Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - A Cool Walk and a Hot Bath

Episode Date: November 12, 2018

Our story tonight is called "A cool walk and a hot a bath" and it’s a story about those particular days right on the edge of Autumn and Winter when the wind is changing and there are pleasures to be found in being outside and in being in. It’s also about saying hello to a friend, the joy of unwrapping a gift, and watching the seasons change. 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. All stories are written and read by me, Catherine Nicolai, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Thank you for listening, and for sharing our stories with anyone you know who likes relaxation and good sleep. You can also follow us on Instagram and Facebook for a bit of extra coziness. Let me say a bit about how to use this podcast. I have a story to tell you. It's a simple story that guides your mind to a place where it can rest and shut off.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. All you have to do is listen, and let yourself follow along with the shape of the tale. If you wake again later, just think back through any of the details you can remember. Be back in the story, and you'll naturally fall right back to sleep. This is habit-building behavior. And the more you practice, the sooner sleep will find you. So have a little patience if you're new to this.

Now it's time to tuck yourself in. Turn off the light. Set aside anything you've been looking at. Stretch down into your sheets and settle your body into the most comfortable position that you can find. Good. Good. You're telling your body right now that sleep is right around the corner. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and sigh out through the mouth.

One more, please. In and out. Our story tonight is called A Cool Walk and a Hot Bath. And it's a story about those particular days, right on the edge of autumn and winter, when the wind is changing, and there are pleasures to be found in being outside and in being in. It's also about saying hello to a friend, the joy of unwrapping a gift, and watching the seasons change.

A Cool Walk and watching the seasons change. A cool walk and a hot bath. There were still a few leaves left on the trees, but not many. I looked up from my spot on the gravel path at a lingering clump of oak leaves, still hanging from a branch held high against the gray sky. They were bright orange, and I imagined them holding on and making a pact to stay a bit longer, to last a few more days. I looked around through the trunks of the trees.

Frost lingered there, and the rising winds were pushing piles of dry brown pine needles and fallen leaves into clumps against roots and stumps. I drew a deep breath into my lungs and smelled less of the spicy, smoky smell of autumn and more of the cool, clean smell of the coming winter. Snow was coming, but I smiled up at the stubborn leaves. There was still a bit of time. I pulled my hat a little lower around my ears

and turned my face into the wind. It was cool but not sharp and made me feel awake and wanting to walk again. The path turned ahead of me to move beside a creek, and I turned with it, watching water slip over mossy stones and pool in slow-turning eddies. In the spring, I'd watched frogs from this spot

as they hid in the thick grass of the banks or floated with slow blinking eyes just above the waterline. Ahead of me, the creek picked up and spread and moved faster. It was crossed by an old bridge, and I stopped and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water rushing past beneath me. The wind was pushing me home now, and I tucked my hands into my pockets to warm them. Turning from the park, I walked past a schoolyard where a few kids were kicking a ball and calling out.

Shouts of excitement and jokes into the chilly air. They laughed and ran, red faces cooled in the wind, their jackets in a pile, forgotten and on their way to being lost. The wind blew harder and pushed a pile of fallen leaves up against a chain-link fence, a few stems catching and holding them there. I'm going, I'm going, I told the wind. Turning onto my street, I heard the muffled friendly bark of dogs in neighbors' houses,

welcoming me back. I saw one, nose steaming against the window, happily shifting weight from paw to paw, and I called out to him and waved, and he barked back. A lot of comfort comes from just saying to a friend, I see you. I turned to my own front porch and spotted a small package propped against the front door. I caught it up and smiled down at my name on the label and pushed through the door. The warmth and the smell of home wrapped around me as I hung up my coat and carried my paper-wrapped treasure to the kitchen table. Inside, I found sweet-smelling soaps and salts for the bath, and a pretty bottle of bubble bath. They were tied in ribbons and wrapped in tissue. A gift.

And the fact that I had sent this particular gift to myself made it no less sweet. And my timing is perfect, I noted. A hot bath is just the thing. My tub was a big slipper tub, freestanding under a window in my bathroom. And as the water ran and began to steam, I cracked the window just a bit and let the cool, fresh air mix with the steam. I drizzled in the bubbles and adjusted the water for the perfect temperature. Baths were serious business to me, and I planned accordingly.

Sometimes I had a glass of wine, sometimes a bowl of apple slices to munch while I soaked. Sometimes I clipped my hair up and painted on a face mask and pretended to be one of those people who know what to do with all the products that had sat for years under my sink. Today I wanted a tall bottle of mineral water, a glass full of ice, some music, and my book.

When my bath was ready, I set out a fresh fluffy towel on the radiator radiator, beside the tub, to warm while I soaked and slipped one foot at a time into the water. There's always that first rush of heat that makes me go still for a few moments. It pushes leftover thoughts out of my head and leaves me with the pure sensory delight of floating and heat.

