Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Coffee On The Stoop (Encore)

Episode Date: June 20, 2024

Originally Aired: June 2nd, 2019 (Season 3 Episode 10) Our story tonight is called “Coffee on the Stoop,” and it’s a story about a day devoted to small acts of kindness. It’s also about a kitty sleeping in a window, paints, brushes, and flower seeds, and the awe we feel when a stranger reaches out to do us a good turn.   Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the latest Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners: Eversio Wellness: Chill Now Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle Alice Mushrooms: Nightcap NutraChamps: Tart Cherry Gummies A Brighter Year: Mini Coloring Book NuStrips: Sleep Strips Woolzies: Lavender Roll-On     Subscribe for ad-free, bonus and extra long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for NMH Premium channel on Apple podcast or follow the link below nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription Listen to our new show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favorite podcast app. nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-villagePurchase 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. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support. Sometimes, even when our bodies are ready for sleep, our minds aren't. They might race and wander and keep us up or wake us back up after too little sleep. That's where I come in. I'll tell you a story, and as you

listen, your busy mind will slow and relax and before too long, you'll be peacefully asleep. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, go right back to whatever you can remember about the story. Any detail or image, and your brain will quiet right back down. We're habituating a response in your system. So the more you do this, the more quickly and easily you will find sleep.

Our story tonight is called Coffee on the Stoop, or How to Have a Better Day. And it's a story about a day devoted to small acts of kindness. It's also about a kitty sleeping in a window, paints and brushes and flower seeds, and the awe that we feel when a stranger reaches out to do us a good turn. Now, turn off the light. No more screens.

Slide down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Good. Do that one more time. Breathe in and out. Good. Coffee on the stoop, or how to have a better day. There was a bright pink band of light across the morning sky. And it was starting to shift to peachy orange and break apart into patches as I watched. My coffee sat beside me, steaming in the air on the front stoop, and the roasty,

rich smell mixed with the green scent of grass and growing gardens. We'd had warmer days in the last few weeks, but we hadn't had a warm morning until today. And somehow, I had woken up knowing it. Maybe I could smell it through the tiny crack in the window. Or maybe I could hear the birds singing differently in the warm air. But before I opened my eyes, I knew the morning would be sweet and warm and bright.

And it was. I sat with no plans, sipping slowly and watching the sky change. Across the street, I watched my neighbor's kitty, a Siamese with fawn fur and deep brown streaks around her eyes and ears, pace across the top of the sofa in her front window. Eventually, she sat, and I watched her watch the birds moving through the branches of the trees on her street.

I was on my second cup when I finally saw it. A smudged scrap of paper tucked under corner of an empty flower pot on the top step of the porch. I lifted an eyebrow and just puzzled at it for a moment. Had I left something there? Maybe I'd dropped a piece of mail or a shopping list had fallen out of my pocket. I shifted the pot and smiled down at an inked note. Flowers for your porch, it said. Under the note, I found three packs of seeds, all flowers, different types, and different colors. I laughed a bit, and picking them up, looked up and down the street, as though the gift-giver might still be there and watching me. It reminded me suddenly of an old friend of mine who was an expert stealth giver.

She had once hidden some small trinket she'd seen me admire in an empty mason jar in the back of my cupboard. It had taken me weeks to find it, but when I had, late one night in pajamas and slippers, looking for a snack, I felt like I'd been given something magical. More than the trinket.

She'd given me the gift of amazement. I looked down at the seeds, shaking them in their paper packets to hear the satisfying rattle, and felt that same feeling now. What if, I thought. I tried to amaze a few people today. I carried my cup and the seeds back inside and made some plans. I'd baked off a batch of muffins the day before, full of poppy seeds and lemon. I put a few in an old cookie tin and tied a ribbon around it.

I had a neighbor up the street who I'd seen in the library a few days before. They were in the last semester of their degree, and they'd been sitting with a tall stack of books and reams of notes all around them. I tucked a note in the tin. Study snacks, it said. A few minutes later, I snuck the tin onto their front porch and ducked down the street toward the shops and cafes on the corner.

I noticed a parking meter timed out in front of the grocery and slipped a few coins in from my pocket. I bought a small bouquet of daisies and daffodils and carried them into the bookstore. There was a tall shelf of historical fiction in the back, and I slipped the flowers into a gap at the end of a row. I left a note there, too. It just said, for you. I walked through the park and picked up a few pieces of litter

and left a quarter in the feed dispenser for the ducks. A dad with two little ones was juggling juice boxes, and I stopped for a second to help tie a shoe and open a pack of crackers. When you start to look for ways to brighten someone's day or lighten someone's load, suddenly they are all around you. I held a door. I retrieved a dropped pencil.

