Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - At The Parade (Encore)

Episode Date: November 16, 2023

Originally Aired: November 21st, 2021 (Season 8 Episode 16) Our story tonight is called “At the Parade” and it’s a story about a tradition to start off Thanksgiving morning. It’s also about the sky at dawn, streaked with pink, noticing small things that make life sweet and a marching band coming down Main Street. Subscribe for ad-free, bonus and extra long episodes now! https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription  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 read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens, 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. If you're planning to gift someone you love, who might be yourself, with some of our Sweet Dreams merch this holiday season, best to get it done soon. My current favorite is the pencil set. They say things like breathe in, breathe out,

good. And first this, then that. And after all, I love a freshly sharpened pencil. We also have an insulated drink tumbler that says, you've done enough for the day. They ship all over the world and are available at nothingmuchappens.com, where you can also gift our ad-free and bonus subscriptions. Now, this podcast is designed to put you to sleep, or to just help you relax. I'll tell you a story to give your busy mind a place to lie down. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Just listen to the sound of my voice,

and follow along with the details of the story. And before you know it, you'll be drifting into deep, restful sleep. If you wake later in the night, think back through the bits of the story that you can remember. This puts your brain right back on track for sleep, rather than letting it wander and race. The more you listen, the more your sleep will improve as we are training your brain right now for better sleep habits over time. It's time to stop looking at and checking things. Let the world turn without you.

Snuggle your body down into your sheets and pull the blanket up over your shoulder. Sometimes it helps to say to yourself, I'm about to fall asleep, and I'll sleep deep all night. Let's take a breath in through the nose and let it out the mouth. Nice.

Do that one more time. Breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called At the Parade. And it's a story about a tradition to start off Thanksgiving morning. It's also about the sky at dawn, streaked with pink, noticing

small things that make life sweet, and a marching band coming down Main Street. At the parade. We'd been going since we were kids. Bundled in our coats and hats. Sleepy at first. And then full of excitement as we got close to Main Street. And felt the bustling energy of the crowd. And thinking back, the crowds couldn't have been much. Our village just doesn't have enough folks in it to pack the streets. But as a child, I felt like I was standing

on Herald Square in New York City, about to watch Snoopy glide out from between the buildings. Some years, we opted to stay in our pajamas and watch the big parade on TV. But most of the time, we went, and we still go. This morning, I had woken early and crept downstairs in my slippers. The house was dark, and I left it that way, just turning on the light over the stove. I filled the kettle at the sink and looked into the yard but couldn't

make out a thing. I set the kettle on the stove and turned the dial, listening to the click of the lighting mechanism and the soft whoosh of the flame igniting. While I waited for it to boil, I slipped an overcoat from the hook by the door and stepped outside. The cold air opened my eyes wide, and I zipped up my coat to my nose. This had become my own private morning ritual lately set the water for tea and then creep out and look for the spot where the sun was rising

at the end of our block, just two houses down, the road rose a bit, and from there, I could look down over the edge of the park. The darkness was less dark there, less dense, and as I stood with my arms wrapped around me, shifting the weight from foot to foot in the cold air. It began to turn purple and then pink. In another moment, the whole sky was changing, and the spaces around the houses and trees were becoming defined again.

I liked to sneak back in before anyone else was on the street. This moment was just for me, so I only stayed for another few breaths. I could see them in the air before me. Often, when we think of things we are grateful for, we name the big things. Health, home, family, friends. And certainly, there's a reason that those are at the top of the list. But these small, private moments

helped me remember the tiny details of my days that deserved appreciation. On that list were clean sheets, soft sweaters, toast and jam, hot showers, a love note in my lunchbox, seven in the evening and seven in the morning. I took one more breath of the chilled air and turned and happily shuffled back to the house. Inside, it was still quiet, but a few lights had been switched on, and I found a mug waiting for me on the counter,

the tea bag floating in the hot water. I smiled as I gently dunked it a few times, watching the dark color from the leaves swirl and spread. Add it to the list, I thought. Someone who knows your favorite tea and makes it for you while you stand outside and watch the sun come up. The parade was set for mid-morning, so after our tea, we bundled up and walked into town. Lots of neighbors were heading out at the same time, and we called out to each other as we strolled. We cut through the park, and as we came out of the other side, we could hear the marching band warming up and the low buzz of people talking and laughing.

