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: Now let me tell you how to use this podcast.
Speaker 1: Your mind needs a place to rest, some place quiet
Speaker 1: and simple and soft. That's what the story will be.
Speaker 1: A landing place, a nest for your mind. All you
Speaker 1: have to do is listen, follow along with the sound
Speaker 1: of my voice, and before you know it, you'll be
Speaker 1: waking up tomorrow feeling rested and refreshed. I'll read the
Speaker 1: story twice, and I'll go a little slower when I
Speaker 1: get to the second telling. If you wake again in
Speaker 1: the middle of the night, try thinking back to any
Speaker 1: part of the story you can remember, sometimes just saying
Speaker 1: the name of it in your mind. I'll put you
Speaker 1: right back into your nest and you'll drop right back off.
Speaker 1: This is a kind of brain training. It improves with time,
Speaker 1: so be sure to give it some time. Our story
Speaker 1: to night is called the pantry. And it's a story
Speaker 1: about a chore that becomes a sort of meditation. It's
Speaker 1: also about neat rows of cans with their labels all
Speaker 1: turned the same way, the satisfaction of a job well done,
Speaker 1: and taking care of little you, even once you're all
Speaker 1: grown up. Now lights out, campers, switch everything off. Slide
Speaker 1: down into your sheets, and notice how good it feels
Speaker 1: to be in your bed, to be about to fall asleep.
Speaker 1: Maybe this is a moment you've been looking forward to
Speaker 1: all day. Well, here it is. Please enjoy it. Let's
Speaker 1: take a deep breath in through the nose and out
Speaker 1: through the mouth once more. Please in and out. Good
Speaker 1: the pantry. I'd been walking past it for a while,
Speaker 1: the pantry door shut to hide the messy mix of
Speaker 1: bags and boxes, cans and bottles. It was a chore
Speaker 1: I'd been putting off for a rainy day. We all
Speaker 1: have a room like that, right, Or sometimes it's the
Speaker 1: trunk of the car, or just an overstuffed bag, a
Speaker 1: collection of things that need to be sorted and dealt with.
Speaker 1: I put it off, even though I knew that having
Speaker 1: it organized and clean would feel so good. The space
Speaker 1: would be inviting and calm again, and I'd be happy
Speaker 1: to open the door and scan the shelves rather than
Speaker 1: avoid it. Still, sometimes as humans, we do the opposite
Speaker 1: of the thing we know we should, and that's not
Speaker 1: a moral sort of should, just the i'd feel better
Speaker 1: if sort. So. To day I decided I couldn't walk
Speaker 1: past it one more time. It flicked on the lights
Speaker 1: in the kitchen and cleared off the counters. I took
Speaker 1: the pot of hyacinths from the table and set it
Speaker 1: on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd need a
Speaker 1: good bit of space for this. Then I opened the
Speaker 1: pantry door and let out a heavy sigh. It was
Speaker 1: only a closet, slightly wider than the door itself and
Speaker 1: not very deep, but every shelf from top to bottom
Speaker 1: was crammed with cans of beans, bottles of herbs and garlic, salt,
Speaker 1: boxes of pasta and ramen, as well as quite a
Speaker 1: good bit of random stuff that had no business being
Speaker 1: in a pantry. Were those winter gloves up there, the
Speaker 1: light bulbs I bought three years ago that were the
Speaker 1: wrong size, packages of cheesecloth from back when I was
Speaker 1: definitely going to start making my own nut milk, A
Speaker 1: couple times a week, and that part that came off,
Speaker 1: that thing that I thought I should save in case
Speaker 1: I needed it again. Considering that I couldn't remember anymore
Speaker 1: what the thing had been, I guessed I'd been wrong.
Speaker 1: I started to unload the shelves onto my kitchen counters
Speaker 1: and table. I remembered a podcast I'd been listening to earlier,
Speaker 1: A fascinating history of a big city I'd always dreamed
Speaker 1: of visiting, and thought it would make the perfect companion
Speaker 1: to my work. I turned it on and set it
Speaker 1: playing between the boxes. While I made trip after trip
Speaker 1: between the pantry and the counters, I listened and imagined
Speaker 1: the great buildings described, the cobblestone streets, the view from
Speaker 1: the observation deck on the tallest building, the open air
Speaker 1: markets in the squares. Gosh, how much would I have
Speaker 1: come home with if I could have visited those stalls already,
Speaker 1: just from our own shops and markets. I collected a
Speaker 1: dozen kinds of hot sauce spices. I had no idea
Speaker 1: what to do with pickles and vinegars and sauces that
Speaker 1: overwhelmed the surface of the table. Well, some of these
Speaker 1: things were years old, dust on their caps, and their
Speaker 1: best by dates so long passed they were illegible. I
Speaker 1: imagined I had better be safe rather than sorry, so
Speaker 1: bottles were emptied and rinsed to go into the recycling bin.
