Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Hummingbird

Episode Date: June 20, 2022

Our story tonight is called Hummingbird and it’s a story about the calm after the storm. It’s also about a cool glass of iced coffee drunk on the front steps, a visitor to the helenium flowers and making a habit out of noticing when things are good.So get cozy and ready to sleep. 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 read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. We keep expanding the world of Nothing Much for you. A beautifully illustrated book, an audio book, ad-free and bonus episodes,

and now a morning-friendly 10-minute meditation called First This. Learn more at nothingmuchappens.com Now, just as your body needs a bed to sleep in, your mind needs a bed to sleep in. Your mind needs a place to rest. Someplace calm and safe and simple. That's what the story is. A place to rest your mind. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a bit slower the second time through. As you listen, pull the details of the story around you like a blanket. Imagine yourself in the story. And before you know it, likely long before I finish reading, you'll be deeply and peacefully asleep. If you wake again in the middle of the night, you can turn the show right back on,

and you'll probably fall asleep even faster. We're subtly affecting your brain activity with this technique, and it will make your sleep skills stronger and stronger over time. Now, it's time to settle in and set yourself up for sleep. Turn 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 tend to clench your jaw at night,

place the tip of your tongue at the spot where your top teeth meet the gums on the inside and feel your bottom jaw release. Now take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh through the mouth. Again, breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Hummingbird

and it's a story about the calm after the storm. It's also about a cool glass of noticing when things are good. Hummingbird. The morning after the rainstorm was fresh and quiet. I laid in bed, sometimes dozing back into sleep, trying to step back into a particularly nice dream while the light slowly shifted around me. I'd left the windows cracked as much as I could overnight, and the air was still cool and pure-smelling,

as if its very molecules had been washed, which I guess they sort of had. The birds seemed slow to wake when I imagined them tucked in the nooks of trees in the nests in my shrubs and in the houses hanging from the branches of the elm tree in my yard

when the sun was fully risen, they started to sing, to see that the storm was over and another day was starting. It seemed a good time for me to follow suit. And I pulled back the blankets and set my feet on the floor. I thought of that saying about getting up on the right side of the bed and took a second before I stood just to think of something good from the previous 24 hours. Doing this almost always helped me to get up in a good frame of mind. And I found once I started looking for one thing, I found another, and another, and it was like priming a pump. I'd see more things to smile at all day. I thought of sitting on my screened-in porch the night before, as the rain began to pour down around me.

How the sound of it had driven all thoughts from my head, all worries from my heart. How my garden would be happy for a deep drink of water, and the leftover tabbouleh in my fridge would taste even better after a night of flavor mingling. See, I'd tried for one good thing, and before I even knew it, I had found three. I stood and took a deep breath and stretched my arms up over my head. I laced my fingers together and flipped my palms inside out

it felt good just to move a little after that deep sleep and I stretched any which way for a few minutes down in the kitchen, I pushed the window over the sink up till the morning air rolled in. I could feel that it would be another warm day.

Iced coffee would really hit the spot I took a large mason jar from the cupboard and added a good scoop of ice to it then took a pitcher of cold brew from the fridge along with a carton of oat milk. I liked to watch the milk cut through the dark coffee, marbling the liquid like fog dispersing in warm air. I tried making my own coffee syrup

from a recipe a friend had given me a while back and found out how easy and delicious it was. I now had a little collection of bottles on my shelf, and I considered which one to reach for. I'd made the classics, hazelnut and cinnamon, and brown sugar and almond, but had also tried rose and cardamom, and, oh, perfect for today, lavender.

It had a light, floral, sweet flavor, and I added just a few drops to my drink and stirred it all with the long handled iced teaspoon I carried it out to the porch and pushed open the screen door the sun had already dried up the rain on the stone steps and I sat down on the second one from the top I took a long drink of my coffee and smiled at how delicious it was a movement caught my eye smiled at how delicious it was. A movement caught my eye, and I spotted a hummingbird hovering near the hellenium flowers just a few feet away.

If you have never seen a hummingbird move, you might call it flying, but that doesn't do it justice. They seem to stop time the way they drop through the air. They look too fascinating to be real. Like a bit of animation that's been inserted into the mundane world. He had a bright red spot on his throat, and his green feathers shimmered like the iridescent wings of a dragonfly. I sat, stock still, wanting the moment to go on as long as may be, And it seemed like he was doing the same thing, just sitting still in the air. Although, of course, his wings were beating more than a dozen times each second. I wondered what he thought of me,

if he thought anything at all, and if he would like my homemade lavender syrup, being a connoisseur of sweet, flowery flavors. He dipped his long, thin beak toward a flower. And I remembered that the common name for Helenium autumnali was sneeze weed. It was like an irresistible suggestion, like watching someone yawn. And though I tried to fight it, I let out a loud, sudden sternutation. I laughed at myself as the hummingbird flew off to find breakfast in peace somewhere else.