The cafe, the bakery, and the diner were all open, and some people preferred to watch from there, warm in a booth, with breakfast in front of them. But, as we'd be sitting down to a big meal in the afternoon, we liked to stay on our feet and watch from the curb. There were carts serving coffee and hot cider, bagels and donuts, and that was our first stop. We got a bag of cinnamon sugar donuts and two cups of strong black coffee. I took a bite of a donut, sweet and spiced, and then a long sip of the bitter coffee. It was the best combination, and I added it to my list of ordinary miracles. We walked, sipping and chewing,

down from the park and toward the theater. That was the best spot. That's where the parade would turn, coming down from the end of Park Street and on to Maine. That's where the band would stop and play an extra song, flags waving and the drummers tossing their sticks into the air and mostly catching them when they came back down. There was an open square with paving stones and benches and lampposts already strung with

twinkle lights for the coming holidays. We found a spot and just in time. We could hear the band strike up from a few blocks away and saw the first float coming down the street. We cheered. Kids clapped and stomped their feet. I slipped the bag of donuts into my pocket so that we could hold hands. Holding hands. Add it to the list. There were a few floats that came back every year. A hay cart from the Christmas tree farm, full of people in sweaters holding pumpkins in their laps, pulled by a big green tractor, the fire truck decked out by the garden club

with poinsettias and wreaths, and, for some reason, a giant bathtub full of enormous plastic bubbles pulled by a pickup truck. That last one had been in the parade since I was a kid, and was a bit of a local favorite, though admittedly strange. A few years ago, when cousins were in town for Thanksgiving and had come to the parade with us, they'd cocked their heads confusedly at the tub

as it went coasting down Main. Why? they'd asked. And I'm sure it made sense at the time, I yelled over the crowd, but we don't know anymore, and we'd laughed all day about it. As in any local parade, there were also cars full of random people who seemed to be there for no reason, but they made up for it by throwing candy into the crowd, and we still clapped for them. The band turned the corner in front of us,

and we cheered as they marched and played. We could see the end of the parade coming from a few blocks away. There was a float made by the high school drama club, who were putting on Clue for the winter play. The usual suspects all stood in costume, waving to the crowd and clutching the scenery as the trailer bumped along. There were kids in gymnastic outfits covered with coats, who I think were meant to tumble on a mat spread in the square,

but mostly waved at their parents and wandered as their teachers attempted to herd them. Finally, with a swell of jingle bells, Santa in a sleigh that sat the rest of the year in the center of the antique shop came waving and calling around the corner. We laughed, caught in the contagious joy of the crowd and children. We squeezed hands. At the parade. We'd been going since we were kids, bundled in our coats and hats, sleepy at first, and then full of excitement as we got close to Main Street and felt the bustling energy of the crowd.

And thinking back, the crowds couldn't have been much. Our village just doesn't have enough folks in it to pack the streets. But as a child, I felt like I was standing on Herald Square in New York City, about to watch Snoopy glide out from between the buildings. Some years, we opted to stay in our pajamas and watch the big parade on TV. But most of the time, we went. And we still go. This morning, I'd woken early

and crept downstairs in my slippers. The house was dark and I left it that way, just turning on the light over the stove. I filled the kettle at the sink and looked into the yard, but couldn't make out a thing. I set the kettle on the stove and turned the dial listening to the click

of the lighting mechanism and the soft whoosh of the flame igniting while I waited for it to boil, I slipped an overcoat from the hook by the door and stepped outside. The cold air opened my eyes wide

and I zipped up my coat to my nose. This had become my own private morning ritual lately. set the water for tea, and then creep out and look for the spot where the sun was rising. At the end of our block, two houses down, the road rose a bit, and from there I could look down over the edge of the park. The darkness was less dark there, less dense. and as I stood with my arms wrapped around me, shifting the weight from foot to foot in the cold air, it began to turn purple and then pink. In another moment,

