Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for every one in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I create everything you hear a nothing
Speaker 1: much happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. New show alert.
Speaker 1: It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, and
Speaker 1: it brings our stories out of their sleepy nock and
Speaker 1: into the daylight with lovely soundscapes and the non sleep
Speaker 1: inducing version of my voice. I swear I have one.
Speaker 1: You can soothe anxiety, ground yourself in goodness, and finally
Speaker 1: hear the end of the story. Listen now on your
Speaker 1: favorite podcast app just search Stories from the Village of
Speaker 1: Nothing Much. Our charity this week is Affirmations of Ferndale,
Speaker 1: a charity close to my heart and my home. Affirmations
Speaker 1: works to provide a welcoming space where all lgbt QIA
Speaker 1: plus folks can find support and unconditional acceptance, and where
Speaker 1: they can learn, grow, socialize, and feel safe. We have
Speaker 1: a link to them in our show notes. Now, let
Speaker 1: me say a little about how this works. Maybe you
Speaker 1: have had this experience where you're reading in bed in
Speaker 1: maybe not even a very comfortable position, and you're not
Speaker 1: really taking in what you're reading, but you're pushing your
Speaker 1: eyes along the line of text, and you can't stay awake.
Speaker 1: The book keeps falling in your face. So finally you
Speaker 1: set your book down, turn off the light, and get
Speaker 1: as comfortable as you have ever been, and then you
Speaker 1: can't sleep. What happened in those few seconds is that
Speaker 1: your brain activity shifted from task mode to default mode.
Speaker 1: Just by listening, letting your mind follow along with the
Speaker 1: sound of my voice. With my stories, we will keep
Speaker 1: you in task mode where sleep comes readily. I'll read
Speaker 1: the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the
Speaker 1: second time through. If you wake later in the night
Speaker 1: and you feel that busy brain kick back on, please
Speaker 1: don't hesitate. Just turn a story back on and you
Speaker 1: will drop right back off. Now, lights out, campers, let's
Speaker 1: set up for a good night's sleep. Get comfortable, get
Speaker 1: the right pillow in the right spot, and let your
Speaker 1: whole body relax. Let my voice be like a guardian
Speaker 1: protecting you as you sleep. Take a slow, deep breath
Speaker 1: in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice again,
Speaker 1: fill it up, and let it go good. Our story
Speaker 1: tonight is called lemon, grass and ginger, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about fresh flavors and aromas enjoyed in a cozy kitchen.
Speaker 1: It's also about a cache of cookbooks discovered in the basement,
Speaker 1: the winter sun warming your face, a softer way to
Speaker 1: look at mistakes when you make them, and a quiet,
Speaker 1: clean house on a snowy day. Lemon grass and ginger.
Speaker 1: I'd spent the day packing up Christmas. Now just a
Speaker 1: few more boxes needed to be hauled down to the basement.
Speaker 1: Then the traditional vacuuming of the pine needles could begin
Speaker 1: and the living room would be more or less set
Speaker 1: to rights. I say more or less, because every year
Speaker 1: I seemed to forget to put away at least one thing,
Speaker 1: one decoration that I'd spot a few days later, after
Speaker 1: all the tidying was done and the storage room in
Speaker 1: the basement had been packed up tight. The first year,
Speaker 1: it happened when in nearly February I found a small
Speaker 1: shiny bulb hanging from a leaf on my spider plant.
Speaker 1: I'd huffed in frustration, imagining myself digging through the boxes
Speaker 1: in the basement to put this little one away. Then
Speaker 1: I realized Christmas was in just ten months and that
Speaker 1: it might be nice to keep this pretty ball bout
Speaker 1: till then the next year. It had been a stocking
Speaker 1: that stayed on the mantle all through the seasons. Once
Speaker 1: it was a lone holiday mug that must have been
Speaker 1: in the dishwasher when its fellows went into their box.
