Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Flower Day at the Market

Episode Date: May 9, 2022

Our story tonight is called Flower Day at the Market and it’s a story about the signs of summer showing up in parks and gardens and the market. It’s also about sidewalk sales, a guitar being tuned and fresh growing things as far as the eye can see. Order the book now! Get our ad-free and bonus episodes.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 write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. The second episode of our new meditation podcast, First This, is available now. It's a really nice way to start your day in a good frame of mind, or just to reset and focus at any time. Search First This on your podcast app,

or check the show notes for links. You can subscribe to our Premium and Premium Plus feeds to hear our episodes completely ad-free and access bonus stories that aren't available anywhere else. I just added the sweetest story to Premium Plus last week. It's called Sticks and Stones, and it feels like a sequel to both Wind and Wildflowers and Bells and Whistles. Membership is a little over a dime a day, and you can sign up at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, let me say something about how to use this podcast. I have a story to tell you. And the story is simple, without much action, but full of relaxing detail. Our minds race, you know this. And the story is a way to move your mind off the expressway and onto an exit ramp toward a serene resting spot.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you find that you are still awake at the end of the second telling, don't worry. Just take yourself back through any of the details of the story that you remember. This even works if you wake in the middle of the night. Use the details to get right back on the exit ramp. And before you know it, you'll be drifting off to peaceful sleep. Okay. lights out. Get as comfortable as you can.

Feel your whole body give its weight to the bed. Whatever happened today, it's what happened today. And now it's time to let go and rest. I'll be here reading to you even after you've fallen asleep. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Again, in and out with sound.

Good. Our story tonight is called Flower Day at the Market. And it's a story about the signs of summer showing up in parks and gardens and the market. It's also about sidewalk sales, a guitar being tuned, and fresh growing things as far as the eye can see. Flower day at the market. We were riding closer to the cusp of summer, and you could feel it in the warm early mornings when the sun rose before anyone in the house was awake.

And in the greening lawns and budding trees that lined the street, there were other signs. I'd watched the first baseball game of the season through the chain-link fence in the park. The sound of the ball clapping into a glove, of the bat dropped into the packed clay of the infield from a batter's hand as she dashed for first base, and the teasing talk and calls of,

Hey, bat a batterada from the other team as the next player stepped up to the plate. In the afternoons, I'd noticed the windows of the school bus were pushed down as it stopped and let kids out on the corner, and that they laughed louder and chased and played with that end-of-the-school-year giddiness that runs rampant in the last week or two of classes. And now, it was flower day at the market, a sure sign that we were about to leave spring behind

and step into the lush, bright days of summer. Our farmer's market was open year-round, though in the winter the outer stalls were empty, and inside pickings were decidedly slim. You could find a few things grown in greenhouses, and lots of crafts, and the coffee stands stayed open to keep everyone supplied with hot drinks. But even on sunny days, the winter wind pushed drafts through the building, and even the vendors wore coats and hats all day.

Now all the doors and windows would be open, the halls and walkways full of shoppers and their carts. I couldn't wait. The market sat on the edge of downtown, and on Flower Day, the shops and cafes in the blocks around it joined in on the fun I parked on a side street

and wandered through the sidewalk sales another sign of summer and stopped to browse some cups and bowls set out in front of a little shop that sold kitchenwares. I don't know what it is about plates and teapots and little spoons. But I want to buy new sets of them every time I see them. I didn't, but I wanted to. These were plain white with rims in blue or dark red. And they reminded me of the dishes at the diner

where my friends and I had met up for late-night coffees in high school. Oh, the plates of pancakes we'd eaten, washing them down with so many refilled cups of coffee. Then each gone home to sleep like babies, despite the caffeine. Only waking when we were pried out of bed by a determined parent. I set the cup down, but couldn't resist a couple of the tiny, mismatched spoons displayed in the jam jar. They were just a dollar apiece and felt very necessary as I held them in my hand and imagined stirring sugar into my tea. The shop owner took my dollars and wrapped the spoons in a piece of brown paper and I slipped them into my bag

