Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - A Block From Home

Episode Date: April 28, 2018

Turn off the light, get comfortable, and let us tell you a story. These are bedtime stories for grownups, in which nothing much happens, you feel good and then you fall asleep. So get cozy and ready to sleep. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read every story you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. If you love these stories, there is a whole world waiting for you in my book, also called Nothing Much Happens.

See the busy bakery on a Saturday morning, make the sandwiches we eat at the allotment, and read 16 news stories that will never be on the podcast. It's available all over the world, and you can learn more at nothingmuchappens.com. Let me say something about how to use this podcast. I'm going to tell you a story to help you relax and drop off into sleep. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. The story is like a landing pad for your mind, a soft place for it to rest.

If you find yourself still awake at the end of the first or the second telling, don't worry. That's a good rule of thumb in general when you're trying to fall asleep. Don't worry. Relax. Take your mind back to the beginning of the story and walk yourself through the details that you remember, especially any bit that felt particularly cozy. You're training your brain and body to wind down, and the more often you do it,

the faster you will fall asleep. So have a bit of patience at the beginning. Now it's time to turn off the light. Put away whatever you were working on or playing with, and snuggle yourself down into the most comfortable position you can find. You might have an ideal sleep position that's tried and true. Get into it. All of this helps to signal to your brain that it's time to close up shop. Let's take a slow breath in through the nose. A soft sigh out of the mouth.

One more like that. In. And out. Good. Our story tonight is called A Block From Home. And it's a story about the feeling of coming home after a long day and finding a quiet place to rest. It's also about the feeling of being on your own time

and having the space to do something or to do nothing at all. A block from home. It had been raining since the night before, and there were puddles in the street. The sky was gray and low. It was a September afternoon, and it was cool and with a breeze that smelled like autumn. I'd stopped a block away from my house, under the awning of a green grocer, and pulled the collar of my raincoat a bit higher against my cheek. The smell of pears made me turn my head away from the window of the coffee shop on the next corner, where I had been watching a few people sipping from cups and reading newspapers or talking with friends. The pears were small and green, but a little soft, with a bruise or two that showed they were ready to be eaten.

I asked for two, and also for some almonds that the grocer twisted into the pocket of my raincoat I drew my hood back up over my head and crossed the street I was almost home the row of brownstones stood shoulder to shoulder they were all the same building really The row of brownstones stood shoulder to shoulder.

They were all the same building, really, just repeated over and over, and with a few differences in the facades. Some had courtyards. Some had gardens and gates. And some had old trees growing up through the cracked pavements. All of them had wide steps and stoops, though no one was sitting out on them on a day like today. Mine had a tall wrought iron gate and fence that closed off my slightly overgrown garden from the street. I stopped at the gate and looked for a moment up and down the street.

There were a few others making their way through the rain, with heads down or tucked into umbrellas. My gate has just one key, and it was in the house. That was how I liked it. I didn't need a key. I reached up for the heavy gate handle. I let my thumb brush across a tiny print reader that was programmed only to my thumbprint. No one could follow me in here.

It took less than a second. I heard a tiny click in the lock mechanism and pulled the gate open. It locked smoothly behind me, and I hurried through the garden and up to my front door. I'd had enough of the rain. My front door worked in much the same way as my gate, but required a full palm print to open. I wrapped my hand around the knob, and it unlocked, and I stepped in. I sighed. I had always enjoyed the feeling of closing the door behind me at the end of the day, knowing I didn't need to leave the house again for the night. Turning back to the door, I smiled at the row of locks. They were a metaphor.

