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 read and write all the stories you hear on
Speaker 1: Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. Today
Speaker 1: marks six years of telling you bedtime stories, which has
Speaker 1: become the most exciting gentle adventure of my life. And
Speaker 1: it seems fitting that today I can share something I've
Speaker 1: been working on for quite a while, something created just
Speaker 1: for you to bring a piece of the village into
Speaker 1: your homes and to guide you into healthy wind down
Speaker 1: routines that will feel so good. This month, we are
Speaker 1: releasing but Nothing Much Happens wind Down Box, a wellness
Speaker 1: box of hand selected products that I personally use and
Speaker 1: that I love, along with a few exclusive stories to
Speaker 1: round out your cozy routines. Each box features products specially
Speaker 1: selected for your relaxation, from Everescio Wellness's Chill Now, a
Speaker 1: high potency organic certified Raschi mushroom extract to nutri Champs
Speaker 1: tart cherry gummies great for sleep and reducing inflammation, and
Speaker 1: they taste great. There's a lavender candle to mark your
Speaker 1: moment of calm from our favorite small batch candle maker's
Speaker 1: Vella box. A meditative activity for you by way of
Speaker 1: a Brighter Year's mini coloring book, a fantastic way to
Speaker 1: disconnect from your screen and tap into your creative self
Speaker 1: before bed. Then more mushrooms, this time in chocolate specially
Speaker 1: formulated for sleep from a lovely team behind Alice Mushrooms.
Speaker 1: And some delicious essential oils to rub on your wrists
Speaker 1: and neck from our friends at Woolsey's. And of course
Speaker 1: some melatonin for those who need an extra helping hand
Speaker 1: to rest by way of new strips. Place it on
Speaker 1: your tongue and it dissolves in seconds. Like everything in
Speaker 1: this village, we took our time to create this for you.
Speaker 1: It's such a pleasure to be able to help so
Speaker 1: many of you, to tuck you in at night and
Speaker 1: to keep watched till the morning. And I'm excited to
Speaker 1: help create comfort in new ways with our first ever
Speaker 1: wind down Box. Head over to Nothing Much Happens dot
Speaker 1: com for more information. Let me say a little about
Speaker 1: how to use this podcast, and I have a story
Speaker 1: to tell you, and the story is a soft landing
Speaker 1: place for your mind. Whatever your day has been like.
Speaker 1: It can end in soothing rest just by following along
Speaker 1: with the sound of my voice and the simple shape
Speaker 1: of our tale. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go
Speaker 1: a little slower on the second telling. Let the details
Speaker 1: you hear pull you into the world of the story
Speaker 1: as if you are seeing and hearing and tasting what
Speaker 1: it has to offer. If you wake again in the
Speaker 1: middle of the night, turn your mind right back to
Speaker 1: those details, and before you know it, you'll be waking
Speaker 1: up tomorrow feeling refreshed. This is a simple but effective
Speaker 1: form of brain training, and as the habit builds, you'll
Speaker 1: notice that you drop off sooner and stay asleep longer.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called a Dance in the Park,
Speaker 1: and it's a story about coming back into the world
Speaker 1: after a bit of time spent alone. It's also about
Speaker 1: a glass of pink hibiscus tea window, shopping on a
Speaker 1: downtown street, and moving to the music on a sunny day.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to turn off the light and to
Speaker 1: put away anything you've been playing with or looking at.
Speaker 1: Take a moment to cozy your body down into your
Speaker 1: preferred sleeping position, pull the comforter over your shoulder, and
Speaker 1: let's take a deep breath in through the nose and
Speaker 1: a soft sigh out of the mouth. Do that one
Speaker 1: more time, breathe in and out. Good a dance in
Speaker 1: the park. We were on the cusp of real summer weather.