Speaker 1: Once the pantry was empty, it got a solid top
Speaker 1: to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed the surfaces till they shone,
Speaker 1: and that sticky ring of pomegranate molasses on the bottom
Speaker 1: shelf finely dissolved and disappeared. I swept and mopped the
Speaker 1: floor and found a few random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets,
Speaker 1: and even though I've never worn one in my life,
Speaker 1: a couple of bobby pins. They must just appear in places.
Speaker 1: While the shelves and floor dried, I started to sort
Speaker 1: what was left into categories. Baking supplies were grouped by
Speaker 1: the sink, and I was excited to find I had
Speaker 1: almond an orange extract. I have to make something with those.
Speaker 1: I had a truly impressive collection of dried beans. I
Speaker 1: had split peas, both green and yellow, and all colors
Speaker 1: of lentils and fat lima beans as big as my
Speaker 1: thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow eye beans. I
Speaker 1: had boxes of pasta and noodles, oudan and ramen, farfhale, buccatini,
Speaker 1: and tiny pastina that I used in soup. On freezing
Speaker 1: days or when I felt under the weather, I started
Speaker 1: to arrange things back on their shelves. I tried to
Speaker 1: imagine where things should go based on how often I
Speaker 1: used them, and was excited when a can or box
Speaker 1: fit perfectly into the spot I'd left for it. I
Speaker 1: knew it was fussy, but when I put the cans
Speaker 1: of beans and tomatoes and hearts of palm back into place,
Speaker 1: I turned them so that the labels lined up identically,
Speaker 1: just like in the grocery store. I guess I was
Speaker 1: playing shop owner, like I had with a play set
Speaker 1: when I was little, But what's wrong with that? The
Speaker 1: order made me feel calm, and if our spaces can
Speaker 1: help us feel that way, it's worth the effort. I
Speaker 1: found a few sturdy cardboard boxes, nice ones that gifts
Speaker 1: had come in, and used them to hold the small
Speaker 1: bits that would otherwise fall all over the place. I
Speaker 1: slotted snack packs of fig cookies into one, with little
Speaker 1: packets of almonds and cashews beside it. Into a tall jar,
Speaker 1: I poured a bag of small coconut candies wrapped in
Speaker 1: foil and screwed on the lid. Lining my shelves like this,
Speaker 1: little snacks in easy reach, treats as well as staples.
Speaker 1: It felt like caring for the little kid part of me.
Speaker 1: There was plenty here, as in abundance, more than enough,
Speaker 1: and I could go and reach for what I needed,
Speaker 1: And that was a really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't
Speaker 1: stop when we become adults. We just take over from
Speaker 1: others the work of continually raising ourselves. Now, I wondered
Speaker 1: again why I'd waited to put these shelves in order.
Speaker 1: I deserved this. On the highest shelf, I put away
Speaker 1: clean vases ready for spring flowers, and a stack of
Speaker 1: cook books that and here, I vowed and hoped it
Speaker 1: would be true that I would start to actually cook from.
Speaker 1: I'd found a handful of little screw in hooks in
Speaker 1: the garage, and I screwed them into the edge of
Speaker 1: that top shelf to hang herbs and braided garlic from.
Speaker 1: All I had for now was a small posy of
Speaker 1: lavender that a friend had gifted me a few weeks before.
Speaker 1: But I slipped its twine wrap over the hook and
Speaker 1: stood back to admire what I had done. Clean, organized,
Speaker 1: and more than enough to keep my plate full and
Speaker 1: flavored for quite a while. The pantry I'd been walking
Speaker 1: past it for a while, the pantry door shut to
Speaker 1: hide the messy mix of bags and boxes, cans and bottles.
Speaker 1: It was a chore I'd been putting off for a
Speaker 1: rainy day. We all have a room like that, right
Speaker 1: Or sometimes it's the trunk of the car or an
Speaker 1: overstuffed bag, a collection of things that needs to be
Speaker 1: sorted and dealt with. I put it off, even though
Speaker 1: I knew that having it organized and clean would feel
Speaker 1: so good. The space would feel inviting and calm again,
Speaker 1: and I'd be happy to open the door and scan
Speaker 1: the shelves rather than avoid it. Still, sometimes, as humans,
Speaker 1: we do the opposite of the thing we know we should,
Speaker 1: And that's not a moral sort of should, just the
Speaker 1: I'd feel better if sort. So today I decided I
Speaker 1: couldn't walk past it one more time. I flicked on
Speaker 1: the lights in the kitchen and cleared off the counters.
Speaker 1: I took the pot of hyacinths from the table and
Speaker 1: set it on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd
Speaker 1: need a good bit of space for this. Then I
Speaker 1: opened the pantry door and let out a heavy sigh.
Speaker 1: It was only a closet, slightly wider inside than the
Speaker 1: door itself and not very deep, but every shelf from
Speaker 1: top to bottom was crammed with cans of beans, bottles
Speaker 1: of herbs and garlic, salt, boxes of pasta and ramen,
Speaker 1: as well as quite a good bit of random stuff
Speaker 1: that had no business being in a pantry. Were those
Speaker 1: winter gloves up there, the light bulbs I'd bought three
Speaker 1: years ago that were the wrong size, packages of cheesecloth
Speaker 1: from back when I was definitely going to start making
Speaker 1: my own nut milk a couple of times a week.
