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 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: I have a story to tell you, and this story
Speaker 1: exists to give you a calm, happy place to rest
Speaker 1: your mind. It's like a nest to settle your fluttering
Speaker 1: self into. And here's how it'll work. I'll read our
Speaker 1: story twice and I'll go a bit lower the second
Speaker 1: time through. You just follow along with the sound of
Speaker 1: my voice and the simple details of the story. Before
Speaker 1: you know it, your thinking mind will be rocked to sleep,
Speaker 1: and you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed. If you
Speaker 1: wake in the middle of the night, revisit any details
Speaker 1: you can remember, and you'll fall right back to sleep.
Speaker 1: We're creating some habits here. An habit building takes a
Speaker 1: bit of practice, so have some patience if you are
Speaker 1: new to this. Our story tonight is called Fog and Light,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about a day of simple pleasures
Speaker 1: meant to clear out the winter blues. It's also about
Speaker 1: a little girl in a red hat, the Latin for
Speaker 1: rare flowers, and good advice from an old friend. Now
Speaker 1: it's time to close everything up. Turn off your light,
Speaker 1: snuggle your body down into your favorite sleeping position, pull
Speaker 1: the blanket over your shoulder, and tuck your pillow in
Speaker 1: just the way you like it. Take a deep breath,
Speaker 1: in through your nose and out through your mouth. Good,
Speaker 1: let's do that one more time, in and out. Fog
Speaker 1: and light. A foggy day, and the street lights, still
Speaker 1: lit from the night before, glowed in pockets of patchy
Speaker 1: yellow on the avenues. I was walking rain boots, splashing
Speaker 1: through the puddles of melting snow, on my way to
Speaker 1: a favorite coffee shop. The gray, wet weather had been
Speaker 1: laying me low, but I had a plan for lifting
Speaker 1: my spirits, and coffee was just the start of it,
Speaker 1: though an important part none the less. It was a little,
Speaker 1: funny shaped space of bricks and old wood wedged into
Speaker 1: the front corner of a busy building. I served just
Speaker 1: a few things, teas and coffees, and on the counter
Speaker 1: there was a cake stand with wedges of cake or
Speaker 1: or muffins tucked under a huge glass stome. The bell
Speaker 1: over the door rang as I stepped in, and I
Speaker 1: got in line behind a little girl wearing a red
Speaker 1: winter cap, with her hand in the hand of her mother.
Speaker 1: She turned and looked up at me, mouth agape, curious,
Speaker 1: with eyes wide. She was out on a school day
Speaker 1: and glimpsing the busy world of adults that she rarely saw.
Speaker 1: I smiled at her, and she turned around fast, suddenly shy.
Speaker 1: I wondered if she'd had to go to the dentist
Speaker 1: or the doctor, so missed school and now was being
Speaker 1: taken out for a treat. Her mother ordered her a
Speaker 1: hot chocolate too hot, and a cookie from under the
Speaker 1: glass dome. She carried her cookie purposefully to a little
Speaker 1: table in the corner and sat down waiting for her drink,
Speaker 1: and pointed out the window and a man walking a dog,
Speaker 1: calling to her Mamma that the dog had spots and
Speaker 1: a red collar like kitty. Already, I was feeling better
Speaker 1: when it was my turn to order. I asked for
Speaker 1: a simple espresso and slid down the bar to wait
Speaker 1: for it. I love lingering over a big cup of
Speaker 1: coffee or tea. But the rich taste of properly made
Speaker 1: Italian espresso could cut through any gray mood and have
Speaker 1: me imagining myself in sunny campagna on a fine spring day.
Speaker 1: And this little shop did make it properly. It was
Speaker 1: served up in a tiny white cup and saucer, with
Speaker 1: barely more than three SIPs inside an impossibly small spoon
Speaker 1: resting in the saucer to stir in the sugar, and
Speaker 1: beside it a small glass of fizzy mineral water. A
Speaker 1: cup had come out of a warmer so as I
Speaker 1: lifted it to breathe in the smell, the ceramic was
Speaker 1: warm on my lips. First, just smell with eyes closed,
Speaker 1: Then a slow sip and let it rest on your tongue.
Speaker 1: It was dark and strong, without being bitter or burnt,
Speaker 1: and I let it sink through my system and store me.
Speaker 1: I drank down my mineral water, dropped another dollar in
Speaker 1: the tip jar, and ducked back out into the fog.
Speaker 1: I checked in on how my plan was going, so far,
Speaker 1: so good. I'd had a cup of something delicious, and
Speaker 1: I'd watched a little girl's face when she saw a dog.
