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. Now,
Speaker 1: the best way to fall asleep is not to try.
Speaker 1: It's actually to distract your mind peacefully away from the
Speaker 1: part of yourself that is aware you're awake. So just
Speaker 1: by listening to my voice and following along with the
Speaker 1: story will sneak you into dreamland. I'll tell the story
Speaker 1: twice and I'll go a little bit slower on the
Speaker 1: second read through. If you wake again in the night,
Speaker 1: don't hesitate to turn me right back on, or just
Speaker 1: think through any details you can remember from the story.
Speaker 1: This is brain training and it improves with time, so
Speaker 1: be patient if you're new to this. Our story tonight
Speaker 1: is called Quiet Celebration, and it's a story about softly
Speaker 1: stepping into the next year of your life. It's also
Speaker 1: about a good dream that lingers after waking. A glass
Speaker 1: raised with best wishes and a cake, decorated orange slices
Speaker 1: and rosettes. Now lights out, devices down, Get comfortable, Feel
Speaker 1: your limbs going heavy into the mattress. Notice how good
Speaker 1: it is to be done for the day, whatever today was.
Speaker 1: You're done with it now and there's nothing left to
Speaker 1: do but rest. Take a slow breath in through your
Speaker 1: nose and sigh from your mouth. One more breathe in,
Speaker 1: Let it go, good, quiet celebration. When I was growing up,
Speaker 1: each birthday was so important. How did it feel to
Speaker 1: be eight? I was asked, can you believe you're about
Speaker 1: to be ten? All the little markers that went along
Speaker 1: with the year, The new class room I'd move into
Speaker 1: each September, the shoes I grew out of, the pencil
Speaker 1: marks on the inside of the coat closet door, and
Speaker 1: the candles I blew out on my birthday cake. They
Speaker 1: took up a lot of space in my young mind.
Speaker 1: How did it feel? What was it like to be eleven?
Speaker 1: Maybe this is something that is generally true. When we
Speaker 1: are younger. We're trying to establish what is important, So
Speaker 1: nearly everything feels like it is your favorite color, your
Speaker 1: favorite book, It matters to you. Then one day someone
Speaker 1: stops asking you what your favorite color is if you're
Speaker 1: ready to be thirty seven. I was thinking of all
Speaker 1: of this today, as it was my birthday, and I
Speaker 1: was reflecting on how I felt about it, what I
Speaker 1: wanted to do about it. My sweet mother, when I
Speaker 1: was little, would sneak into my room on the night
Speaker 1: before each birthday and decorate it in the darkness. I
Speaker 1: would wake up to find my bed covered in balloons, streamers,
Speaker 1: in a rainbow of colors twisted together and strung from
Speaker 1: the ceiling, and confetti spilling off the edges of my desk.
Speaker 1: One year, knowing I wanted to paint my bedroom walls
Speaker 1: that I'd outgrown the lavender everything that I'd been obsessed
Speaker 1: with when I was smaller, She'd painted Happy Birthday right
Speaker 1: on the wall, and I knew it meant I would
Speaker 1: get my wish. I never stopped loving that magical feeling
Speaker 1: of waking up to the balloons and surprises on my
Speaker 1: birthday as a child, even when I was a teenager
Speaker 1: and in every other way eager to be a grown
Speaker 1: up to be treated as one. It never applied to
Speaker 1: my birthday. It had been a few years now since
Speaker 1: i'd started seeing my birthday a little differently. I didn't
Speaker 1: resent it, certainly not. Aging is a gift not given
Speaker 1: to everyone, and I found the older I got, the
Speaker 1: more I understood myself and loved myself. But I also
Speaker 1: didn't feel the need for the whole world to stop
Speaker 1: and celebrate the day with me. Sometimes I made dinner
Speaker 1: for friends or was taken out for a night on
Speaker 1: the town, but when I spent it alone, I was
Speaker 1: just as happy. It felt a little more personal each year,
Speaker 1: and sometimes I wanted to celebrate in quiet, small ways,
Speaker 1: just giving myself all the best that I could for
Speaker 1: the day. And that was what I was doing to day.
Speaker 1: I'd taken the day off, and I wasn't checking anything
Speaker 1: that had to do with work. I could wait. I
Speaker 1: laid in bed for a long time. In fact, I
Speaker 1: had that rare, magical experience of waking at my usual
Speaker 1: time and feeling pretty sure that I was up, then
Speaker 1: falling back to sleep and having sweet, silly dreams for
Speaker 1: a while, and not waking again until the sun was
Speaker 1: fully risen and shining through my window. I dreamt of
Speaker 1: a dog I had years ago, a sweet, goofy hound
Speaker 1: dog who'd howled at falling leaves and snored from the
Speaker 1: foot of my bed. As she got older, I carried
Speaker 1: her carefully down the stairs each day, her old legs
Speaker 1: having grown stiff and sore. But in my dream, she'd
Speaker 1: run down the stairs and raced to me. When I woke,
Speaker 1: I kept my eyes closed for while, just letting the
Speaker 1: memory and the feeling of it in my body swirl
Speaker 1: within me. It was like finding my room decorated all
Speaker 1: over again, a gift given to me as I slept,
Speaker 1: and I savored it, marking it as a memory to
Speaker 1: keep close. When I pushed myself up in bed, I
Speaker 1: took deep breaths and stretched my arms up over my head.
