker 1: I remembered wrapping up in them when I was a kid,
Speaker 1: tying the corners around my neck like a superhero's cape,
Speaker 1: and running through the yard my hair still wet from
Speaker 1: my latest cannonball into the water. They were still here,
Speaker 1: and would probably still be here next year. A neighbor
Speaker 1: had dropped off a bundle of magazines on the front steps.
Speaker 1: We shared, sometimes passing them back and forth until we'd
Speaker 1: read them. All. When I took a few with me
Speaker 1: and my sunglasses and made my way over to the water.
Speaker 1: We had an old picnic table that was tilting slowly
Speaker 1: into the ground. It wasn't bad enough that my glass
Speaker 1: of tea would spill, but I added it to my
Speaker 1: mental list for a fix up. I remembered seeing a
Speaker 1: stack of old bricks in the shed and could use
Speaker 1: to brace the legs, hand me downs and fix her uppers.
Speaker 1: That was the cottage. We'd put out a few lounge
Speaker 1: chairs the day before, and I dragged one into the
Speaker 1: shade of a tall beech tree. As I struggled one
Speaker 1: handed to spread my towels over it, I remembered the
Speaker 1: chairs we'd had when I was little. There was one
Speaker 1: that folded flat, though you had to have an engineering
Speaker 1: degree to set it up again. It was made of
Speaker 1: canvas and a wooden frame, and I thought of my
Speaker 1: father flipping the fabric this way and that, sure that
Speaker 1: he had it this time, then trying to sit and
Speaker 1: the whole thing collapsing. Then there were the beach chairs
Speaker 1: my mother and I tried to lay on. They were
Speaker 1: the kind that folded up like a trifol wallet. Their
Speaker 1: seats made of rubbery plastic tubes that your skin would
Speaker 1: get pinched in and leave you with striped marks all
Speaker 1: over your body once you eventually managed to stand up
Speaker 1: out of them. The frames were aluminum that rusted almost
Speaker 1: instantly and buckled when you tried to flip onto your belly.
Speaker 1: I could still remember the clicking sound the hinges made
Speaker 1: as you lowered or lifted the head rest trying to
Speaker 1: get comfortable. I was almost certain, though, that we still
Speaker 1: had all of those chairs somewhere in the cottage. Finally,
Speaker 1: I settled into my spot and found a flatish patch
Speaker 1: of grass to rest my drink. I took a long,
Speaker 1: slow breath and let it out. My magazines could wait.
Speaker 1: I wanted to watch the water. There was a light
Speaker 1: breeze to day and a few boats out, so the
Speaker 1: surface rippled and rose in soft waves. I closed my
Speaker 1: eyes and listened. I could hear water birds calling, the
Speaker 1: far off buzz of a lawnmower, water lapping against boat hulls,
Speaker 1: and high and softer than all of it, the light
Speaker 1: rustle of the breeze in the leaves. I knew in
Speaker 1: a minute or two that first summer nap of the
Speaker 1: season would swallow me up. I doze deeply, happily warm
Speaker 1: and content, and wake to find all the ice cubes
Speaker 1: in my tea melted and the magazines flapping in the breeze.
Speaker 1: I held on to this moment for just a little longer,
Speaker 1: that sweet feeling of inevitable heavy sleep coming to restore
Speaker 1: me sweet dreams.