Speaker 1: But each time I poured coffee into it, even in
Speaker 1: the muggy days of August, it made me smile. So now,
Speaker 1: as I carried the last box full of the little
Speaker 1: Village that sat under my tree, carefully wrapped in newspapers,
Speaker 1: down to the basement and slid it onto a shelf,
Speaker 1: I knew I was likely missing something, but I was
Speaker 1: actually looking forward to discovering what it might be. While
Speaker 1: I was down there, pushing the boxes around, I stumbled
Speaker 1: upon an old crate full of cook books. It took
Speaker 1: me a few moments to place these where had they
Speaker 1: come from? Then I remembered the neighborhood yard sale the
Speaker 1: summer before. I'd been browsing on the sidewalks, pulling my
Speaker 1: little red wagon behind me, and I stopped at a
Speaker 1: table full of books. I'd bought a few paperbacks that
Speaker 1: were part of a new to me series that I
Speaker 1: was now devoted to, and the neighbors selling them had
Speaker 1: offered to throw in this whole box of cookbooks for free.
Speaker 1: How could I say no? Who knew what culinary delights
Speaker 1: were described in their pages? So I'd plunked the box
Speaker 1: down into my wagon and carted them home, where apparently
Speaker 1: I'd set them on a shelf in the basement and
Speaker 1: promptly forgot and all about them. In the shadowy light
Speaker 1: of the hanging bulb, I couldn't make out their titles
Speaker 1: very clearly, but one in particular felt hefty, and its
Speaker 1: cover had a woven feel that I liked. So I
Speaker 1: plucked it from the box and took it back upstairs
Speaker 1: with me. I laid it on the kitchen table and
Speaker 1: boiled the kettle for a fresh cup of tea. When
Speaker 1: I sat down, dunking my tea bag and spooning in
Speaker 1: a bit of sugar, I took a closer look at
Speaker 1: the cover. I did look a bit familiar, gold letters
Speaker 1: on a red background, an embossed image of a knife,
Speaker 1: fork and spoon. When I thought maybe my grandmother had
Speaker 1: had this book on her kitchen shelf. I sipped my
Speaker 1: tea and began to page through it. As per usual,
Speaker 1: the holidays had been full of wonderful meals, and I
Speaker 1: thoroughly enjoyed myself, but my taste buds felt a little overworked.
Speaker 1: So many rich flavors and heavy dishes that I was
Speaker 1: craving simplicity. Now a literal palate lenser, I looked through
Speaker 1: some recipes for salads and dive and grilled verdicio, shaved carrots,
Speaker 1: and thin sliced apples and pears. That all sounded lovely,
Speaker 1: But what I really needed was something that would warm
Speaker 1: me from the inside out. I flipped to the soup
Speaker 1: section and paged past the chowders and heavy cream varieties.
Speaker 1: Then there it was a winner of a recipe whose
Speaker 1: top corner had been folded over by its previous owner.
Speaker 1: A good sign in a hand me down cook book,
Speaker 1: a lemon grass and ginger soup with a few vegetables
Speaker 1: and a warming but light broth. I set down my
Speaker 1: tea and ran my finger down the list of ingredients
Speaker 1: and found I had everything I needed. Lemon grass wasn't
Speaker 1: a constant staple in my kitchen, but I must have
Speaker 1: had a flash of intuition when I'd been at the
Speaker 1: corner store the day before, I'd seen it beside a
Speaker 1: big hand of ginger, which I thought looked a bit
Speaker 1: like reindeer antlers. I'd reached for the ginger and then
Speaker 1: the lemon grass dogs and noticed how fragrant they were.
Speaker 1: After months of nutmeg and cinnamon, I was ready for
Speaker 1: a change, and these seemed like just the ticket. So
Speaker 1: they'd come home with me now. As I washed my
Speaker 1: hands and tied on my apron, I took them from
Speaker 1: the fridge and set them out on my big chopping block.
Speaker 1: I took my stock pot from the cupboard, propped my
Speaker 1: recipe book beside the stove, and began to cook. I
Speaker 1: bruised the lemon grass with the side of my knife
Speaker 1: to help release the flavor, and peeled the ginger with
Speaker 1: the edge of a spoon. I could get lost and
Speaker 1: chopping and dicing. The steadiness of the task eased the
Speaker 1: chatter in my head, and time passed peacefully. As the
Speaker 1: kitchen began to smell of this delicious soup. I added
Speaker 1: a few vegetables to the broth, brought it to a boil,
Speaker 1: then down to a simmer, and set my spoon on
Speaker 1: my spoon rust at the sink. I washed my cutting
Speaker 1: board and the few dishes I dirtied along the way.