Speaker 1: I watched the bare branches of the trees outside my
Speaker 1: window moving slightly in the breeze, and listened to the
Speaker 1: clicking and creaking of my radiators. I smiled deeply, wished
Speaker 1: myself a happy birthday, and wondered what I might like
Speaker 1: to do with my day. It looked like it might
Speaker 1: be a nice morning for a walk. I liked a
Speaker 1: morning walk, even when it was cold out. I just
Speaker 1: bundle up tightly, but the morning light on my face,
Speaker 1: a little bit of movement and fresh air. It woke
Speaker 1: me up and set me on a good path for
Speaker 1: the day, as well as seeming to help me sleep
Speaker 1: better at night. So a walk, what else? Well, at
Speaker 1: some point cake? Obviously there would be cake. In fact,
Speaker 1: I'd made a New Year's resolution this year, and I
Speaker 1: was sticking to it that at least once a month
Speaker 1: I'd make sure to have a very nice piece of cake.
Speaker 1: Often it was chocolate. Honestly, I couldn't imagine it not
Speaker 1: being chocolate. But a friend of mine had dropped off
Speaker 1: a homemade orange cake the day before. It was actually
Speaker 1: made with blood oranges, so it was rosy pink and
Speaker 1: iced with sweet white frosting and topped with candied orange slices.
Speaker 1: She'd even gotten out her piping bag and made a
Speaker 1: few rosettes to decorate the top. It was a little cake,
Speaker 1: cute as a button, and I felt so honored that
Speaker 1: she'd made it with her own two hands for me.
Speaker 1: So a walk and cake and what else? I thought
Speaker 1: about it as I wrapped myself in my robe and
Speaker 1: wandered down to the kitchen. Maybe I'd take a drive.
Speaker 1: I loved a long drive by myself with music playing
Speaker 1: and a cup of coffee in the holder, just a
Speaker 1: direction rather than a destination. Seeing someplace I'd never been before.
Speaker 1: That always felt like an adventure and a good way
Speaker 1: to celebrate. Maybe I'd drive into another town, find their
Speaker 1: coffee shop or a bistro with check tablecloths, and I'd
Speaker 1: have a meal and watch the people walking on the sidewalks.
Speaker 1: If they had a bookshop, I'd stop and buy myself
Speaker 1: a whole stack of hardcovers. It was my birthday, after all.
Speaker 1: I'd stay out till I felt a bit tired, cold
Speaker 1: from the chill air, and then I'd come home again
Speaker 1: with my new books and get into my softest pajamas
Speaker 1: and cut a slice of cake. I'd raise a glass
Speaker 1: of something fizzy to all the people who were born
Speaker 1: to day, all my birthday siblings in the world, and
Speaker 1: wish them a year of good things. I wasn't sure
Speaker 1: any more what my favorite color was, and my age
Speaker 1: didn't take up very much space in my mind. But
Speaker 1: I was happy now. I felt celebrated and loved now,
Speaker 1: and those were excellent gifts quiet celebration. When I was
Speaker 1: growing up, each birthday was so important. How did it
Speaker 1: feel to be eight? I was asked, can you believe
Speaker 1: you're about to be ten. All the little markers that
Speaker 1: went along with the year, the new classroom i'd move
Speaker 1: into each September, the shoes grew out of, the pencil
Speaker 1: marks on the inside of the coat closet door, and
Speaker 1: the candles I blew out on my birthday cake. They
Speaker 1: took up a lot of space in my young mind.
Speaker 1: How did it feel? What was it like to be eleven?
Speaker 1: Maybe this is something that is generally true. When we
Speaker 1: are younger, we're trying to establish what is important, so
Speaker 1: nearly everything feels like it is your favorite color, your
Speaker 1: favorite book, It matters to you. Then one day someone
Speaker 1: stops asking you what your favorite color is, or if
Speaker 1: you're ready to be thirty seven. I was thinking of
Speaker 1: all of this today as it was my birthday, and
Speaker 1: I was reflecting on how I felt about it, what
Speaker 1: I wanted to do about it. My sweet mother, when
Speaker 1: I was little, would sneak into my room on the
Speaker 1: night before each birthday and decorate it in the darkness.
Speaker 1: I would wake up to find my bed covered in balloons, streamers,
Speaker 1: and a rainbow of colors twisted together and strung from
Speaker 1: the ceiling, and confetti spilling off the edges of my desk.
Speaker 1: One year, knowing I wanted to paint my bedroom walls
Speaker 1: that I'd outgrown the lavender everything that I had been
Speaker 1: obsessed with when I was younger, she'd painted Happy Birthday
Speaker 1: right on the wall, and I knew it meant I
Speaker 1: would get my wish. I never stopped loving that magical
Speaker 1: feeling of waking up to the balloons and surprises on
Speaker 1: my birthday, even when I was a teenager and in
Speaker 1: every other way eager to be a grown up to
Speaker 1: be treated as one, it never applied to my birthday.
