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 Nikolai. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support.
Speaker 1: Now we need a bridge between our daily lives and
Speaker 1: good sleep, a way to create a little space for
Speaker 1: your mind to rest in. And that's what our stories are.
Speaker 1: There are a soft space to settle. Nothing much happens
Speaker 1: in them. There's nothing to keep track of. Just listen
Speaker 1: and relax, and sleep will come. I'll tell the story twice,
Speaker 1: and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
Speaker 1: If you wake again in the night, you can turn
Speaker 1: a story right back on, or just think through any
Speaker 1: detail from it that you can remember. Doing that shifts
Speaker 1: your brain right back into a place where it will
Speaker 1: fall asleep. Now it's time to set things down and
Speaker 1: switch off the lights. Get your eyemask or your teddy
Speaker 1: bear or your favorite pillow, and get as comfortable as
Speaker 1: you can. Let your muscles soften and your body go heavy.
Speaker 1: Into the bed. I'm taking the next watch, so you
Speaker 1: can let go. Truly you're safe. Take a slow breath
Speaker 1: in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. So relaxed.
Speaker 1: One more breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called The Innkeeper's Blanket, and it's a story about
Speaker 1: a favorite hobby rediscovered in the quiet of winter. It's
Speaker 1: also about a simmering pot in the kitchen, geese gathering
Speaker 1: before they fly, and making something by hand that is
Speaker 1: perfectly imperfect. The Innkeeper's Blanket. It had started as a scarf.
Speaker 1: I hadn't picked up a crochet hook in ages, a decade, maybe,
Speaker 1: But while I was cleaning out a closet on the
Speaker 1: second floor, I'd found a basket full of yarn and
Speaker 1: hooks in several sizes. I had sat right down on
Speaker 1: the stairs and pulled a length of fiber from one
Speaker 1: of the skeins and wondered if my hands still knew
Speaker 1: how to do this. Sure enough, as I tied off
Speaker 1: a loop and poked a hook through it, like riding
Speaker 1: a bike, I quickly crocheted a long chain of simple stitches,
Speaker 1: And as I did, I even said aloud, yarn over
Speaker 1: that I remembered was what my mother had said when
Speaker 1: she'd taught me this first step in the process when
Speaker 1: I was a little girl. I turned the chain around
Speaker 1: and stitched back over it, marveling at how my fingers
Speaker 1: remembered the movements of tucking the hook through the loop,
Speaker 1: wrapping the yarn over, and pulling it back through. When
Speaker 1: I got to the end of the row and went
Speaker 1: to turn it again, I remembered my mother counting out
Speaker 1: three chain stitches before turning, so that the design didn't
Speaker 1: slope at the edges, and I made them myself, counting one, two, three.
Speaker 1: I'd sat there in the dim winter light and held
Speaker 1: the row of stitches out at arm's length to admire it.
Speaker 1: I knew right then I'd found a project for the
Speaker 1: winter months. I tucked my wobbly first attempt back into
Speaker 1: the basket and gone back to my chore at the
Speaker 1: closet that day. After all, I thought that crocheting would
Speaker 1: not be best enjoyed in the chilly hallway sitting on
Speaker 1: a stair, but in front of the fire in the library.
Speaker 1: After my work was done, and I always had a
Speaker 1: good deal of work to do at the inn in
Speaker 1: the off season, when guests were coming and going, as
Speaker 1: they did from late spring to early fall. We could
Speaker 1: keep up with daily room cleaning, the cooking and serving,
Speaker 1: but anything beyond that had to wait, and it waited
Speaker 1: for me and for the winter. I'd done lots already,
Speaker 1: and I didn't mind being alone in the big house.
Speaker 1: I played music to keep me company and worked from
Speaker 1: room to room, deep cleaning, steaming the curtains, polishing the
Speaker 1: wooden banister from the front hall all the way up
Speaker 1: to the attic on the fourth floor. Friends visited now
Speaker 1: and then, and we'd have tea parties in the giant
Speaker 1: ball room. Once a week I went to book club
Speaker 1: at the shop in downtown. I cooked pots of soup
Speaker 1: down in the kitchen and ate pickles from our pantry
Speaker 1: that chef had put up in large batches in the summer.
Speaker 1: And I liked cleaning out the cupboards and closets most
Speaker 1: of all. I'd been the innkeeper here for many years already,
Speaker 1: but I knew that this house still had secrets she
Speaker 1: kept from me. So each winter I'd pick a few
Speaker 1: cubbies and closets and clean them out to their back walls.
Speaker 1: And I always found some interesting things Before I'd come
Speaker 1: upon the basket of yarn. I'd found a stack of
Speaker 1: old board games, the seams of their boxes splitting apart,
Speaker 1: even under a layer of tape that was likely already
Speaker 1: forty years old. The best part had been opening them up,
Speaker 1: taking in their dusty, warm scent, and finding scorecards and
Speaker 1: faded pencil showing who had won a hard fought game
Speaker 1: of cribbage long before I was a twinkle in the
Speaker 1: old house's eye in a box with candlesticks, and for
Speaker 1: some reason, very old tulip bulbs was a stack of menus,
Speaker 1: some even handwritten from fancy dinners held here in the
Speaker 1: inn's earliest years. I'd sent pictures of them to Chaff,
Speaker 1: who was cooking in a ski resort for the winter.
