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 Katherine Nikolay. 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 let me tell you a bit about how to
Speaker 1: use this podcast. It's designed to help you quiet down
Speaker 1: your mind and ease in to sleep. It does that
Speaker 1: by giving your mind a place to rest that isn't
Speaker 1: the tangle of thoughts you might have been caught in
Speaker 1: all day. The story is simple and not much happens
Speaker 1: in it, So just follow along with my voice and
Speaker 1: the soft details of the story, and before you know it,
Speaker 1: you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed and recharged. I'll
Speaker 1: tell the story twice, and the second time through I'll
Speaker 1: go a little slower. We're training your brain along the way,
Speaker 1: and the more you use the stories, the faster you'll
Speaker 1: settle and sleep. So have a bit of patience if
Speaker 1: you are new to this. Our story to night is
Speaker 1: called clean Slate, and it's a story about a room
Speaker 1: of one's own. It's also about a jade plant on
Speaker 1: a window sill, a bit of still useful old technology,
Speaker 1: and figuring out what's worth keeping and what's not. Now
Speaker 1: turn off your light, put away anything you've been looking at,
Speaker 1: and snuggle your body down into your favorite sleeping position.
Speaker 1: Pull the blanket over your shoulder and tuck your pillow
Speaker 1: in just the way you like it. If you tend
Speaker 1: to clench your jaw when you sleep, place the tip
Speaker 1: of your tongue at the spot where your top teeth
Speaker 1: meet the gums on the inside. This will help to
Speaker 1: keep your jaw relaxed. Now, take a deep breath in
Speaker 1: through your nose and out through your mouth. Let's do
Speaker 1: one more in and out. Good clean slate. It was
Speaker 1: a plan I'd had for a while to clean out
Speaker 1: that back room, the one that was full of possibility
Speaker 1: but also full of random clutter, and make it into
Speaker 1: a space for myself. I'd started a few weeks ago,
Speaker 1: sorting through boxes and rehoming the mismatched lamps and forgotten
Speaker 1: things that ended up there just because we didn't know
Speaker 1: what to do with them at the time. Sometimes we
Speaker 1: do that, don't we. Something lands in our hands or
Speaker 1: our hearts, and we don't know where to put it,
Speaker 1: how to let go of it, so we stash it
Speaker 1: for another day. But even behind a closed door, it
Speaker 1: can tug at you. You might be able to walk
Speaker 1: past it for weeks or even months, but at some
Speaker 1: point the day comes that you say enough, I want
Speaker 1: this space back. So I'd been adamant a box or
Speaker 1: two a day, sorting out the things I wanted and
Speaker 1: letting go of the things I didn't, And soon I
Speaker 1: had a clean, empty space. I'd even vacuumed into the corners,
Speaker 1: had gotten the ancient bobby pins and paper clips out
Speaker 1: from between the planks and the floor. I dusted down
Speaker 1: the floorboards and polished the window panes till they sparkled,
Speaker 1: and for a bit I just enjoyed the emptiness. It
Speaker 1: felt RESTful to me. I'd seen an article once. The
Speaker 1: headline had made me laugh. It said seventy five ways
Speaker 1: to simplify your life. Seventy five seemed like much too
Speaker 1: high a number to result in the simplification of anything,
Speaker 1: but the gist of all those words could be boiled
Speaker 1: down to these. Figure out what matters to you. Let
Speaker 1: go of the rest and I supposed before I put
Speaker 1: things back into this clean, quiet room, I wanted to
Speaker 1: have a clear idea of what mattered. I wanted a
Speaker 1: space for my watercolors, my easel, and my canvasses. A
Speaker 1: desk to lay my sketch pad on neat drawers to
Speaker 1: organize my pencils and sticks of charcoal. I wanted a
Speaker 1: place to keep my favorite books, the ones I re
Speaker 1: read often depending on the season and the changing temperament
Speaker 1: of my heart. Someplace comfortable to curl up to read
Speaker 1: or nap or daydream. Some things to inspire me, some
Speaker 1: things to calm me, something to remind me of where
Speaker 1: I had been, and others to spur me toward where
Speaker 1: I might go. I started with a rug, rolling it
Speaker 1: out over the oak floor. It was woven with warm
Speaker 1: fibers and shades of cerulean and aureate that would keep
Speaker 1: the chill from my feet on cold days. I turned
Speaker 1: it this way and that till I found the right
Speaker 1: spot for it. Then, and with a bit of help,
Speaker 1: brought in my desk. I'd found it in the antique
Speaker 1: shop downtown, and I'd been carefully cleaning it, brightening up
Speaker 1: the wood with polish and shining up the drawer poles.