Speaker 1: It had been a few years now since I'd started
Speaker 1: seeing my birthday a little differently. I didn't resent it,
Speaker 1: certainly not. Aging is a gift not given to everyone,
Speaker 1: and I found the older I got, the more I
Speaker 1: understood myself and loved myself. But I also didn't feel
Speaker 1: the need for the whole world to stop and celebrate
Speaker 1: the day with me. Sometimes I made dinner for friends
Speaker 1: or was taken out for a night on the town,
Speaker 1: but when I spent it alone, I was just as happy.
Speaker 1: I felt a little more personal each year, and sometimes
Speaker 1: I wanted to celebrate in quiet, small ways, just giving
Speaker 1: myself all the best that I could for the day,
Speaker 1: and that was what I was doing today. I'd taken
Speaker 1: the day off, and I wasn't checking anything that had
Speaker 1: to do with work. It could wait. I laid in
Speaker 1: bed for a long time. In fact, I had that rare,
Speaker 1: magical experience of waking at my usual time and feeling
Speaker 1: pretty sure that I was up, then falling back to
Speaker 1: sleep and having sweet, silly dreams for a while, and
Speaker 1: not waking again until the sun had fully risen and
Speaker 1: was shining through my window. I'd dreamt of a dog
Speaker 1: i'd had years ago, a sweet, goofy hound dog hood
Speaker 1: howled at falling leaves and snored from the foot of
Speaker 1: my bed. As she got older, I'd carried her carefully
Speaker 1: down the stairs each day, her old legs having grown
Speaker 1: stiff and sore. But in my dream, she'd run down
Speaker 1: the stairs and raced to me. When I woke, I
Speaker 1: kept my eyes closed for a while, just letting the
Speaker 1: memory and the feeling of it and my body sworel
Speaker 1: within me. It was like finding my room decorated all
Speaker 1: over again, a gift given to me as I slept,
Speaker 1: and I savored it, marking it as a memory to
Speaker 1: keep close When I pushed myself up in bed, I
Speaker 1: took deep breaths and stretched my arms up over my head.
Speaker 1: I watched the bare branches of trees outside my window
Speaker 1: moving slightly in the breeze, and listened to the clicking
Speaker 1: and creaking of my radiators. I smiled sleepily, wished myself
Speaker 1: a happy birthday, and wondered what I might like to
Speaker 1: do with my day. I looked like it might be
Speaker 1: a nice morning for a walk. I liked a morning walk,
Speaker 1: even when it was cold out. I'd just bundle up tightly,
Speaker 1: but the morning light on my face, a little bit
Speaker 1: of movement and fresh air, they woke me up, and
Speaker 1: it set me on a good path for the day,
Speaker 1: as well as seeming to help me sleep better at night.
Speaker 1: So a walk, what else? Well? At some point cake?
Speaker 1: Obviously there would be cake. In fact, I'd made a
Speaker 1: new Year's resis this year, and I was sticking to
Speaker 1: it that at least once a month i'd make sure
Speaker 1: to have a very nice piece of cake. Often it
Speaker 1: was chocolate. Honestly, I couldn't imagine it not being chocolate.
Speaker 1: But a friend of mine had dropped off a homemade
Speaker 1: orange cake the day before It was actually made with
Speaker 1: blood oranges, so it was rosy pink an iced with
Speaker 1: sweet white frosting and topped with candied orange slices. She'd
Speaker 1: even gotten out her piping bag and made a few
Speaker 1: rosettes to decorate the top. It was a little cake,
Speaker 1: cute as a button, and I felt so honored that
Speaker 1: she'd made it with her own two hands for me.
Speaker 1: So a walk and cake and what else? I thought
Speaker 1: about it as I wrapped myself in my robe and
Speaker 1: wandered down to the kitchen. Maybe I'd take a drive.
Speaker 1: I loved a long drive by myself, with music playing
Speaker 1: and a cup of coffee in the holder, just a
Speaker 1: direction rather than a destination, seeing someplace I'd never been before.
Speaker 1: That always felt like an adventure and a good way
Speaker 1: to celebrate. Maybe I'd drive into another town, find their
Speaker 1: coffee shop or bistro with checked tablecloths, and I'd have
Speaker 1: a meal and watch the people walking on the sidewalks.
Speaker 1: If they had a bookshop, I'd stop and buy my
Speaker 1: elf a whole stack of hardcovers. It was my birthday,
Speaker 1: after all. I'd stay out till I felt a bit tired,
Speaker 1: cold from the chill air, and then I'd come home
Speaker 1: again with my new books and get into my softest
Speaker 1: pajamas and cut a slice of cake. I'd raise a
Speaker 1: glass of something fizzy to all the people who were
Speaker 1: born to day, all my birthday siblings in the world,
Speaker 1: and wish them a year of good things. I wasn't
Speaker 1: sure any more what my favorite color was, and my
Speaker 1: age didn't take up very much space in my mind.
Speaker 1: But I was happy now. I felt celebrated and loved now,
Speaker 1: and those were excellent gifts, sweet dreams.