Speaker 1: And when I sat on the front porch this morning
Speaker 1: and let the sunshine creep across the boards and onto
Speaker 1: my toes, I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
Speaker 1: and weak like it often does in the winter and
Speaker 1: early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
Speaker 1: and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
Speaker 1: face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
Speaker 1: and medicine and the missing element that is suddenly abundant
Speaker 1: in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
Speaker 1: lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
Speaker 1: calling and the street waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
Speaker 1: coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper
Speaker 1: or to peer thoughtfully down at sprouting gardens. Kids on
Speaker 1: bikes and skateboards, already deep into the games and stories
Speaker 1: of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
Speaker 1: my turn to head out into the day. I stood
Speaker 1: up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
Speaker 1: sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
Speaker 1: the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
Speaker 1: with which you can leave the house. After months of
Speaker 1: layering on coats and scarves, thick socks and heavy boots,
Speaker 1: and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk,
Speaker 1: it is a joy to step out in sandals and
Speaker 1: shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
Speaker 1: any planning at all. I locked the front door, hopped
Speaker 1: down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed the
Speaker 1: back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
Speaker 1: I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
Speaker 1: bridge of my nose. I read once that in some
Speaker 1: ancient mythology, in some part of the world I'd forgotten where,
Speaker 1: they believed that the heat of the sun was stored
Speaker 1: in trees, and when you burned their wood, the fire
Speaker 1: was just the sun being finally released back into the world.
Speaker 1: I thought of this as the hot sun forced a
Speaker 1: shiver down my spine. I must have stored the cold
Speaker 1: from all the snow I had shoveled over, the all
Speaker 1: the snow men i'd rolled into place, all the flakes
Speaker 1: i'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
Speaker 1: from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
Speaker 1: goose bumps on my arm as it passed back into
Speaker 1: the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
Speaker 1: was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
Speaker 1: turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
Speaker 1: on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
Speaker 1: shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
Speaker 1: I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
Speaker 1: and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
Speaker 1: a stack of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
Speaker 1: been scored just before they went into the oven, so
Speaker 1: that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or crisscrosses.
Speaker 1: A few doors down in the window of a gift shop,
Speaker 1: or a neat row of handmade soaps and jars of
Speaker 1: salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and ear rings, and
Speaker 1: hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
Speaker 1: but I liked looking the walk and the sun had
Speaker 1: made me thirsty, and I remembered a little cafe in
Speaker 1: the next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I
Speaker 1: strolled off toward it. The outdoor tap or full of
Speaker 1: folks having a drink or a bite to eat, some
Speaker 1: keeping company with friends, and others happily sitting with a
Speaker 1: book in hand or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
Speaker 1: I stepped inside and ordered my tea, deciding to take
Speaker 1: it to go so I could keep walking. Behind the bar,
Speaker 1: they had a tall glass urn with the bright pink
Speaker 1: tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It was brewed
Speaker 1: with fresh strawberries and raspberries and knobbily branches of ginger.
Speaker 1: A minute later I was standing back out in the
Speaker 1: fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea, which
Speaker 1: was and tart, tasting the flavor a bit like cranberries.
Speaker 1: I sipped it as I made my way up one
Speaker 1: street and down another. The flower baskets hanging from the
Speaker 1: street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums and fuchsias.
Speaker 1: I stopped to look at the posters in the window
Speaker 1: of the record shop and made a few mental plans
Speaker 1: for concerts and gigs I could see in the next
Speaker 1: few weeks. On the lawn of the library. At the
Speaker 1: edge of the park, kids were grouped around picnic tables
Speaker 1: with a few grown up volunteers overseeing some craft project.
Speaker 1: They darted back and forth between the tables, gathering up
Speaker 1: supplies onto paper plates to make into collages. I could
Speaker 1: hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
Speaker 1: I went further into the park. Everything was green, now thick,
Speaker 1: fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
Speaker 1: leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
Speaker 1: I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
Speaker 1: and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
Speaker 1: was set up on Sunday Morningsuddenly the music was louder,
Speaker 1: and a crowd of people danced to it. I remembered
Speaker 1: seeing a poster by the library for a group class
Speaker 1: salsa in the park, it had said. I smiled to
Speaker 1: myself as I watched the faces of the dancers. They
Speaker 1: were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
Speaker 1: some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
Speaker 1: much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet
Speaker 1: as they stepped and turned and shifted a ring of
Speaker 1: happy spectators stood watching, tapping their toes, clapping their hands
Speaker 1: to the music. I settled onto a bench to watch now,
Speaker 1: and then, catching the eye of a dancer or passer by,
Speaker 1: we said to each other with our eyes, this is nice.