the whole sky was changing, and the spaces around the houses and trees were becoming defined again. I liked to sneak back in before anyone else was on the street. This moment was just for me. So I only stayed for another few breaths. I could see them in the air before me. Often, when we think of things we are grateful for,

we name the big things. Health. Home. Health. Home. Family. Friends. And certainly, there's a reason that those are at the top of the list. But these small, private moments helped me remember the tiny details of my days that deserved appreciation. On that list, there were clean sheets, soft sweaters, toast and jam, hot showers, a love note in my lunchbox, seven in the evening and seven in the morning. I took one more breath of the chilled air and turned and happily shuffled back to the house. Inside, it was still quiet, but a few lights had been switched on, and I found a mug waiting for me on the counter, the tea bag floating in the hot water. I smiled as I gently dunked it a few times,

watching the dark color from the leaves swirl and spread. Add it to the list, I thought. Someone who knows your favorite tea and makes it for you while you stand outside and watch the sun come up. The parade was set for mid-morning. So after our tea, we bundled up and walked into town. Lots of neighbors were heading out at the same time,

and we called out to each other as we strolled. We cut through the park, and as we came out of the other side, we could hear the marching band warming up, and the low buzz of people talking and laughing. The cafe, the bakery, and the diner were all open, and some people preferred to watch from there,

warm in a booth, with breakfast in front of them. But as we'd be sitting down to a big meal in the afternoon, we liked to stay on our feet and watch from the curb. There were carts serving coffee and hot cider, bagels and donuts, and that was our first stop. We got a bag of cinnamon sugar donuts and two cups of strong black coffee. I took a bite of a donut, sweet and spiced, and then a long sip of the bitter coffee. It was the best combination, and I added it to my list of ordinary miracles. We walked, sipping and chewing, down from the park and toward the theater. That was the best spot.

That's where the parade would turn coming down from the end of Park Street and on to Maine. That's where the band would stop and play an extra song, flags waving, and the drummers tossing their sticks into the air and mostly catching them when they came back down. There was an open square

with paving stones and benches and lampposts already strung with twinkle lights for the coming holidays. We found a spot, and just in time. We could hear the band strike up from a few blocks float coming down the street. We cheered. Kids clapped and stomped their feet. I slipped the bag of donuts into my pocket so that we could hold hands. Holding hands.

Added to the list. There were a few floats that came back every year. The hay cart from the Christmas tree farm, full of people in sweaters holding pumpkins in their laps, pulled by a big green tractor. The fire truck, decked out by the garden club, with poinsettias and wreaths, and, for some reason, a giant bathtub

full of enormous plastic bubbles pulled by a pickup truck. That last one had been in the parade since I was a kid and was a bit of a local favorite, though admittedly strange. A few years ago, when cousins were in town for Thanksgiving and had come to the parade with us. They'd cocked their heads confusedly at us as the tub went coasting down Main. Why? they'd asked. I'm sure it made sense at the time, I yelled over the crowd, but we don't know anymore. And we'd laughed all day about it. As in any local parade, there were also a few cars full of random people who seemed to be there for no reason.

But they made up for it by throwing candy into the crowd, and we still clapped for them. The band turned the corner in front of us, and we cheered as they marched and played. We could see the end of the parade coming from a few blocks away. There was a float made by the high school drama club

who were putting on clue for the winter play. The usual suspects all stood in costume, waving to the crowd and clutching the scenery as the trailer bumped along. There were kids in gymnastic outfits covered with coats, who I think were meant to tumble on a mat spread in the square, but mostly just waved at their parents and wandered as their teachers attempted to herd them. Finally, with a swell of jingle bells, Santa in a sleigh that sat the rest of the year in the center of the antique shop came waving and calling around the corner.

We laughed, caught in the contagious joy of the crowd and children. We squeezed hands. Sweet dreams.