Speaker 1: My light was already burning brighter. The next step of
Speaker 1: my plan took me through the sodden park with ducks
Speaker 1: waddling across the paths, and around the tiny amphitheater where
Speaker 1: I had sat for summer concerts the year before, to
Speaker 1: a very special place that seemed like a miracle to
Speaker 1: find in a busy city. Was domed and glass and
Speaker 1: reminded me for a moment of the cake stand at
Speaker 1: the coffee shop. I stood and just looked for a bit,
Speaker 1: turning my head from side to side to see how
Speaker 1: the fog was clinging to the trees. How thick it
Speaker 1: seemed like a shawl I was pulling around the park.
Speaker 1: Was I pulling it? I shook my head at my
Speaker 1: fancy and pulled open the heavy glass door and let
Speaker 1: the hot, humid air hit my face and neck. This
Speaker 1: little glass building held a hundred varieties of orchids. I
Speaker 1: stood still in the entryway, closed my eyes, and breathed
Speaker 1: in the smell of warm earth and the rich vanilla
Speaker 1: scent of the blooms. I hung my coat unkneaded now
Speaker 1: on a hook by the door, and started to wind
Speaker 1: my way through the paths of flowers. The warm human
Speaker 1: air felt soft in my lungs, and the colors and
Speaker 1: shapes of the orchids, their varied climbing tendrils and lush petals,
Speaker 1: pushed all thought from my head. I just looked and
Speaker 1: tried not to touch, and enjoyed. I read their names
Speaker 1: as I moved through, and said them slowly, trying to
Speaker 1: make them stick. Mastivilia, brassavola, nodosa, Maxillaria vanda, Corellia zypcosis,
Speaker 1: and rncho stillis. I'd had a friend years ago who
Speaker 1: had lived a long life and was in her final years.
Speaker 1: She'd loved orchids, and when I would come to visit,
Speaker 1: she would show me her collection. She confessed that she
Speaker 1: never really mastered the art of keeping them alive past
Speaker 1: the loss of their first blooms. Oh well, she shrugged,
Speaker 1: I love them, so I just buy more, and I'll
Speaker 1: keep at it as long as I'm alive. And she had.
Speaker 1: I thought that she would have loved this place, and
Speaker 1: tried looking at the blooms for her in her place,
Speaker 1: as if she could perceive the pleasure of it through me.
Speaker 1: I'd learned from her example and kept myself supplied with
Speaker 1: the small pleasures that made my days a bit sweeter,
Speaker 1: a tiny cup of espresso, a pair of rain boots
Speaker 1: to splash through puddles, and days like this planned to
Speaker 1: lift a sometimes heavy heart. Leaving the tiny conservatory, zipping
Speaker 1: up my coat in the cooler air, I noticed the
Speaker 1: fog was lifting. There was brightness, a hint of yellow
Speaker 1: in the sky above me. I slid my hands into
Speaker 1: my pockets and found in one a peppermint lip bomb,
Speaker 1: and in the other a tin box of cinnamon mintce.
Speaker 1: So many small pleasures to dip in to, even while
Speaker 1: we waited for the first flush of the coming spring,
Speaker 1: fog and light. A foggy day, and the street lights,
Speaker 1: still lit from the night before, glowed in pockets of
Speaker 1: patchy yellow on the avenues. I was walking, rain boots,
Speaker 1: splashing through the puddles of melting snow, on my way
Speaker 1: to a favorite coffee shop. The gray, wet weather had
Speaker 1: been laying me low, but I had a plan for
Speaker 1: lifting my spirits, and coffee was just the start of it,
Speaker 1: though an important part none the less. It was a
Speaker 1: funny shaped space of bricks and old wood, wedged into
Speaker 1: the front corner of a busy building. It served just
Speaker 1: a few things, teas and coffees, and on the counter
Speaker 1: there was a cake stand with wedges of cake or
Speaker 1: cookies or muffins tucked under a huge glass dome. The
Speaker 1: bell over the door rang as I stepped in, and
Speaker 1: I got in line behind a little girl wearing a
Speaker 1: red winter cap, with her hand in the hand of
Speaker 1: her mother. She turned and looked at me, mouth agape, curious,
Speaker 1: with eyes wide. She was out on a school day
Speaker 1: and glimpsing the busy world of adults that she rarely saw.
Speaker 1: I smiled at her, and she turned round fast, suddenly shy.
Speaker 1: I wondered if she'd had to go to the dentist
Speaker 1: or the doctor, so missed school and now was being
Speaker 1: taken out for a treat. Her mother ordered her a
Speaker 1: hot chocolate not too hot, and a cookie from under
Speaker 1: the glass dome. She carried her cookie purposefully to a
Speaker 1: little table in the corner and sat down waiting for
Speaker 1: her drink, and pointed out the window at a man
Speaker 1: walking a dog, calling to her Mamma that the dog
Speaker 1: had spots and a red collar like kitty. Already, I
Speaker 1: was feeling better when it was my turn to order.