Speaker 1: The style was called a secretary desk. It had a
Speaker 1: hinged panel that lowered down in the front to create
Speaker 1: a level work surface, cubbies and small drawers just the
Speaker 1: size for my supplies, a hollowed out space to lay
Speaker 1: your pencil in, and when you folded it up you
Speaker 1: could lock it with a tiny key. When I'd found
Speaker 1: it in the shop, the key was missing, and I
Speaker 1: was a bit heartbroken over it. Keys fall into that
Speaker 1: category of objects that for me hold a bit of
Speaker 1: magic in them, and even though I had no reason
Speaker 1: or need to lock up my desk, I wanted it
Speaker 1: all the same. The shopkeeper, hearing my disappointment, reached up
Speaker 1: onto a shelf behind his register and pulled down a
Speaker 1: box full of old keys. He explained that most of
Speaker 1: these antique locks were built around only a few styles
Speaker 1: or cuts, and with a little trial an air, we
Speaker 1: were sure to find one that fit. He tipped the
Speaker 1: box out on to the counter and we poked through
Speaker 1: the dozens of brass and iron openers. With each one
Speaker 1: I touched, I wondered what lock it had originally fitted into,
Speaker 1: and whose secrets and treasured items it had protected. And
Speaker 1: how all of those stories had ended. Finally we found
Speaker 1: a small key with an irridescent greenish patina, he guessed
Speaker 1: must be made of copper. It smoothly turned the lock,
Speaker 1: and since then I threaded a green ribbon through its
Speaker 1: bow and had it ready in my pocket. I took
Speaker 1: my time filling the drawers, thinking about where I would
Speaker 1: want everything for ease of use when I was sketching
Speaker 1: or writing. My boxes of colored pencils, my sharpener, my
Speaker 1: sealing wax and stamps. They all fit with a curious
Speaker 1: exactness into the drawers. I slid a fresh journal into
Speaker 1: one of the cubbies and laid a just sharpened pencil
Speaker 1: in the groove, and lifted the lid into place. I
Speaker 1: turned the key in the lock and left it there,
Speaker 1: the ribbon showing against the warm polished wood. Next, I
Speaker 1: set an old fashioned dusk lamp on the top ledge
Speaker 1: of the secretary, the kind with a green glass shade
Speaker 1: and pole chain, already looking forward to the sun setting
Speaker 1: to needing to pull it, and enjoying the pool of
Speaker 1: light it would cast. Then we brought in a sweet
Speaker 1: little love seat that had been hanging out unused in
Speaker 1: an odd corner of the house for years. It had
Speaker 1: a single arm and a curving retro shape that seemed
Speaker 1: designed for just one person to stretch out on, and
Speaker 1: that made it perfect for this room. I added a
Speaker 1: small table to rest my future cups of tea on
Speaker 1: and plumped the cushions on the sofa. I bought myself
Speaker 1: a new and incredibly soft throw and draped it over
Speaker 1: the arm. Next, I set up my easel by the
Speaker 1: window to catch the morning light. I had a collection
Speaker 1: of photos and illustrations, as well as the first full
Speaker 1: paintings I'd ever done, that had been waiting their turn
Speaker 1: gathering dust in a closet, and now I framed them
Speaker 1: all and hung them over my love seat. I'd had
Speaker 1: these pieces because I liked them. I wanted to look
Speaker 1: at them. Why had they spent so much time in
Speaker 1: the dark. That clutter of stuff hadn't left room for
Speaker 1: the things I loved. I made a quiet promise to
Speaker 1: myself that this room would only house things that were
Speaker 1: useful or beautiful or both. I added a book shelf
Speaker 1: and filled most of it with my well loved favorites,
Speaker 1: but saved one shelf for new books. I checked out
Speaker 1: a few from the library this week, just to slide
Speaker 1: on to this shelf and have something undiscovered to look
Speaker 1: forward to. On the window sill, I set out a
Speaker 1: small pot with a young jade plant that I'd propagated
Speaker 1: from one that sat on my mother's window sill. She
Speaker 1: told me that these thick leaved succulents were symbols of
Speaker 1: fresh growth and prosperity. Finally, I put out a candle
Speaker 1: on top of the desk. It smelled a vedever and cedar.