Speaker 1: Then I stood my hip against the counter and looked
Speaker 1: out through the window into the back yard. The afternoon
Speaker 1: sunshine was slanting over the the snow drifts, and when
Speaker 1: I moved a few inches to my right and turned
Speaker 1: my face a bit more, there the light hit me.
Speaker 1: I closed my eyes and I could feel the warmth
Speaker 1: on my face. I just soaked it in for a bit,
Speaker 1: listening to one of the best sounds in the world,
Speaker 1: a simmering pot, and felt my shoulders softening on my back.
Speaker 1: The light changed and I blinked my eyes open to
Speaker 1: see a layer of clouds spreading out over the sky.
Speaker 1: Within a few minutes, flakes were falling and the wind
Speaker 1: was picking up. Ah to be home, tucked in, snug
Speaker 1: and safe. As the snow fell outside a freshly cleaned
Speaker 1: house and a pot of soup, I felt a blooming
Speaker 1: warmth in my chest, gratitude for what I had. The
Speaker 1: wind blew again and I heard a faint jingle from
Speaker 1: the front door. I chuckled, realizing what piece of holiday
Speaker 1: decor had been left out this year. The long strand
Speaker 1: of jingle bells now dancing in the wind well all
Speaker 1: year long, we'd be ringing in the days lemon grass
Speaker 1: and ginger. I'd spent the day packing up Christmas. Now
Speaker 1: just a few more boxes needed to be hauled down
Speaker 1: to the basement. Then the traditional vacuuming of the pine
Speaker 1: needles could begin, and the living room would be more
Speaker 1: or less set to rights. I say more or less,
Speaker 1: because every year I seemed to forget to put away
Speaker 1: at least one thing, one decoration that I'd spot a
Speaker 1: few days later, after all the tidying was done and
Speaker 1: the storage room in the basement had been packed up tight.
Speaker 1: The first year, it had happened when in nearly February
Speaker 1: I found a small, shiny bulb hanging from a leaf
Speaker 1: on my spider plant. I'd huffed in frustration, imagining myself
Speaker 1: digging through the boxes in the basement to put this
Speaker 1: little one away. Then I realized Christmas was only ten
Speaker 1: months off, and that it might be nice to just
Speaker 1: keep this pretty bulb out till then the next year.
Speaker 1: It had been a stocking that stayed on the mantel
Speaker 1: all through the seasons. Once it was a lone holiday
Speaker 1: mug that must have been in the dishwasher when its
Speaker 1: fellows went into the box. But each time I poured
Speaker 1: coffee into it, even in the muggy days of August,
Speaker 1: it had made me smile. So now, as I carried
Speaker 1: the last box full of the little Village that sat
Speaker 1: under my tree, carefully wrapped in newspapers, down to the
Speaker 1: basement and slid it on to a shelf, I knew
Speaker 1: I was likely missing something, but I was actually looking
Speaker 1: forward to discovering what it might be. While I was
Speaker 1: down there, pushing the boxes around, I stumbled upon an
Speaker 1: old crate full of cook books. It took me a
Speaker 1: few moments to place these. Where had they come from? Um?
Speaker 1: Then I remembered the neighborhood yard sail from the summer before.
Speaker 1: I'd been browsing on the sidewalks, pulling my little red
Speaker 1: wagon behind me, and I'd stopped at a table full
Speaker 1: of books. I'd bought a few paper backs that were
Speaker 1: part of a new to me series that I was
Speaker 1: now devoted to, and the neighbor selling them had offered
Speaker 1: to throw in this whole box of cook books for free.
Speaker 1: How could I say no? Who knew what culinary delights
Speaker 1: were described in their pages? So I'd plunked the box
Speaker 1: down into my wagon and carted them home, where apparently
Speaker 1: I'd set them on a shelf in the basement and
Speaker 1: promptly forgotten all about them. In the shadowy light of
Speaker 1: the hanging bulb, I couldn't make out their titles very clearly,
Speaker 1: but one in particular felt hefty, and its cover had
Speaker 1: a woven feel that I liked, so I plucked it
Speaker 1: from the box and took it back upstairs with me.