and walked on toward the market. At the cafe, there was a little stage set up by the outdoor tables and a few people plugging in microphones and a guitar and a keyboard. They tuned up as I walked past and I thought about the effort and the guts it must take

to stand in front of even just a few people and play and sing, it made me smile at a stranger's determination, simply glad that there are people like that in the world. The lot at the market was bustling as I walked through the rows and closer to the covered stalls. It's called Flower day for a reason there were flowers everywhere in pots sitting along the edge of every walkway

hanging from hooks along each booth flats of perennials and annuals stretched out on tables, dripping from their morning watering. There were full-grown hydrangeas and lilies and even lilac shrubs and red dogwoods and large pots. People were pulling wagons with ivy trailing down behind them or carrying pots in their arms. And everywhere you turned, there was color and blooming and sweet scents. After a long winter, it felt like I had suddenly been plunged from black and white into technicolor. And I tucked into a spot

out of the way for a few minutes and just watched the flowers and people going by. I didn't have a cart or a wagon, so I had to be judicious with my purchases today, just as I had been in choosing spoons over mugs and plates. From my spot, I surveyed the booths and stalls. What did I want? Our yard was well-established, with long beds full of dahlias, peonies, sweet Williams and black-eyed Susans.

So most years, I just added flowerpots to the front porch steps to complete the scene. I folded myself into the crowd and started to look for a couple of pleasing pots. Not too big, but just right for the top step. Of course, there were lots of geraniums, a solid standby, and zinnias and dianthus, but they did best in full sun, and because of the big sycamore in the front yard, our porch was mostly shaded.

At a stall near the end, I found round baskets of flowers I couldn't quite name. They were yellow and red, and that lovely sunset orange I adored. The woman behind the counter told me they were a begonia-chameleon mix, and would do very well in the shade. I paid for two baskets, and she kindly set them aside for me to pick up on my way out. I still wanted to wander a bit longer. Along with all these flowers, there were a lot of vegetable seedlings started and ready to be transplanted into gardens.

And I nosily listened in on a couple, deciding how many peppers and how many eggplant seedlings to purchase. They wondered if they had enough tomatoes. Are there ever enough tomatoes, I thought, when they come in strong at the end of the summer, full of flavor, with their vines smelling so delicious. I had a flat of them in my hand before I knew what I was doing, and laughed and set them back down. There was plenty of time, plenty of time to seed my garden. The market would be full of plants for weeks and weeks.

Today was flower day. I stopped for a drink at the coffee stall. They had a few new cold drink options, and I tried a limeade mixed with sweet fizzy water. And it was absolutely refreshing, and the best thing I'd tasted in a while. I still had the flavor on my tongue while I carried my pots back through the lot and toward my car. Limes, flowers, the bright sun above me all the signs of summer were here

flower day at the market we were riding closer to the cusp of summer and you could feel it in the warm early mornings when the sun rose before anyone in the house was awake. And in the greening lawns and budding trees that lined the street, there were other signs. I'd watched the first baseball game of the season

through the chain-link fence in the park. The sound of the ball clapping into a glove, of the bat dropped into the packed clay of the infield from a batter's hand as she dashed for first base, and the teasing talk and calls of, hey, batter, batter from the other team as the next player stepped up to the plate. In the afternoons, I'd noticed the windows of the school bus were pushed down as it stopped and let kids out on the corner. And they laughed louder and chased and played with that end-of-the-school-year giddiness that runs rampant in the last week or two of classes.

