Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Hearts & Flowers (Encore)

Episode Date: February 13, 2025

(Originally Aired: February 9th, 2020 Original: Season 5, Episode 3) Our story tonight is called Hearts and Flowers, and it’s a story about showing someone what’s in your heart. It’s also about a Valentine’s Day card signed with a flourish, a shop full of flowers, and the moment that you decide to take a risk.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicholai. 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, is available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support. Let's get ready to sleep. I'll read you a simple, cozy story. It's a place to rest your mind, and when your mind rests, your body inevitably will follow.

I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower on the second read. Just follow along with the sound of my voice and the cozy details of the story. Pull them around yourself, as you would a soft blanket. And if you wake in the night, take yourself back into the story, thinking back through any bit you can remember. This trains your brain to return to sleep mode, and the more you practice it, the easier you will find it. Our story tonight is called Hearts and Flowers, and it's a story about showing someone what's in your heart. It's also about a Valentine's Day card signed with the flourish, a shop full of flowers, and the moment that you decide

to take a risk. If you're listening, you know self-care is vital for overall wellness, but it can be hard to prioritize yourself and ask for what you need. If you're a Veteran going through a tough time, there are people who want to listen and help with no pressure or judgment. Dial 988, then press 1. Chat at VeteransCrisisLine.net or text 838255 to reach the Veterans Crisis Line. Responders are ready to support you, no matter what you're going through. Now, it's time to switch off the light. Set aside anything you've been looking at or working on.

Adjust your pillows and comforter until you feel completely at ease. If you sometimes clench your jaw as you sleep, try resting the tip of your tongue at the place where your upper teeth meet the gums on the inside. That will help to keep your jaw relaxed. Now you are about to fall asleep. You will sleep deeply all night. Take a deep breath in through your nose. And sigh out of the mouth. Again breathe in.

And out. Good. Hearts and Flowers I'd been standing in line at the market, a basket in my hands, overflowing with all my favorite things to put into vegetable soup. I was wrapped in my scarf and coat and watching the family in front of me as they unloaded their cart onto the checkout belt. They had a little boy, maybe seven or eight.

He'd been talking about science class and dancing around the cart in the unembarrassed way that children are smart enough to do. He stopped suddenly in front of a shelf of valentines, and I watched his face as he looked at the cards and candy. He looked like he was thinking hard. He picked up a box of those tiny candy hearts, the ones with messages printed on their pastel chalky faces. He shook the box, and the hearts rattled inside. He peeked over at his dad, who was quietly watching from the register. He lifted an eyebrow, and the little boy tilted his head in a silent

question and answer. His dad gave him a tiny nod tomatoes and a box of spaghetti. The boy tucked his hands in his coat pockets and stood with back against the cart. I thought he might be planning just how and when and to whom he was going to give that box of candy hearts. I remembered those class Valentine's Day parties in elementary school. Paper lunch sacks taped to the edge of your desk with your name in red crayon sketched out on the brown paper, and walking through the rows, dropping envelopes into the sacks, on the plate of cupcakes on the teacher's desk for after.

I remembered the deliberation the night before, thumbing through the cards to find just the right one for that particular classmate, writing my name with careful curly cues and adding an extra sticker to the envelope. Would they notice? The family was packing up their groceries, and as the box of candy came across the scanner, the boy's father scooped it up and handed it to him. He slipped it into the pocket of his coat with a small nod, and his father turned back to the register with a smile on his face. As they pushed their cart out to the car, the smile went from his face to mine. And I put a box of candy on the belt with my own groceries, thinking that if that little

boy could be brave with his heart, I could too. Now that box of hearts sat on my desk for a week. It caught my eye whenever I passed by. And today, as I sat at my desk writing in my planner, my fingers gently drumming on the pink cardboard, I looked out my window to see a delivery person standing on my neighbor's front step. A bouquet of flowers in her hands. I watched her ring the she did, the second of confusion that shifted to delight and the pen back with her into her house. Laughing, she returned it, blushing and flustered. I looked at those candy hearts and slipped them into my pocket and headed out.

There was a flower shop on an alley downtown. The windows were full of vases of long-stemmed roses and lilies about to bloom. I pushed through the old oak door and the scent of all those mixed blossoms struck me. There were layers of different kinds of sweetness, and under that the smell of water and soil and green plants. Could the smell of flowers be a kind of medicine, Could the smell of flowers be a kind of medicine? Like a tincture or salve for lifting spirits and elevating thoughts?

It was a busy place on this February afternoon, and as I browsed through the cases of flowers and shelves of houseplants, I moved around others on the same errand. There was an older gentleman, dressed in a tweed suit, dapper and proud with shined shoes and a pocket square folded just so in his breast pocket. The florist was wrapping up a bouquet for him, tucking baby's breath and pink and yellow tulips in crepe paper and tying it with a glossy ribbon. While he waited, he sidled up to me as I was looking at the pots of exotic plants and succulents. There was one that I had at first mistaken for a Venus flytrap, whose arrow-shaped leaves

were fringed with tiny green clamshells that seemed likely to clap together at a touch. The gentleman cleared his throat and said, Callan Coye, Degra Montana, or Mother of Thousands. I tilted my head in question, and he reached out to touch the leaf tipped with plantlets. As he did, a few small buds fell easily from the plant to land in the soil below. That's how her children leave the nest and grow up," he said. The florist called over to say his bouquet was ready, and I gave him a smile as he took it and left. I went back to looking for just the right flower, something that felt akin to the person

