Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - A Little Romance (Encore)

Episode Date: February 8, 2024

Originally Aired: February 10th, 2019 (Season 3 Episode 2) Our story tonight is called A Little Romance, and it’s a story about the beginnings of Spring in the city. It’s also about fond memories of young love, a picture tucked into the back of a wallet, and the sweet realization that someone somewhere is thinking of you. Originally from Season 3, Episode 2.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 Katherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support. Let me explain a bit about how to use this podcast.

I'm about to tell you a bedtime story to help you drift off to sleep. The story is a simple one, and it exists to give your brain a calm, content place to rest. I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Let your thoughts weave into the details of the story. and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Let your thoughts weave into the details of the story, and before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow, feeling rested and refreshed. If you happen to wake in the middle of the night,

think back through any part of the story that you can remember. It'll put your brain right back on track for deep sleep. Our story tonight is called A Little Romance. And it's a story about the beginnings of spring in the city. It's also about fond memories of young love. a picture tucked into the back of a wallet, and the sweet realization that someone, somewhere, is thinking of you. Now, switch off your light, set down anything you've been looking at, and get as comfortable as you can.

All of this is building a reliable response in your brain and body. So know that the more you do it, the more you'll be able to count on getting good sleep and feeling relaxed whenever you do it, the more you'll be able to count on getting good sleep and feeling relaxed whenever you need it. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Nice. Take one more. In and out. Good. I was out on the city streets on a bright winter day.

It was cold, and the snow still lay thick on the ground in the park and piled around the trunks of trees in the boulevard. But the sun was out, and there was a feeling of newness and freshness. We weren't huddling, hunched in our coats and scarves, or racing from shop to shop to dive out of the cold. We were, for the first time in a few months, strolling, taking our time, turning our faces to the sun and tasting just a scrap of spring in the air.

And by we, I mean all of us out on the street today. I was alone, but I wasn't. The sunshine was making us smile at each other as we crossed paths. All of us knowing we were thinking the same thing. This feels good I made my way down the main street hands deep in my pockets and turned at the corner toward the park It wasn't quite lunchtime yet

and I had no place to be There was a newsstand at the entrance to the park and I stopped and looked through a few papers and magazines. I found one with pictures of mountaintops in South America and busy city streets in Japan. There were fields of flowers and cold deserts at night. I bought it and a book of crossword puzzles, slid them into my bag, and stepped back onto the park path. It wound around a pond, still topped with ice, and walking all the way around it only took a few minutes. I stopped halfway around and sat on a bench in the bright sun.

A dozen geese, unbothered by the icy water, paddled in the melted puddles of the lake's surface. And I smiled at their putty gray feet and slick black neck feathers. I remembered that when geese were on the ground, you called them collectively a gaggle. But when they were in flight, they were called a skein of geese. I wondered what they called us. but when they were in flight they were called a skein of geese.

I wondered what they called us, and pulling my coat tighter around me, looked down at the bench seat and saw a sloppy heart carved in. I ran my finger over the groove dug into the wood and wondered where M and L were today and if they still put their letters together inside of a heart. I liked to think so. Maybe they were all grown up now and maybe they walked through the park

and sat on this bench together, and looked down at the heart and remembered, laughingly, the days of young love. If so, I should leave them to it. I pulled my bag back onto my shoulder and finished my circle of the pond, heading down a side street to a little cafe I knew. Inside, the warm air wrapped around me, making me feel how cold I'd been. And I ordered a bowl of brothy soup full of noodles and vegetables and seasoned

with ginger and a little spice. It warmed me from my center, and when it was gone, I ordered a cup of jasmine tea and slipped a cookie I'd bought at a bakery that morning from my pocket to dunk in my cup. I thought again of M and L and love and romance. And as I opened my wallet to pay for my lunch, I slipped an old folded photo strip from a secret spot behind my library card. It had been taken years ago at a little booth on a boardwalk. Four frames showing two faces,

cheek to cheek, then eyes locked on each other's, then a kiss and a goofy laugh. I remembered that in Italian, a love affair was sometimes described as a story made with someone. And I thought that I had been lucky. All the stories I'd made had made me a little better,

a little wiser, a little more understanding, but never less open-hearted. I folded the photo again along its well-worn crease and slipped it back into its home and stepped out onto the street. The streets were busy with the lunch hour, and I wove through window shoppers and slow walkers, noticed a few kids who must be playing hooky from school, some brazen and looking around to see who was noticing them being so grown up, and some with eyes down just trying to not get caught as they stood in line to buy tickets at the movie theater.

The sky was still bright, and I thought about walking for a while yet, doing some shopping or visiting a friend who lived in the next block. But then I thought of that magazine of pictures from around the world, and that book of crosswords, and the way the afternoon sun slanted across the kitchen table in my apartment, and of trading in my boots for slippers, and turned toward my own street. Passing the bookshop, I noticed the owner trying to push a cart of books through the doorway, and I stopped to hold it open for her. Sidewalk sales already? I asked.

