Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - After Dinner

Episode Date: November 24, 2025

Our story tonight is called After Dinner, and it is the third part in a series featuring some favorite animals in the Village of Nothing Much. You could go back and listen to the previous two if you��ve missed them, but you’ll probably be asleep in a few moments. This is a story about the quiet that settles in as the plates are cleared and the candles burn down. It’s also about passed-down recipes, dogs chasing through the halls, bay leaves and pine needles, the sound of voices in the next room and a moment alone under the stars. More Marmalade, Crumb, and Birdy Subscribe to our ⁠⁠Premium channel.⁠⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 From infant to age 5, Primrose Schools is The Leader in Early Education and Care. Learn more at ⁠⁠⁠PrimroseSchools.com⁠⁠⁠. Give the gift of glow this holiday with our listener discount on OSEA’s clean, clinically tested skincare. Just use code nothingmuch for 10% off your first order sitewide at ⁠⁠OSEAMalibu.com⁠ Go to ⁠⁠⁠AquaTruWater.com⁠⁠⁠ now for 20% off your purifier using promo code NOTHINGMUCH. AquaTru even comes with a 30-day best-tasting water guarantee. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to ⁠⁠First Peoples Fund⁠⁠. They honor and support the Collective Spirit of First Peoples artists and culture bearers. By doing this they help Native communities heal and thrive. Learn more about them in our show notes. ⁠NMH merch, autographed books and more!⁠ ⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠  Listen to our daytime show ⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠.  ⁠First This, Kathryn’s guided mediation podcast. ⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more, nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Kids don't wait to be school age to start learning. They're already doing it. Infants can learn sign language, two-year-olds are ready for science, and three-year-olds, they're already picking up the basics of coding. Their minds are wide open. and the right environment can make all the difference. That's what I love about Primrose schools. They know this is the moment.

The curiosity is already there, so the learning can actually be joyful, hands-on, and full of discovery instead of pressure. Your child is ready to learn, and at Primrose schools, teachers make them most of this time by creating a joyful, purposeful learning experience, unlike any other. From infant to five years, Primrose Schools is the leader in early education and care.

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That's O-S-E-A-Malibu.com. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. Since every episode is someone's first, I like to say a little about how this works. Narrative gives your brain a place to settle.

And that bit of focus and stillness allows you to shift from the chaos, default mode to the sleep-inducing task-positive mode. And the more you listen, the more reliable your ability to fall and return to sleep will become. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the house. episode. Our story tonight is called After Dinner, and it is the third part in a series featuring some favorite animals of the village of nothing much. You could go back and listen to

the previous two if you've missed them, but let's be honest, you'll probably be asleep in a few moments. This is a story about the quiet that settles in as the plates are cleared and the candles burn down. It's also about passed down recipes, dogs chasing through the halls, bay leaves and pine needles, the sound of voices in the next room, and a moment alone under the stars. Growing up in Michigan, clean water has never been something that I take for granted. If you know anything about my hometown, Flint, you know why. So when I learned that three out of four U.S. homes have toxic chemicals in their tap water, I wasn't shocked, but I also wasn't interested in pretending that a basic picture filter was going to solve it. That's why I, I,

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Promo code, N-O-T-H-I-N-G-M-U-C-H. Okay, campers, snuggle down. Day is done, gone the sun from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well. Safely rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose. nose and sigh it out. Nice. One more. Breathe in.

Let it go. Good. After dinner. A quiet stupor lay over. lay over us like a thick fog. The fire had burned down to embers, and in a minute or so I would get up and lay in a few more logs.

But not right now. Right now I needed to lean back in my chair and digest. marmalade lay in my lap and I lazily stroked her back as she surveyed the room the sun had just set and there was still a purple gleam in the air outside

the lights were low the candles on the table burn down to stops. I watched as one, its wax finally overfull at the flame, broke the dam and dribbled down to drip onto the tablecloth. My cousin touched his elbow to mine and pointed his chin at the spilling wax,

That would have sent Grandma into a connipion, can you imagine? I chuckled with him and said, She would have had a meltdown. I waggled my eyebrows at him, proud of my pun. He shook his head. When I knew he remembered, as well as I did, the tension of preserving grandma's good linens and best plates at the big family gatherings of our childhood. I sighed and said that I thought a few stains on the tablecloth were a sign of a meal so well enjoyed that it left the diners too contented to fuss.

