Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Getting The Tree

Episode Date: December 10, 2018

Our story tonight is called “Getting the Tree” and it’s a story about a Holiday tradition that’s been updated from childhood, it’s also about a champagne toast, sharing a quiet moment, and the kindness of a stranger. So get cozy and ready to sleep. This episode mentions alcohol. 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 Grown-Ups, 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. 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 for an extra bit of coziness. Now let me say a little about how to use this podcast. I have a story to tell you.

The story is simple, and nothing much happens in it. And that is kind of the idea. Instead of letting your overworked brain run roughshod over you, you guide it someplace calm and relaxed. And its natural response is to shut off and allow you to sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you find that you are still awake at the end of the second telling, not to worry.

That's just fine. Just walk yourself back through any of the details that you remember. And before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow, feeling relaxed and refreshed. Each time you do this, you are training your brain to shut off faster and more completely. And finding deep, restful sleep will soon become the norm for you.

Now it's time to turn off the light. Set down anything you've been looking at and settle your body into your bed as deeply and cozily as you can. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Good. One more, please. In and out.

Our story tonight is called Getting the Tree, and it's a story about a holiday tradition that's been updated from childhood. It's also about a champagne toast, sharing a quiet moment, and the kindness of a stranger. Getting the Tree There was a little bistro on a corner, a few blocks from our house.

It was a long, narrow place, with deep booths and low lights, and a long bar stretched along one wall. They'd strung some twinkling lights along the sills of the big, street-side windows, and each table had a candle or two glowing in glass jars. We were headed out to get our Christmas tree, but first we needed a bite and a drink. We were lucky and got the last booth in a cozy corner where we could lean back and watch the people strolling on the streets and the cars with trees strapped to their roofs driving by. Even though it was a week past, we were still a little full from Thanksgiving.

So we just asked for some snacks and two glasses of champagne. The waiter delivered a broad tray of nibbles for us. It held toasted nuts, seasoned with rosemary and orange rind, still warm from the pan. A basket of bread, soft on the inside but with a good crust around it. A deep dish of olive oil, speckled with dark balsamic vinegar and scattered with herbs. A tiny dish of braised artichokes and mushrooms and some fat green olives. He set down the champagne and beside it a small plate of red raspberries.

We smiled our thanks and lifted our glasses to each other and the merry day that lay ahead. I took a sip from my glass and let it fizz on my tongue for a moment, looking out to the street as the first few flakes started to fall. Bubbles, I thought,

go very well with snowflakes. We took our time munching and sipping our way through the meal. We planned a bit, talked about the things we wanted to do before the season was over. Ice skating, a holiday party,

an old Christmas movie that was showing at the theater. And we sat quiet for a bit, just enjoying the snowfall and the flavors. What a gift it is to have someone that you can be quiet with. Someone that you can share a simple moment of enjoyment with. I didn't take it for granted. I said a silent thank you deep in my head and let myself feel the warm, contented glow that my good luck had brought me. When we paid our bill and wound our scarves around our heads,

remittened and hatted, we stepped out into the falling snow and stood a moment to let it catch on our faces and to smell the good cold scent of the winter. We climbed into our car and headed out to the tree farm. When I was a child, my folks, bless them, bundled us up every year and took us out to cut our own tree. There was a hayride and a long walk through snowy fields and quite a bit of family deliberation

about which tree felt just right to each of us. As an adult, I appreciate the effort that went into that day and smile looking back at the memories and the leftover feeling of childlike excitement that still lingers around them. We'd found a place a few years back that had a good stock of fresh trees, and a sweet little shop and an old farmhouse that sold glass ornaments and hot cider, and had a big crackling fire in the hearth that That made me quite happy to forego cutting our tree ourselves. We pulled into the snowy lot

and parked along a row of leaning trees ready for their homes. There are some things you are never too old for, and the happy excitement of a Christmas tree is one of them. Come on, love, I said, clapping my mittened hands together. Let's find our tree. We walked through the fresh falling snow and started to consider the options. We like a tall Charlie Brown tree,

a little spindly, and with big gaps to hang our favorite ornaments in, but they were hard to find. We recognized a man bundled up in overalls, eyes bright in the cold, as the same one who'd helped us the year before and he waved us over. He said he had just the tree for us, that he'd remembered us, and when he'd seen a tall, spare, gangly tree in his field, he'd cut it, hoping we'd be back. And here we were. I thanked him for his kindness in remembering us, and left them to the work of hoisting it up onto the car and securing it with loops of strong brown twine, while I slipped into the farmhouse for a couple cups of something warm. Really, more than the hot drink, I wanted a chance to poke around the shop and pet the kitty who lived there.

It was wonderfully warm inside inside and it made me feel how cold I'd gotten. I stopped in front of their fire for a few moments and stretched my fingers toward the warmth in the grate. The little house was strung with lights and smelled of the fresh pine boughs tucked onto every spare shelf. I ordered a hot cocoa and a cider and pointing through the window to the kind man who was wrestling our tree up onto the roof of our car, I asked, what does he like to drink? Oh, he'd probably like a coffee, the lady behind the counter told me.