And now it was flower day at the market, a sure sign that we were about to leave spring behind and step into the lush, bright days of summer. Our farmer's market was open year-round, though in the winter the outer stalls were empty and inside pickings were decidedly slim

you could find a few things grown in greenhouses and lots of crafts, and the coffee stand stayed open to keep everyone supplied with hot drinks. But even on sunny days, the winter wind pushed drafts through the building. And even the vendors wore coats and hats all day. Now, all the doors and windows would be open, the halls and walkways full of shoppers and their carts. I couldn't wait. The market sat on the edge of downtown, and on Flower Day, the shops and cafes in the blocks around it joined in on the fun. I parked on a side street and wandered through the sidewalk sails, another sign of summer,

and stopped to browse some cups and bowls set out in front of a little shop that sold kitchenwares. I don't know what it is about plates and teapots and little spoons, but I want to buy new ones each time I see them. I didn't, but I wanted to. These were plain white, with rims in blue or dark red. And they reminded me of the dishes at the diner where my friends and I had them down with so many refilled cups of coffee. Then, each gone home to sleep like babies despite the caffeine. Only waking when we were pried out of bed by a determined parent. I set the cup down, but couldn't resist a couple of the tiny mismatched spoons displayed

in the jam jar. They were just a dollar apiece and felt very necessary as I held them in my hand and imagined stirring sugar into my tea. The shop owner took my dollars and wrapped the spoons in a piece of brown paper, and I slipped them into my bag and walked on toward the market. At the cafe, there was a little stage set up by the outdoor tables and a few people plugging in microphones, and a guitar, and a keyboard.

They tuned up as I walked past, and I thought about the effort and guts it must take to stand in front of even just a few people and play and sing. It made me smile at a stranger's determination. Simply glad that there are people like that in the world. The lot at the market was bustling as I walked through the rows and closer to the stalls.

It's called Flower Day for a reason. There were flowers everywhere and pots sitting along the edge of every walkway, hanging from hooks along each booth, flats of perennials and annuals stretched out on tables, dripping from their morning watering. There were full-grown hydrangeas and lilies and even lilac shrubs and red dogwoods in large pots. People were pulling wagons with ivy trailing down behind them, or carrying pots in their arms,

and everywhere you turned, there was color and blooming and sweet scents. After a long winter, it felt like I had suddenly been plunged from black and white into technicolor. Then I tucked into a spot out of the way for a few minutes, and just watched the flowers and people going by. I didn't have a cart or a wagon, so I had to be judicious with my purchases today, just as I had been in choosing spoons over mugs and plates. From my spot, I surveyed the booths and stalls.

What did I want? Our yard was well established with long beds full of dahlias, peonies, sweet Williams, and black-eyed Susans. So most years, I just added flower pots to the front porch steps to complete the scene. I folded myself into the crowd and started to look for a couple of pleasing pots, not too big, but just right for the top step. Of course, there were lots of geraniums, a solid standby, and zinnias, and Dianthus. But they did best in full sun, and because of the big sycamore in the front yard, our porch was mostly shaded. At a stall near the end, I found round baskets of flowers I couldn't quite name.

They were yellow and red, and that lovely sunset orange I adored. The woman behind the counter told me they were a begonia-chameleon mix, and would do very well in the shade. I paid for two baskets, and she kindly set them aside for me to pick up on my way out. I still wanted to wander a bit longer, along with all these flowers. There were a lot of vegetable seedlings started and ready to be transplanted into gardens. And I nosily listened in on a couple, deciding how many peppers and how many eggplant seedlings to purchase.

They wondered if they had enough tomatoes. Are there ever enough tomatoes, I thought, when they come in strong at the end of the summer, full of flavor and with their vines smelling so delicious. I had a flat of them in my hand before I knew what I was doing and laughed and set them back down. There was time, plenty of time, to seed my garden. The market would be full of plants for weeks and weeks. Today was flower day. I stopped for a drink at the coffee stall. They had a few new cold drink options, and I tried a limeade mixed with sweet fizzy water, and it was absolutely refreshing and the best thing I'd tasted in a while. I still had the flavor on my tongue while I carried my pots back through the lot and toward my car.

Limes, flowers, the bright sun above me. All the signs of summer were here. Sweet dreams.