The door was secure and didn't need them. But I liked to turn them, one at a time, just the same. Twisting the deadbolt. Sliding the chain. Fastening the latch. Take that, world, I said. The rain was drumming against the window now, and I only looked out at the storm as it had now become a proper storm for a moment before pulling

the thick velvet curtain across. I could feel my body becoming heavier with each step. I was just a few minutes away from dropping into a sweet, long nap, and I knew it. I kicked off my boots and hung my raincoat on the coat rack on my way to the library. Passing through the kitchen, I pressed the button on the electric kettle with half an idea of having a cup of tea. Likely, I'd be asleep before it boiled. The library had a deep sofa that was long enough to stretch out on

and a couple of throws and pillows. There were proper reading lamps set here and there, but I left them off. The string of fairy lights glowing around the tops of the bookshelves was perfect. I set my pears and almonds on a table beside the sofa and lay down. I looked out at the books for a few minutes, with a few snow globes and mementos tucked in.

The kettle was making a soft sound, and the rain and thunder were muffled and far away. My eyes were closing. I heard the soft pad of kitty paws. Then a moment of stillness as she prepared to jump. And she landed on my knees. I twisted onto my side and she slid into the space behind my legs I pulled a blanket up over us

laid my face on a soft old pillow and closed my eyes we slept and closed my eyes. We slept. A block from home. It had been raining since the night before and there were puddles in the street. The sky was gray and low. It was a September grocer, and pulled

the collar of my raincoat a bit higher against my cheek. The smell of pears made me turn my head away from the window of the coffee shop on the next corner, where I'd been watching a few people sipping from cups and reading newspapers or talking with friends. The pears were small and green, but a little soft and with a bruise or two that showed they were ready to be eaten. I asked for two, and also for some almonds, that the grocer twisted into a piece of brown paper for me. After I tucked my treats into the pocket of my raincoat, I drew my hood back up over my head and crossed the street. I was almost home.

The row of brownstones stood shoulder to shoulder. They were all the same building, really, repeated over and over, and with a few differences in the facades. Some had courtyards. Some had gardens and gates. And some had old through the cracked pavements. All of them had wide steps and stoops, though no one was sitting out on them on a day like today. Mine had a tall, wrought- iron gate and fence that closed off my slightly overgrown garden from the street. I stopped at the gate and looked for a moment up and down the street. There were a few others making their way through the rain with heads down or tucked My gate has just one key, and it was in the house.

That was how I liked it. I didn't need a key. I reached up for the heavy gate handle and let my thumb brush across a tiny print reader that was programmed only to my thumbprint. No one could follow me in here. It took less than a second. I heard a tiny click in the lock mechanism and pulled the gate open. It locked smoothly behind me, and I hurried through the garden and up to my front I'd had enough of the rain. My front door worked in much the same way as my gate, but required a full palm print to open. I wrapped my hand around the knob,

and it unlocked, and I stepped in. I sighed. I had always enjoyed the feeling of closing the door behind me at the end of the day, knowing I didn't need to leave the house again for the night. Turning back to the door, I smiled at the row of locks. They were a metaphor. The door was secure and didn't need them. But I liked to turn them one at a time just the same twisting the deadbolt

sliding the chain fastening the latch take that world, I said. The rain was drumming against the window now, and I only looked out at the storm, as it had now become a proper storm for a moment, before pulling the thick velvet curtain across. I could feel my body becoming heavier with each step.

I was just a few minutes away from dropping into a sweet, long nap. And I knew it. I kicked off my boots and hung my raincoat on the coat rack on my way to the library. Passing through the kitchen, I pressed the button on the electric kettle with half an idea of having a cup of tea. Likely I'd be asleep before it boiled.

The library had a deep sofa that was long enough to stretch out on, and a couple of throws and pillows. There were proper reading lamps set here and there, but I left them off. The string of fairy lights glowing around the tops of the bookshelves was perfect. I set my pears and almonds on a few snow globes and mementos tucked in.

The kettle was making a soft sound, and the rain and thunder were muffled and far away. My eyes were closing. I heard the soft pad of kitty paws, then a moment of stillness as she prepared to jump, and she landed on my knees. I twisted onto my side, and she slid into the space behind my legs. I pulled a blanket up over us, laid my face on a soft, old pillow. And closed my eyes. We slept. Sweet dreams.