Speaker 1: I asked for a simple espresso and slid down the
Speaker 1: bar to wait for it. I love lingering over a
Speaker 1: big cup of coffee or tea, but the rich taste
Speaker 1: of properly made Italian espresso could cut through any gray mood,
Speaker 1: me imagining myself in sunny campagna on a fine spring day,
Speaker 1: and this little shop did make it properly. It was
Speaker 1: served up in a tiny white cup and saucer, with
Speaker 1: barely more than three SIPs inside an impossibly small spoon
Speaker 1: resting in the saucer to stir in the sugar, and
Speaker 1: beside it a small glass of fizzy mineral water. A
Speaker 1: cup had come out of a warmer so as I
Speaker 1: lifted it to breathe in the smell, the ceramic was
Speaker 1: warm on my lip first, just smell with eyes closed,
Speaker 1: and a slow sip and let it rest on your tongue.
Speaker 1: It was dark and strong, without being bitter or burnt,
Speaker 1: and I let it sink through my system and restore me.
Speaker 1: I drank down my mineral water, dropped another dollar in
Speaker 1: the tip jar, and ducked back out into the fog.
Speaker 1: I checked in on how my plan was going, so far,
Speaker 1: so good. I'd had a cup of something delicious, and
Speaker 1: I'd watched a little girl's face when she saw a dog.
Speaker 1: My light was already burning brighter. The next step of
Speaker 1: my plan took me through the sodden park with ducks
Speaker 1: waddling across the paths, and around the tiny amphitheater where
Speaker 1: I had sat for summer concerts the year before, to
Speaker 1: a very special place that seemed like a miracle to
Speaker 1: find in a busy city. It was domed and glass
Speaker 1: and reminded me for a moment of the cake stand
Speaker 1: at the coffee shop I stood. I just looked for
Speaker 1: a bit, turning my head from side to side to
Speaker 1: see how the fog was clinging to the trees, how
Speaker 1: thick it seemed like a shawl I was pulling round
Speaker 1: the park? Was I pulling it? I shook my head
Speaker 1: at my fancy and pulled open the heavy glass door.
Speaker 1: Let the hot, humid air hit my face and neck.
Speaker 1: This little glass building held a hundred varieties of orchids.
Speaker 1: I stood still in the entryway, closed my eyes and
Speaker 1: breathed in the smell of warm earth and the rich
Speaker 1: vanilescent of the blooms. I hung my coat unkneaded now
Speaker 1: on a hook by the door, and started to wind
Speaker 1: my way through the paths of flowers. The warm, humid
Speaker 1: air felt soft in my lungs, and the colors and
Speaker 1: shapes of the orchids, their varied climbing tendrils and lush petals,
Speaker 1: pushed all thought from my head. I just looked and
Speaker 1: tried not to touch, and enjoyed. I read their names
Speaker 1: as I moved through, and set them slowly, trying to
Speaker 1: make them stick. Masstavilia, brasavola, nodosa, Maxillaria vanda, Corellia sypcosis,
Speaker 1: and rin kostillis. I'd had a friend years ago who
Speaker 1: had lived a long life and was in her final years.
Speaker 1: She loved orchids, and when I would come to visit her,
Speaker 1: she would show me her collection. She confessed that she'd
Speaker 1: never really mastered the art of keeping them alive past
Speaker 1: the loss of their first blooms. Oh well, she shrugged,
Speaker 1: I love them, so I just buy more, and I'll
Speaker 1: keep at it as long as I'm alive. And she had.
Speaker 1: I thought that she would have loved this place, and
Speaker 1: tried looking at the blooms for her in her place,
Speaker 1: as if she could perceive the pleasure of it through me.
Speaker 1: I'd learned from her example and kept myself supplied with
Speaker 1: the small pleasures that made my days a bit sweeter.
Speaker 1: A tiny cup of espresso, a pair of rain boots
Speaker 1: to splash through puddles, and days like this planned to
Speaker 1: lift a sometimes heavy heart. Leaving the tiny conservatory, zipping
Speaker 1: up my coat in the cooler air, I noticed the
Speaker 1: fog was lifting. There was brightness, a hint of yellow
Speaker 1: in the sky above me. I slid my hands into
Speaker 1: my pockets and found in one a peppermint lip balm,
Speaker 1: and in the other a tin box of cinnamon mints.
Speaker 1: So many small pleasures to dip into even while we
Speaker 1: waited for the first flush of the coming spring. Sweet
Speaker 1: dreams