He lifted his glass and said, Look at us, breaking generational curses. I touched my glass to his, and we drank to poor grandma and her best intentions. The room still smelled of all the good things we'd eaten, the savory mushroom gravy, the sense of thyme and sage and roasted sweet potatoes, the yeasty dinner rolls, and the vinegory snap of the pickle and olive tray.

I'd made a few family favorites that frankly only me and my cousin craved at Thanksgiving dinner, and then only because we'd grown up with them year after year. There was the pea and peanut salad with tangy dressing and finely diced onions and cranberry chutney with pecans and celery. I heard a record being flipped in the living room soft dinner music drifted from the speakers and then came the thundering sound of pause

racing down the hall our house guests had arrived the afternoon before pulling up into the driveway with two moderately sized weekender bags for the grown-ups a full roller bag of dog sweaters and treats and toys to share, and their wriggly panting pug. Just like me, Crum was having fun with his cousin. The pug was a girl, a couple years younger than Crum,

with silky black fur, and a curly. her name was tablespoon. The cousins came racing into the dining room, nipping and chasing through the chair legs. Marmalade's eyebrows went up as she watched the rowdy pair, and the affronted look on her face made me think she'd have gotten along very well with grandma. Plates were being cleared away, and I could hear the water running in the kitchen sink. Besides ourselves and our houseguests, we'd also had a few friends at our table today. From her pretty old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, where she grew enough Lila, for the whole county

came a friend of mine I'd known since grade school she'd brought a centerpiece made of pine boughs and fresh bay with small red berries threaded through the needles as she walked around the table

laying out fresh forks for dessert Table Spoon crashed into her ankles, and she gripped the back of my chair to keep from tumbling over. Remind me, she said to my cousin. How did Tabletpoon get her name? Was battering ram taken? We all chuckled, and my cousin reached down to scoop the pug into his lap. She's got a friend at a friend at home, a guinea pig that predated her. He was so small when we brought him home, we called him teaspoon. He patted the dog's pink belly, and she wriggled closer in his arms. And she just fell in love with him. They nap together, eat dinner at each other's sides. So after a few days, We knew we had to name her to match.

From the kitchen came the voice of another friend, this one who'd been the best man at our wedding. How many coffees? Hands went up, and his plus one, a woman he'd met at the florist across the alley from his bicycle shop, counted them, and went to relay the number. I usually stayed away from caffeine at this time of the evening but figured it would probably balance out

the sleepiness from my full stomach and most likely keep me awake just long enough to put away the leftovers. Marmalade jumped down from my lap and strolled languidly into the living room, probably looking for the restful company of our greyhound birdie. My eyes fell on the dying fire again,

and I decided this was the perfect moment for a bit of fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs. As I pushed away from the table and strolled to the back door to step into my rubber boots, I heard a rumble of laughter from the kitchen. What is it about hearing well-known voices

talking in the next room that so soothes your heart? is it a memory of dozing on the sofa as a child while the grown-ups talked around the table or maybe just the reminder that life goes on even when you aren't there to witness it the continuity that our loved ones still laugh

and chat and stir sugar into their coffee while we busy ourselves somewhere nearby. I remembered reading once that for most of human history, we fell asleep with the sound of others around us. Voices, a crackling fire, a stirring pot. Silence is a modern phenomenon.

Outside, the air crackled with cold, and I breathed it in, letting it sting my nostrils. My face felt warm and rosy, and my boots left tracks in the frost. At the woodpile, I reached, for a few solid logs and shuffled them into my arms. Before I went back to the house,

I stepped out from under the eve of the shed and looked up at the stars. The sky was wide open. And as I gazed at the star-studded firmament, I was struck by a deep feeling of being right where I was meant to be. I stayed for a moment more than turned toward the warmth of our home. After dinner. A quiet stupor.