Speaker 1: In that same antique shop, I'd also found a small
Speaker 1: round pot. It looked like an ink well that was
Speaker 1: made of rough ceramic and stenciled in bright blue ink
Speaker 1: against the white stoneware was the name of a hotel
Speaker 1: in Morocco. The shop keeper took a green tipped match
Speaker 1: from his pocket and struck it against the rough surface
Speaker 1: of the pot, and the match crackled into life. Useful
Speaker 1: and beautiful. Check It went on to the desk beside
Speaker 1: the candle, and I filled its blue rimmed pot with
Speaker 1: the special tipped matches I bought at the drug store.
Speaker 1: I struck a match, I lit the candle, I turned
Speaker 1: the key and opened the desk and slid the blank
Speaker 1: journal out, I picked up my pencil. It was easy
Speaker 1: now to remember what mattered to me. It felt like
Speaker 1: it would be easier going forward to let go of
Speaker 1: everything else. I started to draw clean slate. It was
Speaker 1: a plan I'd had for a while to clean out
Speaker 1: that back room, the one that was full of possibility
Speaker 1: but also full of random clutter, and make it a
Speaker 1: space for myself. I started a few weeks ago, sorting
Speaker 1: through boxes and rehoming the mismatched lamps and forgotten things
Speaker 1: that had ended up here just because we didn't know
Speaker 1: what to do with them at the time. Sometimes we
Speaker 1: do that, don't we Something lands in our hands or
Speaker 1: our hearts, and we don't know where to put it,
Speaker 1: how to let it go, so we stash it for
Speaker 1: another day. But even behind a closed door, it can
Speaker 1: tug at you. You might be able to walk past
Speaker 1: it for weeks, even months, but at some point the
Speaker 1: day comes when you say enough, I want this space back.
Speaker 1: So I'd been adamant a box or two a day,
Speaker 1: sorting out the things I wanted and letting go of
Speaker 1: the things I didn't, and soon I had a clean,
Speaker 1: empty space. I'd even vacuumed into the corners and gotten
Speaker 1: the ancient bobby pins and paper clips out from between
Speaker 1: the planks in the floor. I dusted down the floorboards
Speaker 1: and polished the window panes till they sparkled, and for
Speaker 1: a bit I just enjoyed the emptiness. It felt RESTful
Speaker 1: to me. I'd seen an article once. The headline had
Speaker 1: made me laugh. It said seventy five ways to simplify
Speaker 1: your life. Seventy five seemed like much too high a
Speaker 1: number to result in the simplification of anything, But the
Speaker 1: gist of all those words could be boiled down to these.
Speaker 1: Figure out what matters to you, let go of the rest,
Speaker 1: and I supposed before I put things back into this clean,
Speaker 1: quiet room, I wanted to have a clear idea of
Speaker 1: what mattered. I wanted a space for my water colors,
Speaker 1: my easel, and my canvasses, a desk to lay my
Speaker 1: sketch pad on neat drawers to organize my pencil and
Speaker 1: sticks of charcoal. I wanted a place to keep my
Speaker 1: favorite books, the ones I reread the most depending on
Speaker 1: the season and the changing temperament of my heart. I
Speaker 1: needed someplace comfortable to curl up to read or nap
Speaker 1: or daydream. I needed some things to inspire me, some
Speaker 1: things to calm me, something to remind me of where
Speaker 1: I had been, and something to spur me toward where
Speaker 1: I might go. I started with a rug, rolling it
Speaker 1: out over the oak floor. It was woven with warm
Speaker 1: fibers in shades of cerulean, an aureate that would keep
Speaker 1: the chill from my feet on cold days. I turned
Speaker 1: it this way and that till I found the right
Speaker 1: spot for it. Then, and with a bit of help,
Speaker 1: brought in my desk. I'd found it in the antique
Speaker 1: shop downtown, and I'd been carefully cleaning it, brightening up
Speaker 1: the wood with polish, and shining up the drawer poles.