Speaker 1: That part that came off, that thing that I thought
Speaker 1: I should save in case I needed it again. Considering
Speaker 1: that I couldn't remember anymore what the thing had been,
Speaker 1: I guess I'd been wrong. I started to unload the
Speaker 1: shelves onto my kitchen counters and table. I remembered a
Speaker 1: podcast I'd been listening to earlier, A fascinating history of
Speaker 1: a big city I'd always dreamed of visiting, and thought
Speaker 1: it would make the perfect companion to my work. I
Speaker 1: turned it on and set it playing between the boxes.
Speaker 1: While I made trip after trip between the pantry and
Speaker 1: the counters, I listened and imagined the great buildings described,
Speaker 1: the cobblestone streets, the view from the observation deck on
Speaker 1: the tallest building, the open air markets, and the squares. Gosh,
Speaker 1: how much would I have come home with if I
Speaker 1: could have visited those stalls already, just from our own
Speaker 1: shops and markets. I'd collected a dozen kinds of hot
Speaker 1: sauce spices. I had no idea what to do with
Speaker 1: pickles and vinegars and sauces that overwhelmed the surface of
Speaker 1: the table. Well, some of these things were years old,
Speaker 1: dust on their caps, and their best buy dates so
Speaker 1: long passed they were illegible. I imagined I had better be
Speaker 1: safe rather than sorry, So bottles were emptied and rinsed
Speaker 1: to go into the recycling bin. Once the pantry was empty,
Speaker 1: it got a solid top to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed
Speaker 1: the surfaces till they shone, and that sticky ring of
Speaker 1: pomegranate molasses on the bottom shelf finally dissolved and disappeared.
Speaker 1: I swept and mopped the floor and found a few
Speaker 1: random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets, and even though I'd
Speaker 1: never worn one in my life, a couple of bobby pins.
Speaker 1: They must just appear in places. While the shelves and
Speaker 1: floor dried, I started to sort what was left into categories.
Speaker 1: Baking supplies were grouped by the sink, and I was
Speaker 1: excited to find I had almond an orange extract. I'd
Speaker 1: have to make something with those. I had a truly
Speaker 1: impressive collection of dried beans, split peas, both green and yellow,
Speaker 1: and all colors of lentils, then fat lima beans as
Speaker 1: big as my thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow
Speaker 1: eye beans. I had many boxes of pasta and noodles,
Speaker 1: oudan and ramen, farfale, buccatini and tiny pastina that I
Speaker 1: used in soup on freezing days or when I felt
Speaker 1: under the weather. I started to arrange things back on
Speaker 1: their shelves. I tried to imagine where things should go
Speaker 1: based on how often I used them, and was excited
Speaker 1: when a can or box fit perfectly into the spot
Speaker 1: I'd left for it. I knew it was fussy, but
Speaker 1: when I put the cans of beans and tomatoes and
Speaker 1: hearts of palm back into place, I turned them so
Speaker 1: that the labels lined up identically, just like in the
Speaker 1: grocery store. I guess I was playing shop owner, like
Speaker 1: I had with the play set when I was little,
Speaker 1: But what's wrong with that? The order made me feel calm,
Speaker 1: and if our spaces can help us feel that way,
Speaker 1: it's worth the effort. I found a few sturdy cardboard boxes,
Speaker 1: nice ones that gifts had come in, and used them
Speaker 1: to hold the small bits that would otherwise fall all
Speaker 1: over the place. I slotted snack packs of fig cookies
Speaker 1: into one, with little packets of almonds and cashews beside it.
Speaker 1: Into a tall jar, I poured a bag of small
Speaker 1: coconut candies wrapped in foil and screwed on the lid.
Speaker 1: Lining my shelves like this, little snacks in easy reach
Speaker 1: as well as staples, but felt like caring for the
Speaker 1: little kid part of me. There was plenty here, as
Speaker 1: in abundance, more than enough, and I could just go
Speaker 1: and reach for what I needed, and that was a
Speaker 1: really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't stop when we become adults.
Speaker 1: We just take over from others the work of continually
Speaker 1: raising ourselves. How I wondered again why I'd waited to
Speaker 1: put these shelves in order. I deserved this. On the
Speaker 1: highest shelf, I put away clean vases ready for spring flowers,
Speaker 1: and a stack of cookbooks that and here, I vowed
Speaker 1: and hoped it would be true, I would start to
Speaker 1: actually cook from I'd found a handful of little screw
Speaker 1: in hooks in the garage, and I screwed them into
Speaker 1: the edge of that top shelf to hang herbs and
Speaker 1: braided garlic from. All I had for now was a
Speaker 1: small posey of lavender that a friend had gifted me
Speaker 1: a few weeks before. But I slipped its twine wrap
Speaker 1: over the hook and stood back to admire what I
Speaker 1: had done, clean, organized, and more than enough to keep
Speaker 1: my plate full and flavored for quite a while. Sweet
Speaker 1: Dreams