Speaker 1: I'm glad to be here for it. I'd spent a
Speaker 1: lot of time on my own lately, and that served
Speaker 1: its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me. It gave
Speaker 1: me space. I'm quiet and a steady center. But I'd
Speaker 1: been like a gear turning all by itself in the house.
Speaker 1: That gear rotated and kept my machinery going. But to day,
Speaker 1: feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors, looking in
Speaker 1: the store windows, and drinking tea in the open air,
Speaker 1: and clapping along with the music while people danced, it
Speaker 1: felt like my gear was sinking back up with everyone else's.
Speaker 1: We powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering my
Speaker 1: place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and listened
Speaker 1: to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and let
Speaker 1: the sun shine on it. I took a deep breath
Speaker 1: in I let it out. A dance in the park.
Speaker 1: We were on the cusp of real summer weather, and
Speaker 1: when I sat on the front porch this morning and
Speaker 1: let the sunshine creep across the boards and on to
Speaker 1: my toes. I noticed that it no longer felt filtered
Speaker 1: and weak, like it often does in the winter and
Speaker 1: early spring. This was summer sunshine. It warmed you through
Speaker 1: and brought out freckles, and felt when you lifted your
Speaker 1: face to it with your eyes tightly shut, like food
Speaker 1: and medicine and the missing element that was suddenly abundant
Speaker 1: in your system. I sat until the whole porch was
Speaker 1: lit up with morning light, and listened to the birds
Speaker 1: calling on the street, waking up. Neighbors waved from their driveways,
Speaker 1: coffee cups in hand, stepping out to fetch the paper,
Speaker 1: or peer thoughtfully down its sprouting gardens. Kids on bikes
Speaker 1: and scape boards, already deep into the games and stories
Speaker 1: of the day, rolled past me. I supposed it was
Speaker 1: my turn to head out into the day. I stood
Speaker 1: up and checked my pockets. I had house keys and
Speaker 1: sunglasses and a few dollars everything I needed. One of
Speaker 1: the lovely things about warm weather days is the ease
Speaker 1: with which you can leave the house after months of
Speaker 1: layering on coats and scarves, thick socks, and heavy boots,
Speaker 1: and checking the weather report and shoveling the front walk.
Speaker 1: It is a joy to step out in sandals and
Speaker 1: shirt sleeves and be comfortable in the open air without
Speaker 1: any planning at all. I locked the front door and
Speaker 1: hopped down the steps into the grass. The sun warmed
Speaker 1: the back of my neck as I started down the sidewalk.
Speaker 1: I felt it on my forearms and calves and the
Speaker 1: bridge of my nose. I read once in some ancient mythology,
Speaker 1: in some part of the world i'd forgotten where, they
Speaker 1: believed that the heat of the sun was stored in trees,
Speaker 1: and when you burned their wood, the fire was just
Speaker 1: the sun being finally released back into the world. I
Speaker 1: thought of this as the hot sun forced a shiver
Speaker 1: down my spine. I must have stored the cold from
Speaker 1: all the snow I had shoveled over the years, all
Speaker 1: the snow man I'd rolled into place, all the flakes
Speaker 1: I'd caught on my tongue. Now that chill was wrung
Speaker 1: from my body, and I felt a momentary wave of
Speaker 1: goose bumps on my arms as it passed back into
Speaker 1: the atmosphere. I hadn't paid much attention to where I
Speaker 1: was walking, as it didn't much matter to me, But
Speaker 1: turning a corner, I was happy to see I was
Speaker 1: on the edge of downtown. I hadn't been to the
Speaker 1: shops and cafes on these streets for a while, and
Speaker 1: I'd missed them. There was a window full of pastries
Speaker 1: and fruit tarts at the bakery. Beside the tarts was
Speaker 1: a staff of fresh loaves, still dusted with flour. They'd
Speaker 1: been scored just before they went into the oven, so
Speaker 1: that their crusts showed a design of curling leaves or
Speaker 1: criss crosses. A few doors down, in the window of
Speaker 1: a gift shop were a neat row of handmade soaps,
Speaker 1: and jars of salves and lotions, displays of bracelets and earrings,
Speaker 1: and hand drawn cards and pictures. I didn't need a thing,
Speaker 1: but I liked looking the walk, and the sun had
Speaker 1: made me thirsty. I remembered a little cafe in the
Speaker 1: next street that made iced hibiscus tea, and I strolled
Speaker 1: off toward it. The outdoor tables were full of folks
Speaker 1: having a drink or a bite to eat, some keeping
Speaker 1: company with friends, and others happily sitting with a book
Speaker 1: in hand, or a newspaper spread open on their lap.