Minutes passed. I sipped my fizzy water. I propped my heels on the edge of the tub and watched steam rise from my skin. I read a few pages. I put my book down and listened to the music. I slid down into the water and reminded myself of the frogs blinking in the creek. Outside my window, the wind was still blowing.

Those kids from the park were probably coming through their front doors about now, smelling dinner and hungry for it. The neighbor's dogs were curled up on sofas or looking out of windows, waiting to bark hello. We were all tucked into our various nests and ready for the winter. Snow was coming. A few more weeks and we'd wake up one morning to a white, crystallized landscape. I looked forward to a winter of hot, long baths and watching the snow fall from inside my cozy nest. I leaned my head back to rest against the edge of the tub

and let my eyes close and let the heat soothe my system. It was good to be so quiet. A cool walk and a hot bath. There were still a few leaves left on the trees, but not many. I looked up from my spot on the gravel path at a lingering clump of oak leaves, still hanging from a branch held high against the gray sky. They were bright orange,

and I imagined them holding on and making a pact to stay a bit longer, to last a few days more. I looked around. Through the trunks of the trees, frost lingered there, and the rising winds were pushing piles of dry brown of autumn and more of the cool, clean smell of the coming winter. Snow was coming, but I smiled up at the stubborn leaves. There was still a bit of time.

I pulled my hat a little lower around my ears and turned my face into the wind. It was cool, but not sharp, and made me feel awake and wanting to walk again. The path turned ahead of me to move beside a creek, and I turned with it, watching water slip over mossy stones and pool in slow-turning eddies. In the spring, I'd watched frogs from this spot, in slow-turning eddies. In the spring, I'd watched frogs from this spot,

as they hid in the thick grass of the banks, or floated with slow blinking eyes just above the waterline. Ahead of me, the creek picked up and spread and moved faster. It was crossed by an old bridge, and I stopped and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water rushing past beneath me. The wind was pushing me home now, and I tucked my hands into my pockets to warm them. Turning from the park, I walked past a schoolyard where a few kids were kicking a ball and calling out shouts of excitement and jokes into the chilly air.

They laughed and ran, red faces cooled in the wind, their jackets in a pile, forgotten and on their way to being lost. The wind blew harder and pushed a pile of fallen leaves up against a chain link fence a few stems catching and holding them there

I'm going, I'm going I told the wind turning onto my street I heard the muffled friendly bark of dogs in neighbors' houses welcoming me back. I saw one, nose steaming against the window, happily shifting weight from paw to paw. And I called out to him and waved, and he barked back. A lot of comfort comes from just saying to a friend, I see you.

I turned to my own front porch and spotted a small package propped against the front door. I caught it up and smiled down at my name on the label pushed through the door. The warmth and the smell of home wrapped around me as I hung up my coat and carried my paper-wrapped treasure to the kitchen table. Inside, I found sweet-smelling soaps and salts for the bath and a pretty bottle of bubble bath. They were tied in ribbons

and wrapped in tissue. A gift. And the fact that I'd sent this particular gift to myself made it no less sweet. And my timing is perfect, I noted. A hot bath is just the thing. My tub was a big slipper tub. is just the thing. My tub was a big slipper tub, free-standing under a window in my bathroom.

And as the water ran and began to steam, I cracked the window just a bit and let the cool fresh air mix with the steam. I drizzled in bubbles and adjusted the water for the perfect temperature. Baths were serious business to me, and I planned accordingly. Sometimes I had a glass of wine.

Sometimes a bowl of apple slices to munch while I soaked. Sometimes I clipped my hair up and painted on a face mask and pretended to be one of those people who know what to do with all the products that had sat for years under my sink. Today I wanted a tall bottle of mineral water, a glass full of ice, some music, and my book.

When my bath was ready, I set out a fresh, fluffy towel on the radiator beside the tub to warm while I soaked, and slipped one foot at a time into the water. There's always that first rush of heat that makes me go still for a few moments. It pushes leftover thoughts out of my head and leaves me with the pure sensory delight of floating and heat. Minutes passed. I sipped my fizzy water.

I propped my heels on the edge of the tub and watched steam rise from my skin. I read a few pages. I put my book down and listened to the music. I slid down into the water and reminded myself of the frogs blinking in the creek. Outside my window, the wind was still blowing. Those kids from the park were probably coming through their front doors about now, smelling dinner and hungry for it. The neighbor's dogs were curled up on sofas or looking out of windows,

waiting to bark hello. We were all tucked into our various nests and ready for the winter. Snow was coming. A few more weeks and we'd wake up one morning to a white, crystallized landscape. I looked forward to a winter of long, hot baths and watching the snow from inside my cozy nest. I leaned my head back to rest against the edge of the tub and let my eyes close.

Let the heat soothe my system. It was good to be so quiet. Sweet dreams.