Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Coffee On The Stoop or How to Have a Better Day

Episode Date: June 3, 2019

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 we feel when a stranger reaches out to do us a good turn. 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, Katherine Nicolai, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Nothing Much Happens is a proud member of the CuriousCast podcast network. If you enjoy our stories, please share them any way you can with anyone you know who likes relaxation and good sleep. And follow us on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter for some extra coziness. 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. Now, turn off the light.

No more screens. Slide down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Take a slow, deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Good. Do that one more time.

Breathe in and out. 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

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 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 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. branches of the 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 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 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 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 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 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.