I stayed on the porch steps, finishing my coffee and watching the dewy grass scintillate in the sun. I made toast in the kitchen while I thought about what I wanted my morning to look like. The garden would be pretty muddy for a while after last night's deluge. I could certainly see myself spending some time here in the kitchen, making a batch of pumpkin seed muffins or a tray of granola, but thought that before I did anything else, I wanted to be outside and move my body. I considered doing some sun

salutations on my porch, but I realized what I really wanted was a good, long walk. Someone had said to me years before that the best kind of exercise is the kind that you like to do. And that made a lot of sense to me. So while movement was a pretty consistent part of my days, I didn't stick to just one kind. And today, I wanted to walk.

Maybe even to run. Or certainly to perambulate. I spread my toast with a thick layer of peanut butter and strawberry jam and crunched through it at my kitchen table, then set the dish in the sink and went to get dressed. I'd walk down my long drive and out to the road. From there I'd stop on a bench and watch for herons. I thought of myself in bed this morning, sleepily trying to retreat back into my dream. But why?

Why? There were so many good things to notice every day. Hummingbird The morning after the rainstorm was fresh and quiet. I laid in bed, sometimes dozing back into sleep, trying to step back into a particularly nice dream, while the light slowly shifted around me. I'd left the windows cracked as much as I could overnight,

and the air was still cool and pure-smelling, as if its very molecules had been washed, which I imagined them tucked in the nooks of trees, in their nests in my shrubs, and in the houses hanging from the branches of the elm tree in my yard. When the sun was fully risen, they started to sing to see that the storm was over and another day was starting.

It seemed a good time for me to follow suit, and I pulled back the blankets and set my feet on the floor. I thought of that saying, the one about getting up on the right side of the bed, and took a second before I stood just to think of something good from the previous 24 hours. Doing this almost always helped me to get up in a good frame of mind.

And I found, once I started looking for one thing, I'd find another, and another. And it was like priming a pump. I'd see more things to smile at all day. I thought of sitting on my screened-in porch the night before, as the rain began to pour down around me, how the sound of it had driven all thoughts from my head, all worries from my heart,

how my garden would be happy for a deep drink of water. Oh, and the leftover tabbouleh in my fridge. That would taste even better after a night of flavor mingling. See, I'd tried for one good thing, and before I even knew it, I'd found three. I stood and took a deep breath and stretched my arms up over my head I laced my fingers together and flipped my palms inside out

it felt so good and flipped my palms inside out. It felt so good just to move a little after that deep sleep that I stretched any which way for a few minutes. Down in the kitchen, I pushed the window over the sink up till I could feel that it would be another warm day. Iced coffee would really hit the spot. I took a large mason jar from the cupboard and added a good scoop of ice to it. Then took a pitcher of cold brew from the fridge, along with a carton of oat milk. I liked to watch the milk cut through the dark coffee,

marbling the liquid like fog dispersing in warm air. I tried making my own coffee syrup from a recipe a friend had given me a while back and found out how easy and delicious it was. I now had a little collection of bottles on my shelf and I considered which one to reach for I'd made the classics hazelnut and cinnamon brown sugar and almond, but had also tried, floral, sweet flavor, and I added just a few drops to my drink and stirred it all with a long-handled iced teaspoon. I carried it out to the porch and pushed open the screen door. The sun had already dried up the rain

on the stone steps, and I sat down on the second one from the top. I took a longbird hovering near the Hellenium flowers just a few feet away. If you have never seen a hummingbird move, you might call it flying. But that doesn't do it justice. They seem to stop time the way they drop through the air.

They look too fascinating to be real, like a bit of animation that's been inserted into the mundane world. He had a bright red spot on his throat, and his green feathers shimmered like the iridescent wings of a dragonfly. I sat stock still, wanting the moment to go on as long as may be, and it seemed like he was doing the same, just sitting in the air, although, of course, his wings were beating more than a dozen times each second.

I wondered what he thought of me, if he thought anything at all, and if he would like my homemade lavender syrup, being a connoisseur of sweet, flowery flavors. He dipped his long, thin beak toward a flower, and I remembered that the common name for Helinium autumnali was sneeze weed. It was like an irresistible suggestion, like watching someone yawn. And though I tried to fight it, I let out a loud, sudden sternutation. I laughed at myself as the hummingbird flew off

to find breakfast in peace somewhere else. I stayed on the porch steps, finishing my coffee and watching the dewy grass scintillate in the sun. I made toast in the kitchen, while I thought about what I wanted my morning to look like. The garden would be pretty muddy for a while after last night's deluge.

I could certainly see myself spending some time here in the kitchen making a batch of pumpkin seed muffins or a tray of granola, but thought that before I did anything else, I wanted to be outside and move my body. I considered doing some sun salutations on my porch, but I realized what I really wanted was a good, long walk.

Someone had said to me years before that the best kind of exercise is the kind that you like to do. And that had made a lot of sense to me. So while movement was a pretty consistent part of my days, I didn't stick to just one kind. And today,

I wanted to walk, maybe even to run, or certainly to perambulate. I spread my toast to perambulate. I spread my toast with a thick layer of peanut butter and strawberry jam and crunched through it at my kitchen table.

Then set the dish in the sink and went to get dressed. I'd walk down my long drive and out to the road. From there, I'd turn toward the lake. The crickets would be loud in the high grass on either side. And at the water, I'd stop on a bench and watch for herons. I thought of myself in bed this morning, sleepily trying to retreat back into my dream. But why? There were so many good things to notice

every day sweet dreams