Well, it's sunny. She smiled at me. I helped her slide the cart out onto the sidewalk, and we turned a few paperbacks around so the titles were easy to read. She nodded over her shoulder to the apartment mailboxes on the bricks beside the entrance to my place. Looks like you've got something in your box.

Hmm. Sure enough. The flap was tilted and I could see a corner of something in there. I fished it out and held in my hand a small, red, heart-shaped box. I felt a sneaking smile spreading on my face, and I opened it up to see a handful of chocolates tucked in red paper wrappers inside. I might have been blushing, so just called a quick thanks over my shoulder and slipped through my door. A little romance. I was out on the city streets on a bright winter day.

It was cold, and the snow still lay thick on the ground in the park and piled around the trunks of trees in the boulevard. But the sun was out, and there was a feeling of newness and freshness. We weren't huddling, hunched in our coats and scarves, or racing from shop to shop to dive out of the cold. We were, for the first time in a few months, strolling, taking our time,

turning our faces to the sun and tasting just a scrap of spring in the air. And by we, I mean all of us, out on the street today. I was alone, but I wasn't. The sunshine was making us smile at each other as we crossed paths, all of us knowing we were thinking the same thing. This feels good. I made my way down to the main street, hands deep in my pockets, I made my way down to the main street,

hands deep in my pockets, and turned at the corner toward the park. It wasn't quite lunchtime yet, and I had no place to be. There was a newsstand at the entrance to the park and I stopped and looked through a few papers and magazines. I found one with pictures of mountaintops in South America and busy city streets in Japan. There were fields of flowers

and cold deserts at night. I bought it and a book of crossword puzzles, slid them into my bag, and stepped back out onto the park path. It wound around a pond, still topped with ice, and walking all the way around it only took a few minutes. I stopped halfway around and sat on a bench in the bright sun. A dozen geese, unbothered by the icy water, paddled in the melted puddles of the lake's surface, and I smiled at their putty gray feet and slick black neck feathers.

I remembered that when geese were on the ground, you called them collectively a gaggle. But when they were in flight, you called them a skein of geese. I wondered what they called us, and pulling my coat tighter around me, looked down at the bench seat and saw a sloppy heart carved into it. I ran my finger over the groove dug into the wood and wondered where M and L were today and if they still put their letters together inside of a heart.

I like to think so. Maybe they were all grown up now and maybe they walked through the park and sat on this bench together, and looked down at the heart and remembered, laughingly, the days of young love. If so, I should leave them to it. I pulled my bag back onto my shoulder and finished my circle of the pond, heading down a side street to a little cafe I knew. Inside, the warm air wrapped around me, making me feel how cold I'd been. And I ordered a bowl of brothy soup, full of noodles and vegetables, and seasoned with

ginger and a little spice. It warmed me from my center, and when it was gone, I ordered a cup of jasmine tea and slipped a cookie I'd bought at a bakery that morning from my pocket to dunk in my cup. I thought again of M and L and love

and romance. As I opened my wallet to pay for my lunch, I slipped an old folded photo strip from a secret spot behind my library card. It had been taken years ago at a little booth on a boardwalk. Four frames showing two faces. Cheek to cheek.

Then eyes locked on each other's. Then a kiss. And a goofy laugh. I remembered that, in Italian, a love affair was sometimes described as a story made with someone. And I thought that I had been lucky. All the stories I'd made had made me a little better, a little wiser, a little more understanding,

but never less open-hearted. I folded the photo along its well-worn crease and slipped it back into its home and stepped out onto the street. The streets were busy with the lunch hour, and I wove through window shoppers and slow walkers, noticed a few kids who must be playing hooky from school, some brazen and looking around to see who was noticing them being so grown up, and some with eyes down, just trying not to get caught as they stood in line to buy tickets at the movie theater. The sky was still bright, and I thought about walking for a while yet, doing some shopping, or visiting a friend who lived in the next block. But then I thought of that magazine of pictures from around the world, and that book of crosswords, and the way that the afternoon sun slanted across the kitchen table in my apartment, and of trading in my boots for slippers, and turned toward my own street. Passing the bookshop,

I noticed the owner trying to push a cart of books through the doorway and stopped to hold it open for her. Sidewalk sales already? I asked. Well, it's sunny. She smiled at me. I helped her slide the cart onto the sidewalk, and we turned a few paperbacks around so the titles were easy to read. She nodded over her shoulder to the apartment mailboxes on the bricks beside the entrance to my place.

It looks like you've got something in your box. Hmm, sure enough. The flap was tilted and I could see the corner of something in there. I fished it out and held it in my hand, a small, red, heart-shaped box. I felt a sneaking smile spread on my face, and I opened it up to see a handful of chocolates tucked in red paper wrappers inside.

I might have been blushing, so just called a quick thanks over my shoulder and slipped through my door. Sweet dreams.