Speaker 1: The style was called a secretary desk. It had a
Speaker 1: hinged panel that lowered down in the front to create
Speaker 1: a level work surface, cubbies and small drawers just the
Speaker 1: size for my supplies, hollowed out space to lay your
Speaker 1: pencil in, and when it folded up you could lock
Speaker 1: it with a tiny key. When I'd found it in
Speaker 1: the shop, the key was missing, and I was a
Speaker 1: bit heart broken over it. Keys fall into that category
Speaker 1: of objects that for me hold a bit of magic
Speaker 1: in them. And even though I had no reason or
Speaker 1: need to lock up my desk. I wanted it all
Speaker 1: the same. The shopkeeper, hearing my disappointment, reached up onto
Speaker 1: a shelf behind his register and pulled down a box
Speaker 1: full of old keys. He explained that most of these
Speaker 1: antique locks were built around only a few styles of cuts,
Speaker 1: and with a little trial and error, we were sure
Speaker 1: to find one that fit. He tipped the box out
Speaker 1: on to the counter and we poked through the dozens
Speaker 1: of brass and iron openers. With each one I touched,
Speaker 1: I wondered what lock it had originally fitted into, and
Speaker 1: whose secrets and treasured items it had protected, and how
Speaker 1: all those stories had ended. Finally, we found a small
Speaker 1: key with an iridescent greenish patina he guessed must be
Speaker 1: made of copper. It smoothly turned the lock, and since
Speaker 1: then I had threaded a green ribbon through its bow
Speaker 1: and had it ready in my pocket. I took my
Speaker 1: time filling the drawers, thinking about where I would want
Speaker 1: everything for ease of use when I was sketching or writing.
Speaker 1: My boxes of colored pencils, my sharpener, my ceiling wax
Speaker 1: and stamps. They all fit with a curious exactness into
Speaker 1: the drawers. I pushed a fresh journal into one of
Speaker 1: the cubbies and laid a just sharpened pencil in the
Speaker 1: groove and lifted the lid into place. I turned the
Speaker 1: key in the lock and left it there, the ribbon
Speaker 1: showing against the warm, polished wood. Next, I set an
Speaker 1: old fashioned desk lamp on the top ledge of the secretary,
Speaker 1: the kind with a green glass shade and pull chain,
Speaker 1: all ready looking forward to the sun setting to needing
Speaker 1: to pull it, and enjoying the pool of light it
Speaker 1: would cast. Then we brought in a sweet little love
Speaker 1: seat that had been hanging out unused in an odd
Speaker 1: corner of the house for years. It had a single
Speaker 1: arm and a curving retro shape that seemed designed for
Speaker 1: just one person to stretch out on, and that made
Speaker 1: it perfect for this room. I added a small table
Speaker 1: to rest my future cups of tea on and plumped
Speaker 1: the cushions on the sofa. I'd bought myself a new
Speaker 1: and incredibly soft throw and draped it over the arm. Next,
Speaker 1: I set up my easel by the window to catch
Speaker 1: the natural light. I had a collection of photos and illustrations,
Speaker 1: as well as the first full painting I'd ever done.
Speaker 1: They'd all been waiting their turn gathering dust in a closet,
Speaker 1: and now I framed them all and hung them over
Speaker 1: my love seat. I'd had these pieces because I liked them.
Speaker 1: I wanted to look at them. Why had they spent
Speaker 1: so much time in the dark? That clutter of stuff
Speaker 1: hadn't left room for the things I loved. I made
Speaker 1: a quiet promise to myself that this room would only
Speaker 1: house things that were useful or beautiful, or both. I
Speaker 1: added a bookshelf and filled most of it with my
Speaker 1: well loved favorites, but saved one shelf for new books.
Speaker 1: I checked out a few from the library this week,
Speaker 1: just to slide onto this shelf and have something undiscovered
Speaker 1: to look forward to. On the window sill, I set
Speaker 1: out a small pot with a young jade plant that
Speaker 1: I'd propagated from one that sat on my mother's window sill.
Speaker 1: She told me that these thick leaved succulents were cymbals
Speaker 1: a fresh growth and prosperity. Finally, I set out a
Speaker 1: candle on top of the desk. It smelled a vettever
Speaker 1: and cedar. In that same antique shop, I'd also found
Speaker 1: a small round pot. It looked like an ink well,
Speaker 1: but was made of rough ceramic and stenciled in bright
Speaker 1: blue ink against the white stoneware with the name of
Speaker 1: a hotel in Morocco. The shopkeeper took a green tipped
Speaker 1: match from his pocket and struck it against the rough
Speaker 1: surface of the pot, and the match crackled into life.
Speaker 1: Useful and beautiful. Check. It went onto the desk beside
Speaker 1: the candle, and I filled its blue rimmed pot with
Speaker 1: the special tipped matches I bought at the drug store.
Speaker 1: I struck a match, I lit the candle. I turned
Speaker 1: the key and opened the desk and took the blank
Speaker 1: journal out. I picked up my pencil. It was easy
Speaker 1: now to remember what mattered to me. It felt like
Speaker 1: it would be easier going forward, to let go of
Speaker 1: everything else. I started to draw sweet dreams.