Speaker 1: They'd called me, and we'd spent a silly half hour
Speaker 1: going through each appetizer, entree, and dessert, wondering if our
Speaker 1: modern diners would be interested in any of these very
Speaker 1: vintage flavors. Maybe, We'd said, maybe we could find a
Speaker 1: few choice picks and add them to our rotation in
Speaker 1: the spring. And after days like that, I'd clean up
Speaker 1: and reach for my crochet basket and stretch out on
Speaker 1: the sofa in the library and work away for a while.
Speaker 1: That's how the scarf had turned into a blanket. I'd
Speaker 1: bought some new yarn at the craft shop and a
Speaker 1: bendier hook that felt better in my hands. The owner
Speaker 1: had taken some time to kindly show me a few
Speaker 1: other stitches, and soon I was well on my way
Speaker 1: into my new project. The nice thing about a scarf,
Speaker 1: or even a blanket, is that you don't really need
Speaker 1: a pattern. You just make it. So I'd started stitching
Speaker 1: a long chain and wrapped it around my neck now
Speaker 1: and then till it was as long as I felt
Speaker 1: it should be, then turned it and worked my way
Speaker 1: back across the chain, and so on and so on.
Speaker 1: At some point I realized that I should probably stop.
Speaker 1: It was as wide as it needed to be to
Speaker 1: keep someone's neck and chin warm, but I just didn't
Speaker 1: want to stop. I was having a good time, so
Speaker 1: I kept stitching and turning, counting one, two, three, and
Speaker 1: my scarf was soon halfway to being a good sized blanket.
Speaker 1: I stretched it out over my legs and they kept
Speaker 1: me warm while I worked. The evenings passed and I
Speaker 1: kept stitching. The snow melted and came again, coating the
Speaker 1: gardens with white. The lake froze over completely, and the
Speaker 1: geese gathered and flew off one day, honking their goodbyes.
Speaker 1: I switched from soups to casseroles and simmered a pot
Speaker 1: with lemon peels and rosemary on the stove, and one
Speaker 1: evening my blanket was finally done. Though I'd been careful
Speaker 1: with my stitches, in the end, I came out a
Speaker 1: bit wonky, not so as you'd notice when you were
Speaker 1: suttled up under it. But when I laid it on
Speaker 1: my bed, it had a definite hour glass shape I
Speaker 1: hadn't intended. I felt a bit like the year actually
Speaker 1: a being and flowing full to thin and back again.
Speaker 1: And I decided I liked the organic nature of it.
Speaker 1: It was homemade, and it showed well. I said to myself,
Speaker 1: that settles it. This one is for me. I wouldn't
Speaker 1: give it away. I'd keep it as proof. But even
Speaker 1: when things are imperfect, I can still be warm and enjoyable.
Speaker 1: The Innkeeper's blanket. It had started as a scarf. I
Speaker 1: hadn't picked up a crochet hook in ages, a decade maybe,
Speaker 1: But while I was cleaning out a closet on the
Speaker 1: second floor. I'd found a basket full of yarn and
Speaker 1: hooks and several sizes. I'd sat right down on the
Speaker 1: stairs and pulled a length of fiber from one of
Speaker 1: the skeins and wondered if my hands still knew how
Speaker 1: to do this. Sure enough, as I tied off a
Speaker 1: loop and poked a hook through it, just like riding
Speaker 1: a bike, I quickly made a long chain of simple stitches,
Speaker 1: and as I did, I even said aloud, yarn over.
Speaker 1: That I remembered was what my mother had said when
Speaker 1: she taught me this first step in the process when
Speaker 1: I was a little girl. I turned the chain around
Speaker 1: and stitched over it, marveling at how my fingers remembered
Speaker 1: the movements of tucking the hook through a loop, wrapping
Speaker 1: the yarn over, and pulling it back through. When I
Speaker 1: got to the end of the row and went to
Speaker 1: turn it again, I remembered my mother counting out three
Speaker 1: chain stitches before she turned, so that the design didn't
Speaker 1: slope at the edges, and I made them myself, counting one, two, three.
Speaker 1: I'd sat there in the dim winter light and held
Speaker 1: the row of stitches out at arm's length to it.
Speaker 1: I knew right then I'd found a project for the
Speaker 1: winter months. I tucked my wobbly first attempt back into
Speaker 1: the basket and gone back to my chore at the
Speaker 1: closet that day. After all, I guessed that crocheting would
Speaker 1: not be best enjoyed in the chilli hallway sitting on
Speaker 1: a stair, but in front of the fire in the library.