Speaker 1: I stepped inside and ordered my tea. I decided to
Speaker 1: take it to go so I could keep walking. Behind
Speaker 1: the bar, they had a tall glass urn with the
Speaker 1: bright pink tea inside, along with the hibiscus flowers. It
Speaker 1: was brewed with fresh strawberries and raspberries and nobby branches
Speaker 1: of ginger. A minute later I was standing back out
Speaker 1: in the fresh air, taking a long drink of the tea,
Speaker 1: which was cold and tart, tasting the flavor a bit
Speaker 1: like cranberries. I sipped it as I made my way
Speaker 1: up one street and down another. The flower baskets hanging
Speaker 1: from the street lamps were full of petunias and geraniums
Speaker 1: and fuchias. I stopped to look at the posters in
Speaker 1: the window of the record shop and made a few
Speaker 1: mental plans for concerts and gigs I could see in
Speaker 1: the next few weeks. On the lawn of the library.
Speaker 1: At the edge of the park, kids who were grouped
Speaker 1: around picnic tables with a few grown up volunteers overseeing
Speaker 1: some craft project. They darted back and forth between the tables,
Speaker 1: gathering up supplies onto paper plates into collages I could
Speaker 1: hear their voices and laughter through the still air. As
Speaker 1: I went further into the park, everything was green, now, thick,
Speaker 1: fresh trimmed grass, shrubs and hedges, and layers of shiny
Speaker 1: leaves overhead. As I came around the side of the lake,
Speaker 1: I heard music playing. I followed it down a path
Speaker 1: and into an open stone plaza where the farmer's market
Speaker 1: was set up on Sunday mornings. Suddenly the music was
Speaker 1: louder when a crowd of people danced to it. I
Speaker 1: remembered seeing a poster by the library for a group
Speaker 1: class salsa in the park, it had said, I smiled
Speaker 1: to myself as I watched the faces of the dancers.
Speaker 1: They were moving together, sometimes in couples and sometimes as groups,
Speaker 1: some laughing and some quite serious, seeming to dance as
Speaker 1: much with an engagingly lifted eyebrow as with their feet.
Speaker 1: They stepped and turned and shifted. A ring of happy
Speaker 1: spectators stood watching, tapping their toes and clapping their hands
Speaker 1: to the music. I settled on to a bench to
Speaker 1: watch now, and then, catching the eye of a dancer
Speaker 1: passer by, we said to each other with our eyes,
Speaker 1: this is nice. I'm glad to be here for it.
Speaker 1: I'd spent a lot of time on my own lately,
Speaker 1: and that served its own purpose. Solitude was fortifying for me.
Speaker 1: It gave me space and quiet and a steady center.
Speaker 1: But I'd been like a gear turning all by itself
Speaker 1: in the house. That gear rotated and kept my machinery going.
Speaker 1: But today, feeling the sun and waving at my neighbors,
Speaker 1: looking in the store windows, and drinking tea in the
Speaker 1: open air, clapping along with the music while people danced,
Speaker 1: it felt like my gear was sinking back up with
Speaker 1: everyone else's powered each other, and that felt like rediscovering
Speaker 1: my place among my fellows. I closed my eyes and
Speaker 1: listened to the clapping hands. I lifted my face and
Speaker 1: let the sun shine on it. I took a deep
Speaker 1: breath in and let it out. Sweet dreams,