I took a picture of a dog sitting outside of a shop and sent it to a friend I hadn't heard from in a while. I pointed a delivery man in the right direction. I lobbed an errant ball back into the schoolyard. I just smiled and slowed down. I thought that rushing was likely contagious, and even just showing up wherever I was with some calm and ease was a way to help. On my way back home, I stopped at the mailbox of the house across the street and slipped in a package of toy mice stuffed with catnip. She watched me from her spot

on the back of the sofa. She stopped her bath and treated me to a quick flick of the tail. Back in my own place, I laid out some newspapers on the kitchen table and got ready to plant my flower seeds. I'd stopped at a little art shop and bought some pretty bright paints and tiny brushes. I dusted off the pots and brightened them up with the paints, sharp lines and a few words. I spooned potting mix in and sowed a few seeds in each. I mixed the seeds up

so each pot would have a rainbow of colors. I watered them gently from the tap and set them out in saucers back on the front stoop. I'd painted a message on with my brushes and I turned them out to the street so my gift giver could read it when they passed by. They said,

Thank you, friend. Coffee on the stoop. Or, how to Have a Better Day. There was a bright pink band of light across the morning sky, and it was starting to shift to peachy orange and break into patches as I watched. My coffee sat beside me, steaming in the air on the front stoop,

and the roasty, rich smell mixed with the green scent of grass and growing gardens. We'd had warmer days in the last few weeks, but we hadn't had a warm morning until today. And somehow, I'd woken up knowing it. Maybe I could smell it through the tiny crack in the window. Or maybe I could hear the birds singing differently in the warm air. Before I opened my eyes, I knew the morning would be sweet and warm and bright. And it was.

I sat with no plans, sipping slowly and watching the sky change. Across the street, I watched my neighbor's kitty, a Siamese with fawn fur and deep brown streaks around her eyes and ears, pace across the top of the sofa in her front window. Eventually she sat, and I watched her watch the birds

moving through the branches of the old trees on our street. I was on my second cup when I finally saw it. A smudged scrap of paper, tucked under the corner of an empty flowerpot on the top step of the porch. I lifted an eyebrow and just puzzled at it for a moment. Had I left something there? Maybe I'd dropped a piece of mail, or a shopping list had fallen out of my pocket. I shifted the pot and smiled down at an inked note.

Flowers for your porch, it said. Under the note, I found three packs of seeds, all flowers, different types and different colors. I laughed a bit, and picking them up, looked up and down the street, as though the gift giver might still be there and watching me. It reminded me suddenly of an old friend of mine who was an expert stealth-giver. She had once hidden some small trinket she'd seen me admire in an empty mason jar in the back of my cupboard. It had taken me weeks to find it. But when I had, late one night, in pajamas and slippers, looking for a snack. I felt like I'd been given something

magical, more than the trinket. She'd given me the gift of amazement. I looked down at the seeds, shaking them in their paper packets to hear the satisfying rattle, and felt that same feeling now. What if, I thought, I tried to amaze a few people today? I carried my cup and the seeds back inside and made some plans. I'd baked off a batch of muffins the day before, full of poppy seeds and lemon. I put a few in an old cookie tin and tied a ribbon around it. I had a neighbor up the street who'd I'd seen in the library a few days before.

They were in the last semester of their degree, and they'd been sitting with a tall stack of books and reams of notes all around them. I tucked a note in the tin. Study snacks, it said. A few minutes later, I snuck the tin onto their front porch and ducked down the street toward the shops and cafes on the corner. I noticed a

parking meter timed out in front of the grocery, and slipped a few coins in from my pocket. I bought a small bouquet of daisies and daffodils and carried them into the bookstore. There was a tall shelf of historical fiction in the back, and I slipped the flowers into a gap at the end of a row. I left a note there, too. It just said, For you. I walked through the park and picked up a few pieces of litter and left a quarter in the feed dispenser for the ducks.

A dad with two little ones was juggling juice boxes, and I stopped for a second to help tie his shoe and open a pack of crackers. When you start to look for ways to brighten someone's day or lighten someone's load, suddenly they are all around you. I held a door. I retrieved a dropped pencil. I took a picture of a dog sitting outside a shop

and sent it to a friend I hadn't heard from in a while. I pointed a delivery man in the right direction. I lobbed an errant ball back into the schoolyard. I just smiled and slowed down. I thought that rushing was likely contagious. And even just showing up, wherever I was, with some calm and ease, was a way to help. On my way back home, I stopped at the mailbox of the house across the street and slipped in a package of toy mice stuffed with catnip.

She watched me from her spot on the back of the sofa. She stopped her bath and treated me to a quick flick of the tail. Back in my own place, I laid out some newspapers on the kitchen table and got ready to plant my flower seeds. I'd stopped at a little art shop and bought some pretty bright paints and tiny brushes. I dusted off the pots and brightened them up with the paints, sharp lines and a few words.

I spooned potting mix in and sowed a few seeds in each. I mixed the seeds up so each pot would have a rainbow of colors. I watered them gently from the tap and set them out in saucers back on the front stoop. I'd painted a message on with my brushes, and I turned them out to the street so my gift-giver could read it when they passed by. They said, Thank you, friend. Sweet dreams.