Speaker 1: After my work was done, and I always had a
Speaker 1: good deal of work to do at the inn in
Speaker 1: the off season, when guests were coming and going as
Speaker 1: they did from late spring to early fall. We could
Speaker 1: keep up with the daily room cleaning, cooking, and serving,
Speaker 1: but anything beyond that had to wait. And it waited
Speaker 1: for me and for the winter. I'd done lots already,
Speaker 1: and I didn't mind being alone in the big house.
Speaker 1: I played music to keep me company and worked from
Speaker 1: room to room, deep cleaning, steaming the curtains, polishing the
Speaker 1: wooden banister from the front hall all the way up
Speaker 1: to the attic on the fourth floor. Friends visited now
Speaker 1: and then, had we'd had tea parties in the giant
Speaker 1: ball room. Once a week I went to book club
Speaker 1: at the shop in downtown. I cooked pots of soup
Speaker 1: down in the kitchen and ate pickles from our pantry
Speaker 1: the chef had put up in large batches in the summer,
Speaker 1: And I liked cleaning out the cupboards and closets most
Speaker 1: of all. I'd been the innkeeper here for many years already,
Speaker 1: but I knew that this house still had secrets she
Speaker 1: kept from me. So each winter I'd pick a few
Speaker 1: cubbies and closets and clean them out to their back walls,
Speaker 1: and I always found some interesting things. Before i'd come
Speaker 1: upon the basket of yarn, I'd found a stack of
Speaker 1: old board games, the seams of their boxes splitting apart,
Speaker 1: even under a layer of tape that was likely already
Speaker 1: forty years old. The best part had been opening them up,
Speaker 1: taking in their dusty, warm scent, and finding score cards
Speaker 1: in faded pencil showing who had won a hard fought
Speaker 1: game of cribbage. Long before I was a twinkle in
Speaker 1: the old house's eye. In a box with candlesticks, and
Speaker 1: for some reason very old tulip bulbs, was a stack
Speaker 1: of menus. Some were even handwritten from fancy dinners held
Speaker 1: here in the inn's earliest years. I'd sent pictures of
Speaker 1: them to chef who was cooking at a ski resort
Speaker 1: for the winter. They'd called me, and we'd spent a
Speaker 1: silly half hour going through each appetizer, entree, and dessert,
Speaker 1: wondering if our modern diners would be interested in any
Speaker 1: of these very vintage flavors. Maybe, we'd said, maybe we
Speaker 1: could find a few choice picks and add them to
Speaker 1: our rotation in the spring. After days like that, I'd
Speaker 1: clean up and reach for my crochet basket and stretch
Speaker 1: out on the sofa in the library and work away
Speaker 1: for a while. That's how the scarf had turned into
Speaker 1: a blanket. I'd bought some new yarn at the craft
Speaker 1: shop and a bend your hook that felt better in
Speaker 1: my hands. The owner had taken some time to kindly
Speaker 1: show me a few other stitches, and soon I was
Speaker 1: well on my way into my new project. A nice
Speaker 1: thing about a scarf, or even a blanket, is that
Speaker 1: you don't really you need a pattern. You just make it.
Speaker 1: So I'd started stitching long chain and wrapped it around
Speaker 1: my neck now and then till it was as long
Speaker 1: as I felt it should be, then turned it and
Speaker 1: worked my way back across, and so on and so on.
Speaker 1: At some point I realized that I should probably stop.
Speaker 1: It was as wide as it needed to be to
Speaker 1: keep someone's neck and chin warm, but I just didn't
Speaker 1: want to stop. I was having a good time, so
Speaker 1: I kept stitching and turning, counting one, two, three, and
Speaker 1: my scarf was soon halfway to being a good sized blanket.
Speaker 1: I stretched it out over my legs and it kept
Speaker 1: me warm while I worked. The evenings passed. When I
Speaker 1: kept stitching, the snow melted and came again, coating the
Speaker 1: gardens with white. The lake froze over completely, and the
Speaker 1: geese gathered and flew off one day, honking their goodbyes.
Speaker 1: I switched from soups to casseroles and simmered a pot
Speaker 1: with lemon peels and rosemary on the stove, and one
Speaker 1: evening my blanket was finally done. Though I'd been careful
Speaker 1: with my stitches, in the end, it came out a
Speaker 1: bit wonky, not so as you'd notice when you were
Speaker 1: cuddled up under it, But when I laid it out
Speaker 1: on my bed, it had a definite hour glass shape
Speaker 1: that I hadn't intended. Felt a bit like the year
Speaker 1: actually ebbing and flowing full to thin and back again.
Speaker 1: And I decided. I liked the organic nature of it.
Speaker 1: It was handmade, and it showed well. I said to myself,
Speaker 1: that settles it. This one is for me. I wouldn't
Speaker 1: give it away. I'd keep it as proof that even
Speaker 1: when things are imperfect, they can still be warm and enjoyable.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams.