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 Catherine Nikolay.
Speaker 1: I write and read all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much happens With audio engineering by Bob Witttersheim. We've
Speaker 1: had a little change to the setup of the show,
Speaker 1: and I just want to alert you. In order to
Speaker 1: keep the show possible, we've had to move our ads
Speaker 1: a few minutes into the actual episode. I know, I
Speaker 1: know I'm not a fan either, but if my options
Speaker 1: are do this or stop doing the show, well you
Speaker 1: can bet I'm going to do this, and I think
Speaker 1: I've designed it in a way that feels pretty organic.
Speaker 1: So I'll walk you through the opening as usual and
Speaker 1: tell you how to use the show, and then we'll
Speaker 1: skip to the show description, that little teaser that tells
Speaker 1: you about our story tonight. Then we'll have our ad break,
Speaker 1: and all ads should be read by me in my
Speaker 1: sleepy voice. In the first few weeks here, there may
Speaker 1: be a few bugs in that system, but I promise
Speaker 1: we're working it out. Then we'll come back. I'll tuck
Speaker 1: you in and we'll take our deep breaths. Okay, on
Speaker 1: with the show. Let me tell you a bit about
Speaker 1: how to use this podcast. It's designed to help you
Speaker 1: quiet down your mind and ease it to sleep, and
Speaker 1: it does that by giving your mind a place to
Speaker 1: rest that isn't the tangle of thoughts you might have
Speaker 1: been caught in all day. The story is simple and
Speaker 1: not much happens in it, and that is sort of
Speaker 1: the idea. Just follow along with my voice and the
Speaker 1: soft details of the story, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed. I'll tell the
Speaker 1: story twice, and the second time through I'll go a
Speaker 1: little slower. We're training your brain along the way, and
Speaker 1: the more you use the stories, the faster you'll settle
Speaker 1: to sleep. So have a bit of patience if you're
Speaker 1: new to this. Our story to night is called a
Speaker 1: New Leaf, and it's a story about starting off the
Speaker 1: year with a fresh book to write your plans in.
Speaker 1: It's also about a memory of something magical, a cup
Speaker 1: of coffee on a cold day, and the pleasure of
Speaker 1: a freshly sharpened pencil.
Speaker 2: Now turn off your light, put away anything you've been
Speaker 2: looking at, and snuggle your body down into your favorite
Speaker 2: sleeping position. Pull the blanket over your shoulder and tuck
Speaker 2: your pillow in just the way you like it. Take
Speaker 2: a deep breath, in through your nose and out through
Speaker 2: your mouth.
Speaker 1: Good.
Speaker 2: Let's do one more in.
Speaker 1: And out good. A new leaf.
Speaker 2: I'm not one for New Year's resolutions, after all, Why
Speaker 2: wait for a specific day on the calendar to start
Speaker 2: something new? All the same, I liked reflecting. I liked
Speaker 2: having time to parse apart a thought or a feeling.
Speaker 2: I liked creating, sketching or writing, and wandering and exploring.
Speaker 2: And the start of a new year was always ripe
Speaker 2: for that. So when I turn over a new leaf,
Speaker 2: it's more literal than figurative. I turned the leaf of
Speaker 2: a new book, or path on the trail, or song
Speaker 2: on the record. This time around, my fresh start was
Speaker 2: all to do with a new planner. I still liked
Speaker 2: a physical paper planner, a pretty book to write out
Speaker 2: my plans in. I liked looking at a whole month
Speaker 2: or week at a time and setting down the dates
Speaker 2: and times when I'd do the things I mean to do.
Speaker 2: Last year's was full. I was out of pages, and
Speaker 2: after a year of being carried in my bag and
Speaker 2: brought out and put away so many times the hard
Speaker 2: bound edges were scuffed, and the ribbon for finding the
Speaker 2: day had been pulled out and lost. So a few
Speaker 2: days after the busyness of Christmas, I'd found myself on
Speaker 2: the street in front of one of my favorite shops,
Speaker 2: looking at the planners in the store window. This little
Speaker 2: shop sells some of the best things. They have shelves
Speaker 2: full of blank journals and note books, just waiting for
Speaker 2: you to write your great novel in. They have stationary
Speaker 2: in a hundred patterns, with envelopes to match. They have
Speaker 2: sealing wax in a hundred colors, and stamps with every letter.
Speaker 2: They have calendars, some silly with cats doing yoga and
Speaker 2: some with the most lovely illustrations of tiny, sweet worlds
Speaker 2: that you can get lost in. And they have planners.
Speaker 2: I stepped in out of the cold and noticed the
Speaker 2: smell of the shop, a bit like a library and
Speaker 2: a bit like a craft room. Actually, it smelled exactly
Speaker 2: like the library in the elementary school I had gone
Speaker 2: to as a child. Have you ever been stopped in
Speaker 2: your tracks by a smell that took you so powerfully
Speaker 2: back in time you had to shake your head to
Speaker 2: clear it. I remembered the worn blue carpeting, the tall
Speaker 2: stacks of books, and the feeling of excitement, wondering what
Speaker 2: was in all of them. I remembered pulling an old
Speaker 2: book off of a shelf in a back corner and
Speaker 2: sliding the card out of the paper pocket inside the
Speaker 2: front cover to see when it had last been checked
Speaker 2: out and by whom. I went to a tiny school,
Speaker 2: and it happened to be the same when my father
Speaker 2: had gone to as a child, And there on the card,
Speaker 2: a few rows from the top in a child's handwriting,
Speaker 2: was his name. I guess in a small school, it
Speaker 2: wasn't such a coincidence that we should pick up the
Speaker 2: same book. But at the time, I remember standing stock
Speaker 2: still on that blue carpet, looking around with wide eyes
Speaker 2: and wondering if the universe was winking at me. I
Speaker 2: smiled at the memory and decided that, along with my planner,
Speaker 2: I would buy a card to send to Dad. I
Speaker 2: started browsing, and before I knew it, I had a
Speaker 2: little pile of goodies, Dad's card, a calend to hang
Speaker 2: in the kitchen, a fresh pack of pencils I could
Speaker 2: hardly wait to sharpen them, A packet of wrigami papers,
Speaker 2: my new planner, which had all the features I liked,
Speaker 2: plus a built in pocket to store some notes, and
Speaker 2: a few pages of stickers in the back. Was I
Speaker 2: too old for stickers, I asked myself. Never I answered,
Speaker 2: And lastly, only one new journal. I had so many,
Speaker 2: and I'd made myself a promise that I wouldn't buy
Speaker 2: anymore till I filled up the old ones. So I
Speaker 2: only got one. A friendly face at the register wrung
Speaker 2: me up and slipped all my purchases into a bag.
Speaker 2: As I stepped back out onto the winter street with it,
Speaker 2: I thought of the projects I could try out in
Speaker 2: the new year, and I walked a few blocks, making
Speaker 2: plans in my head. I walked past a diner with
Speaker 2: booths lining the window and noticed an empty one away
Speaker 2: from the door. Perfect. I slipped in, pointed to a booth,
Speaker 2: and a waitress waved me to it. I ordered a
Speaker 2: cup of coffee and laid my new planner on the
Speaker 2: formica table. I took out my old one, along with
Speaker 2: a new pencil and my sharpener. I had had a
Speaker 2: moment just like this a year ago, the changing of
Speaker 2: the guard. I wrote my name and phone number in
Speaker 2: the new book, slid my flat palm over the fresh
Speaker 2: pages and spun through them, filling in the birthdays and
Speaker 2: appointments and ideas. The waitress came back to warm up
Speaker 2: my coffee, and she smiled down at my scattered books
Speaker 2: and pages. Oh, I love a new planner at New
Speaker 2: Year's she said, me too.
Speaker 1: Who I agreed.
Speaker 2: She went back to her work, and I sipped coffee
Speaker 2: and wrote out Dad's card. I looked through the pages
Speaker 2: of the wall calendar, marveling at the illustrations. I looked
Speaker 2: ahead to next year's Thanksgiving and Christmas, checking where they
Speaker 2: would land, as if I were really planning that far ahead.
Speaker 2: I guess I was just looking for reasons to day
Speaker 2: dream about the year to come. The street was getting
Speaker 2: dark now, and I started packing up my things. The
Speaker 2: waitress dropped off my bill, and as I was taking
Speaker 2: a few dollars out to pay it, I thought suddenly
Speaker 2: about finding my dad's name in that book in the
Speaker 2: library all those years ago, and feeling like it was
Speaker 2: a little present that had been put into my hands.
Speaker 2: I took the blank journal, the one I wasn't supposed
Speaker 2: to buy anyway, and slipped a sheet of stickers into
Speaker 2: the front cover and left it with the money on
Speaker 2: the table and went out. I had written across the bill,
Speaker 2: happy new Year, a new leaf. I'm not one for
Speaker 2: New Year's resolutions, after all, Why wait for a specific
Speaker 2: day on the calendar to start something new? All the same,
Speaker 2: I liked reflecting. I liked having time to parse apart
Speaker 2: a thought or a feeling. And I liked creating, sketching
Speaker 2: or writing and wandering and exploring. And the start of
Speaker 2: a new year was always ripe for that. So when
Speaker 2: I turned over a new leaf, it was more literal
Speaker 2: than figurative. I turned the leaf of a new book,
Speaker 2: or path on the trail, or song on a record.
Speaker 2: This time around, my fresh start was all to do
Speaker 2: with a new planner. I still liked a physical paper planner,
Speaker 2: a pretty book to write out my plans in. I
Speaker 2: like looking at a whole month or week at a
Speaker 2: time and setting down the dates and times of when
Speaker 2: I'll do the things I mean to do. Last years
Speaker 2: was full. I was out of pages, and after a
Speaker 2: year of being carried in my bag and brought out
Speaker 2: and put away so many times, the hard bound edges
Speaker 2: were scuffed and the ribbon for finding the day had
Speaker 2: been pulled out and lost. So a few days after
Speaker 2: the busyness of Christmas, I'd found myself on the street
Speaker 2: in front of one of my favorite shops, looking at
Speaker 2: the planners in the store window. This little shop sells
Speaker 2: some of the best things. They have shelves full of
Speaker 2: blank journals and note books, just waiting for you to
Speaker 2: write your great novel in. They have stationary in a
Speaker 2: hundred patterns, with envelopes to match. They have sealing wax
Speaker 2: in a hundred colors, and stamps with every letter. They
Speaker 2: have calendars, some silly with cats doing yoga, and some
Speaker 2: with the most lovely illustrations of tiny, sweet worlds that
Speaker 2: you can get lost in. And they have planners. I
Speaker 2: stepped in out of the cold and noticed the smell
Speaker 2: of the shop, a bit like a library and a
Speaker 2: bit like a craft rum. Actually, it smelled exactly like
Speaker 2: the library in the elementary school I had gone to
Speaker 2: as a child. Have you ever been stopped in your
Speaker 2: tracks by a smell that took you so powerfully back
Speaker 2: in time you have to shake your head to clear it.
Speaker 2: I remembered the worn blue carpeting, the tall stacks of books,
Speaker 2: and the feeling of excitement, wondering what was in all
Speaker 2: of them. I remembered pulling an old book off of
Speaker 2: a shelf in a back corner and sliding the card
Speaker 2: out of the paper pocket inside the front cover to
Speaker 2: see when it had last been checked out and by whom.
Speaker 2: I went to a tiny school, and it happened to
Speaker 2: be the same one my father had gone to as
Speaker 2: a child, And there on the card, a few rows
Speaker 2: from the top, in a child's handwriting, was his name.
Speaker 2: I guess in a small school, it wasn't such a
Speaker 2: coincidence that we should pick up the same book. But
Speaker 2: at the time, I remember standing stock still on that
Speaker 2: blue carpet, looking around with wide eyes and wondering if
Speaker 2: the universe was winking at me. I smiled at the
Speaker 2: memory and decided that, along with my planner, I would
Speaker 2: buy a card to send to Dad. I started browsing,
Speaker 2: and before I knew it, I had a little pile
Speaker 2: of goodies, Dad's card, a calendar to hang in the kitchen,
Speaker 2: a fresh pack of pencils I could hardly wait to
Speaker 2: sharpen them, a packet of origami papers, my new planner,
Speaker 2: which had all the features I liked, plus a built
Speaker 2: in pocket to store some notes, and a few pages
Speaker 2: of stickers in the back. Was I too old for stickers,
Speaker 2: I asked myself. Never, I answered, And lastly, only one
Speaker 2: new journal. I had so many, and I'd made myself
Speaker 2: a promise that I wouldn't buy any more till I
Speaker 2: filled up the old ones. So I only got one.
Speaker 2: A friendly face at the register wrung me up and
Speaker 2: slipped all my purchases into a bag. As I stepped
Speaker 2: back out onto the winter street with it, I thought
Speaker 2: of the projects I could try out in the new year,
Speaker 2: and I walked a few blocks making plans in my head.
Speaker 2: I walked past a diner with booths lining the windows
Speaker 2: and noticed an empty one away from the door. Perfect.
Speaker 2: I slipped in, pointed to the booth, and a waitress
Speaker 2: waved me to it. I ordered a couple coffee and
Speaker 2: laid my new planner on the formica table. I took
Speaker 2: out my old one, along with a new pencil and
Speaker 2: my sharpener. I'd had a moment just like this a
Speaker 2: year ago, the changing of the guard. I wrote my
Speaker 2: name and phone number into the new book, slid my
Speaker 2: flat palm over the fresh pages, and spun through them.
Speaker 2: Filling in birthdays and appointments and ideas. The waitress came
Speaker 2: back to warm up my coffee, and she smiled down
Speaker 2: at my scattered books and pages. Oh, I love a
Speaker 2: new planner at New Year's, she said, me too, I read.
Speaker 2: She went back to her work, and I sipped coffee
Speaker 2: and wrote out Dad's card. I looked through the pages
Speaker 2: of the wall calendar, marveling at the illustrations. I looked
Speaker 2: ahead to next year's Thanksgiving and Christmas, checking where they
Speaker 2: would land. As if I were really planning that far ahead.
Speaker 2: I guess I was just looking for reasons to daydream
Speaker 2: about the year to come. The street was getting dark now,
Speaker 2: and I started packing my things up. The waitress dropped
Speaker 2: off my bill, and as I was taking out a
Speaker 2: few dollars to pay it, I thought suddenly about finding
Speaker 2: Dad's name in that book in the library all those
Speaker 2: years ago, and feeling like it was a little present
Speaker 2: that had been put into my hands. I took the
Speaker 2: blank journal, the one that I wasn't supposed to buy anyway,
Speaker 2: and slipped a sheet of stickers into the front cover
Speaker 2: and left it with the money on the table and
Speaker 2: went out. I had written across the bill, Happy New Year,
Speaker 2: Sweet dreams,