Then a coffee too, please. I know how he likes it, black with two sugars, she said with a wink, as she took my few dollars and busied herself with my order. I heard a low meow from my ankles and looked down to see their spotted kitty winding through my legs. I squatted down and petted her head and chatted with her for a moment. She was soft and a bit fat,

and when she tired of me, she strutted off to find someone else to talk to. I took the drinks outside and handed them out, saying thank you and happy holidays and see you next year. And we climbed in and started for home. Getting the Tree There was a little bistro on a corner, a few blocks from our house.

It was a long, narrow place, with deep booths and low lights, and a long bar stretched across one wall. They'd strung some twinkling lights along the sills of the big street-side windows, and each table had a candle or two glowing in glass jars. We were headed out to get our Christmas tree, but first we needed a bite and a drink. We were lucky and got the last booth, in a cozy corner where we could lean back

and watch the people strolling on the streets and cars with trees strapped to their roofs driving by. Even though it was a week past, we were still a little full from Thanksgiving, so we just asked for some snacks and two glasses of champagne. The waiter delivered a broad tray of nibbles for us. It held toasted nuts, seasoned with rosemary and orange rind, still warm from the pan.

A basket of bread, soft on the inside but with a good crust around it. A deep dish of olive oil, speckled with dark balsamic vinegar and scattered with herbs, a tiny dish of braised artichokes and mushrooms, and some fat green olives. He set down the champagne and beside it a small plate of red raspberries. We smiled our thanks and lifted our glasses to each other and the merry day that lay ahead. I took a sip from my glass and let it fizz on my tongue for a moment, looking out to the street as the first few flakes started to fall. Bubbles, I thought, go very well with snowflakes. We took our time, munching and sipping our way through the meal.

We planned a bit, talked about the things we wanted to do before the season was over. Ice skating, a holiday party, an old Christmas movie that was showing at the theater and we sat quiet for a bit just enjoying the snowfall and the flavors

what a gift it is to have someone that you can be quiet with someone that you can be quiet with. Someone that you can share a simple moment of enjoyment with. I didn't take it for granted. I said a silent thank you deep in my head. And let myself feel the warm, contented glow that my good luck had brought me. When we'd paid our bill and wound our scarves around our heads,

remittened and hatted, we stepped out into the falling snow and stood a moment to let it catch on our faces and to smell the good cold scent of the winter. We climbed into our car and headed out to the tree farm. When I was a child my folks, bless them, bundled us up every year

and took us out to cut our own tree. There was a hayride and a long walk through snowy fields and quite a bit of family deliberation about which tree felt just right to each of us. As an adult, I appreciate the effort that went into that day and smile looking back at the memories and the leftover feeling of childlike excitement that

still lingers around them. We'd found a place a few years back that had a good stock of fresh trees, and a sweet little shop in an old farmhouse that sold glass ornaments and hot cider and had a big crackling fire in the hearth that made me quite happy to forego cutting the tree ourselves. We pulled into the snowy lot and parked along a row of leaning trees ready for their homes. There are some things you are never too old for,

and the happy excitement of a Christmas tree is one of them. Come on, love, I said, clapping my mittened hands together. Let's find our tree. We walked through the fresh falling snow and started to consider the options. We like a tall Charlie Brown tree a little spindly and with big gaps to hang our favorite ornaments in but they were hard to find We recognized a man

bundled up in overalls eyes bright in the cold as the same one who'd helped us the year before, and he waved us over. He said he had just the tree for us, and that he'd remembered us. And when he'd seen a tall, spare, gangly tree in his field, he'd cut it, hoping we'd come back. And here we were. I thanked him for his kindness in remembering us, and left them to the work of hoisting it up onto the car, and securing it with loops of strong brown twine while I slipped into the farmhouse for a couple cups of something warm. Really, more than the hot drink,

I wanted a chance to poke around the shop and pet the kitty who lived there. It was wonderfully warm inside and made me feel how cold I'd gotten. I stopped in front of their fire for a few moments and stretched my fingers toward the warmth in the grate. The little house was strung with lights and smelled of the fresh pine boughs tucked onto every spare shelf. I ordered a hot cocoa

and a cider and pointing through the window to the kind man who was wrestling our tree up onto the roof of the car. I asked, what does he like to drink? Oh, he'd probably like a coffee, the lady behind the counter told me. Then a coffee too, please. I know how he likes it, black with two sugars, she said with a wink. As she took my few dollars and busied herself with my order,

I heard a low meow from my ankles and looked down to see their spotted kitty winding through my legs. I squatted down and petted her head and chatted with her a moment. She was soft and a bit fat, and when she tired of me, she strutted off to find someone else to talk to. I took the drinks outside and handed them out,

saying thank you and happy holidays and see you next year. And we climbed in and started for home. Sweet dreams.