lay over us like a thick fog. The fire had burned down to embers, and in a minute or so I would get up and lay in a few more logs. But not right now. Right now, I needed to lean back in my chair and digest. Marmalade lay in my lap,

and I lazily stroked her back as she surveyed the room. The sun had just set, and there was still a purple gleam in the air outside. The lights were low. The candles on the table burned down to stubs. I watched as one, its wax finally overfull at the flame, broke through the dam and dribbled down

to drip onto the tablecloth my cousin touched his elbow to mine and pointed his chin at the spilling wax that would have sent grandma into a connipion. Can you imagine? I chuckled with him and said, hmm, she would have had a meltdown.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, proud of my pun. He shook his head. And I knew he remembered, as well as I did, the tension of preserving grandma's good linens and best plates at the big family gatherings of our childhood. I sighed and said that I thought a few stains on a tablecloth were a sign of a meal so well enjoyed that it left the diners too contented to fuss

he lifted his glass and said look at us breaking generational curses I touched my glass to his and we drank to poor grandma and her best intentions. The room still smelled of all the good things we'd eaten. The savory mushroom gravy,

the sense of time and sage and roasted sweet potatoes. The yeasty dinner roll, and the vinegory snap of the pickle, an olive tray. I'd made a few family favorites, but frankly, only me and my cousin craved at Thanksgiving dinner. And then only because we'd grown up with them year after year. There was pea and peanut salad

with tangy dressing and finely diced onions and cranberry chutney with pecans and celery. I heard a record being flipped in the living room Soft dinner music drifted from the speakers, and then came the thundering sound of pause,

racing down the hall. Our house guests had arrived the afternoon before, pulling up into the driveway with two, moderately sized weekender bags for the grown-ups. A full roller bag of dog sweaters and treats and toys to share.

And their wriggly, panting, pug. Just like me, Crum was having fun with his cousin. The pug was a girl, a couple years younger than crumb, with silky black fur and a curly tail. Her name was tablespoon. The cousins came racing into the dining room,

nipping and chasing through the chair legs Marmalade's eyebrows went up as she watched the rowdy pair and the affronted look on her face made me think she would have gotten along very well with grandma plates were being cleared away

and I could hear the water running in the kitchen sink besides ourselves and our houseguests we'd also had a few friends at our table today from her pretty old farmhouse on the outskirts of town where she grew enough lilacs for the whole county

had come a friend of mine that I'd known since grade school she'd brought a centerpiece made of pine boughs and fresh bay with small red berries threaded through the needles as she walked around the table laying out fresh forks for dessert

tablespoon crashed into her ankles and she gripped the back of my chair to keep from tumbling over. Remind me, she said to my cousin, how did tablespoon get her name? Was battering ram taken? We all chuckled, and my cousin reached down

to scoop the pug into his lap. Well, she's got a friend at home, a guinea pig that predated her. He was so small when we brought him home, we'd called him teaspoon. He patted the dog's pink belly, and she wriggled closer in his arms. She just fell in love with him. They nap together, eat dinner at each other's sides. So after a few days, we knew we needed to name her to match. From the kitchen came the voice of another friend,

this one who'd been the best man at our wedding. How many coffees? Hands went up, and his plus one, a woman he'd met at the florists, across the alley from his bicycle shop, counted them, and went to relay the number. I usually stayed away from caffeine at this time of the evening, but figured it would balance out the sleepiness from my full stomach and most likely keep me awake only long enough to put away the leftovers.

Marmalade jumped down from my lap and strolled languidly into the living room, probably looking for the restful company of our greyhound birdie. My eyes fell again on the dying fire, and I decided this was the perfect moment for a bit of fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs as I pushed away from the table

and strolled to the back door to step into my rubber boots I heard a rumble of laughter from the kitchen What is it about hearing well-known voices talking in the next room that so soothes your heart? Is it a memory of dozing on the sofa as a child while the grown-ups talked around the table? Or maybe just the reminder

that life goes on even when you aren't there to witness it. The continuity that our loved ones still laugh and chat and stir sugar into their coffee while we busy ourselves elsewhere. I remembered reading once that for most of human history

we fell asleep with the sound of others around us. Voices. A crackling fire. A stirring pot. Silence is a modern phenomenon. Outside, the air crackled with cold, and I breathed it in, letting it sting my nostrils. My face felt warm and rosy, and my boots left tracks in the frost.

at the wood pile I reached for a few solid logs and shuffled them into my arms before I went back to the house I stepped out from under the eve of the shed and looked up at the stars the sky was wide open and as I gazed at the star studded firmament

I was struck by a deep feeling of being right where I was meant to be I stayed for a moment more and turned toward the warmth of our home sweet dreams