Speaker 1: I laid it on the kitchen table and boiled the
Speaker 1: kettle for a fresh cup of tea. When I sat down,
Speaker 1: dunking my tea bag and spooning in a bit of sugar,
Speaker 1: I took a closer look at the cover. I did
Speaker 1: look a bit familiar, gold letters on a red background,
Speaker 1: an embossed image of a knife, fork and spoon. I
Speaker 1: thought maybe my grandmother had had this book on her
Speaker 1: kitchen shelf. I sipped my tea and began to page
Speaker 1: through it. As per usual, the holidays had been full
Speaker 1: of wonderful meals, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but my
Speaker 1: taste buds felt a little overworked. So many rich flavors
Speaker 1: and heavy dishes that I was craving simplicity, now a
Speaker 1: literal palate cleanser. I looked through some recipes for salads
Speaker 1: and dive and grilled ridicio shaved carrots, and thin sliced
Speaker 1: apples and pears. That all sounded lovely, but what I
Speaker 1: really needed was something that would warm me from the
Speaker 1: inside out. I flipped to the soup section and paged
Speaker 1: past the chowders and heavy cream varieties. Then there it
Speaker 1: was a winner of a recipe whose top corner had
Speaker 1: been folded over by its previous owner. A good sign
Speaker 1: in a hand me down cookbook, a lemon grass and
Speaker 1: ginger soup with a few vegetables and a warming but
Speaker 1: light broth. I set down my tea and ran my
Speaker 1: finger down the list of ingredients and found I had
Speaker 1: everything I needed. Lemon grass wasn't a constant staple in
Speaker 1: my kitchen, but I must have had a flash of
Speaker 1: intuition when i'd been at the corner store the day before.
Speaker 1: I'd seen it beside a big hand of ginger, which
Speaker 1: I thought looked a bit like reindeer antlers. I'd reached
Speaker 1: for the ginger and then the lemon grass stocks and
Speaker 1: noticed how fragrant they were. After months of nutmeg and cinnamon,
Speaker 1: I was ready for a change, and these seemed like
Speaker 1: just the ticket. So they'd come home with me now.
Speaker 1: As I washed my hands and tied on my apron,
Speaker 1: I took them from the fridge and set them out
Speaker 1: on my big chopping block. I took my stock pot
Speaker 1: from the cupboard, propped my recipe book beside the stove,
Speaker 1: and began to cook. I bruised the lemon grass with
Speaker 1: the side of my knife to help release the flavor,
Speaker 1: and peeled the ginger with the edge of a spoon.
Speaker 1: I could get lost in chopping and dicing. The steadiness
Speaker 1: of the task eased the chatter in my head, and
Speaker 1: time passed peacefully. As the kitchen began to smell of
Speaker 1: this delicious soup. I added a few vegetables to the broth,
Speaker 1: brought it to a boil, then down to a simmer,
Speaker 1: and set my spoon on my spoon rest at the sink.
Speaker 1: I washed my cutting board and the few dishes I
Speaker 1: dirtied along the way. Then I stood my hip against
Speaker 1: the counter and looked out through the window into the backyard.
Speaker 1: The afternoon sunshine was slanting over the snow drifts, and
Speaker 1: when I moved a few inches to my right and
Speaker 1: turned my face a bit more, there the light hit me.
Speaker 1: I closed my eyes and I could feel the warmth
Speaker 1: on my face. I just soaked it in for a bit,
Speaker 1: listening to one of the best sounds in the world,
Speaker 1: a simmering pot. It felt my shoulders softening on my back.
Speaker 1: The light changed and I blinked my eyes open to
Speaker 1: see a layer of clouds spreading out over the sky.
Speaker 1: Within a few minutes, flakes were falling and the wind
Speaker 1: was picking up. Ah to be home, tucked in, snug
Speaker 1: and safe as the snow fell outside a freshly cleaned
Speaker 1: house and a pot of soup. I felt a blooming
Speaker 1: warmth in my chest, gratitude for what I had. The
Speaker 1: wind blew again, and I heard a faint jingle from
Speaker 1: the front door. I chuckled, realizing what piece of holiday
Speaker 1: decor had been left out this year, the long strand
Speaker 1: of jingle bells now dancing in the wind. Well, all
Speaker 1: year long, we'd be ringing in the days. Sweet dreams