I would give it to. That's the heart of romance, isn't it? Showing someone that you are paying attention to who they are. And reflecting it back with appreciation and a bit of excitement. It wasn't, I supposed, any different than looking through my stack of Valentine's cards in second grade to find just the right one to add that extra sticker to. There was a vase of feathery flowers and shades of light pink and cream and deep red. They were a bit like a fern who had given up on being just green and bloomed in a lacy soft plume. The florist caught my eye, and I asked for all of them to be wrapped

up in tissue and tied with a satin ribbon. This was no time for doing things by half. As I walked through the streets on my way to a particular stoop, I thought about the little boy dropping that box of candy in a paper sack taped to a her door, and the gentleman in the shop with his flowers. In love, we must risk some hurt. But better that than holding inside something that should be shared. I stepped up to the door and made my heart brave and ring the bell. Hearts and Flowers I'd been standing in line at the market, a basket in my hands, overflowing with all my favorite things put into vegetable soup.

I was wrapped in my scarf and coat and watching the family in front of me as they unloaded their cart onto the check out belt. They had a little boy, maybe seven or eight. He'd been talking about science class and dancing around the cart in the unembarrassed way that children are smart enough to do. He stopped suddenly in front of a shelf of valentines. And I watched his face as he looked at the cards and candy. He looked like he was thinking hard. He picked up a box of those tiny candy hearts,

the ones with messages printed on their pastel, chalky faces. He shook the box, and the hearts rattled inside. He peeked over at his dad, who was quietly watching from the register. He lifted an eyebrow, and the little boy tilted his head in a silent question and answer. His dad gave him a tiny nod, and the boy slipped the box onto the belt beside a can of tomatoes and a box of spaghetti. The boy tucked his hands in his coat pockets and stood with back against the cart. I thought he might be planning just how and when and to whom he was going to give that box of candy hearts. I remembered those class Valentine's Day parties in elementary school. Paper lunch sacks taped to the edge of your desk with your name in red crayon sketched out on the brown paper.

And walking through the rows, dropping envelopes into the sacks, and a plate of cupcakes on the teacher's desk for after. I remembered the deliberation the night before, summing through the cards to find just the right one for that particular classmate. Writing my name with careful curly cues and adding an extra sticker to the envelope. Would they notice? The family was packing up their groceries, and as the box of candy came across the scanner, the boy's father scooped it up and handed it to him. He slipped it into the pocket of his coat with a small nod, and his father turned back

to the register with a smile on his face. As they pushed their cart out to the car, the smile went from his face to mine, and I put a box of candy on the belt with my own groceries. Thinking that if that little boy could be brave with his heart, I could too. Now that box of hearts sat on my desk for a week. It caught my eye whenever I passed by. And today, as I sat at my desk, writing in my planner, my fingers gently drumming on the pink cardboard. I looked out my window to see a delivery person standing on my neighbor's front step, a bouquet of in her hands. I watched her ring the bell and sat with that warm bloom of excitement

for someone else's joy as I waited for my neighbor to open her door. I watched her face as she did, the second of confusion that shifted to delight and the unstoppable smile that lit into her house. Laughing, she returned it, blushing and flustered. I looked at those candy hearts and slipped them into my pocket and headed out. There was a flower shop on an alley downtown. The windows were full of vases of long-stemmed roses and lilies about to bloom. I pushed through the old oak door, and the scent of all those mixed blossoms struck me.

There were layers of different kinds of sweetness, and under that, the smell of water and soil and green plants. Could the smell of flowers be a kind of medicine? Like a tincture or salve for lifting spirits and elevating thoughts. It was a busy place on this February afternoon. And as I browsed through the cases of flowers and shelves of houseplants, I moved around others on the same errand. There was an older gentleman, dressed in a tweed suit, dapper and proud, with shined shoes and a pocket square folded just so in his breast pocket. The florist was wrapping up a bouquet for

him, tucking baby's breath and pink and yellow tulips and crepe paper and tying it with a glossy ribbon. While he waited, he sidled up to me as I was looking at the pots of exotic plants and succulents. There was one that I had first mistaken for a Venus flytrap, whose arrow-shaped leaves were fringed with tiny green clamshells that seemed likely to clap together at a touch. The gentleman cleared his throat and said, Kellenkoe de Gramontiana, or Mother of Thousands. I tilted my head in question, and he reached out to touch the leaf, tipped with plantlets. As he did, a few small buds fell easily from the plant to land in the soil below. That's how our children leave the nest and grow up," he said. The florist called over to say his bouquet was ready, and I gave him a smile as he took

it and left. And I went back to looking for just the right flower. Something that felt akin to the person I would give it to. That's the heart of romance, isn't it? Showing someone that you are paying attention to who they are, and reflecting it back with appreciation and a bit of excitement. It wasn't, I supposed, any different than looking through my stack of Valentine's cards in second grade To find just the right one to add that extra sticker to

There was a vase of feathery flowers and shades of light pink and cream and deep red. They were a bit like a fern who had given up on just being green and bloomed in a lacy soft plume. The florist caught my eye, and I asked for all of them to be wrapped up in tissue and tied with a satin ribbon. This was no time for doing things by half. As I walked through the streets on my way to a particular stoop, I thought about the little boy dropping that box of candy in a paper sack taped to a school desk, and my neighbor opening her door, and the gentleman in the shop with his flowers.

In love, we must risk some hurt, but better that than holding inside something that should be shared. I stepped up to the door and made my heart brave and ring the bell. Sweet dreams.