Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Marmalade at the Inn Part 3

Episode Date: April 3, 2023

Our story tonight is called Marmalade at the Inn Part Three because I just have too much to tell you about Marmalade the cat, and her dog friends Crumb and Birdy. It’s a story about a bit of the Inn’s history. It’s also about fresh sheets, a package waiting at the front door, and the sweet sound of ringing bells.We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Old Dog Haven. “Using a large network of foster homes to provide loving, safe homes for unadoptable senior dogs in need.” Subscribe to our premium and premium plus feeds: https://nothingmuchhappens.supportingcast.fmPurchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Old Dog Haven. They use a large network of foster homes to provide loving, safe homes

for unadoptable senior dogs in need. Find a link and more information about the world of Nothing Much Happens at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, I have a story to tell you. And the story is a place to rest your mind. Especially at night, our minds can feel so busy and overloaded, like an overwhelmed clock. Just by following along with my voice

and the general shape of the story I'm about to tell you, your mind can passively unwind. And soon you'll be ticking along at your natural pace, sleeping deeply, and waking up feeling rested and relaxed. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower on the second read-through. If you wake in the night, you could listen again. Or just think your way through any part of the story you can remember, or even any soothing memory. Now, it's time to turn off the light and put away anything you're looking at. Settle into your favorite sleeping position,

and feel how good it is just to be safe and quiet in bed. You have done enough for today. It's time to rest. Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh through your mouth. Nice. Again, breathe in and out. Good.

Our story tonight is called Marmalade at the Inn, Part 3. Because I just have too much to tell you about Marmalade the cat and her dog friends, Crumb and Birdie. It's a story about a bit of the inn's history. It's also about fresh sheets, a package waiting at the front door, and the sweet sound of ringing bells. Marmalade at the Inn, Part 3 We were up on the third floor when the doorbell rang.

I'd been making my bed up with fresh sheets and was just tucking the duvet in around the side rail when we heard it toll. In a house as big as the inn, a sweet little chime just wouldn't do, and it wasn't just the size that made that a bad fit. This was a grand old house that had been in its life a stately family mansion, then a prestigious school, and eventually a beloved inn where folks come to spend long summer days beside the lake. And it had been an inn twice now,

open for decades and then closed for decades more. When I was a child, I'd gotten to come a few times before the place was shuttered, and even then it seemed magical to me. Seemed to whisper to me when I climbed the great staircase, or looked out of her triple-hung windows to whisper about all that she had seen and what more might come in the future. Years later, when I was at a crossroads, unsure of what direction to take, I'd found myself back here at the inn, tromping through her overgrown gardens, pressing my nose up against the windows to stare in at the furniture draped in sheets

and feeling down deep in my bones that this lovely old place needed me. And boy, did it. Bringing the house back to life took more than a little elbow grease. It needed serious renovation. And I did a lot of it with my own two hands. I learned to patch plaster, to sand floors and lay tile.

One day when we were opening up a stretch of wall that had been added in awkwardly by a previous owner. We found, still hanging between the boards, a collection of long chimes. I hadn't known what I was looking at at first. In fact, I worried that I'd stumbled upon a particularly nasty plumbing problem. What were these pipes meant to be connected to? Then a friend who'd been helping me took a wrench from his pocket and gently tapped it to one of the pipes. A lovely, clear tone resounded through the room,

and I'd smiled. We've found the doorbell, he said. I'd been so excited to unearth it. Undoubtedly, it was original to the house. And I wondered how long it had been since anyone had heard its tone. Rewiring it had been a big job, and one I'd needed help from an electrician on. While he was doing the difficult work,

I'd snuck into town and wandered through the antique store looking for just the right button to go beside the front door. I've always gotten in trouble around buttons if I see one

I want to push it even if I know I shouldn't I mustn't still the pull is too strong to resist my mother still told the story still the pull is too strong to resist. My mother still told the story of me setting off the burglar alarm at the dentist's office when I was five. Why they'd had the button anywhere near the toy chest was still a puzzle to me. And even though I hadn't enjoyed the chaos I'd caused that day,

it hadn't stopped me pushing buttons my whole life. So I wanted the doorbell to be one that would invite my guests to press it, to enjoy that feeling of the mechanical buzz behind the switch, and then to hear the melodic song of the chimes. I'd seen a few that were age-appropriate for the house and were very pretty, but just weren't right. Then I'd spotted it on a shelf. A tarnished brass button that said in large letters, PRESS.

That's the one I'd said to myself and bought it on the spot. And it did look perfect on the front door frame. I'd polished it up till it shone and many of my guests especially those of the younger persuasion followed the instructions on its plate

but this was the off season we were still more than a month away from welcoming the first guests of the year so when it rang today I knew it had to be a package. And while we weren't hosting official guests, I wasn't alone in the inn. Marmalade the cat and Crumb and Bertie, both dogs, had been keeping me company for the past few days while their parents were enjoying a short and tropical vacation. Marmee loved the view from the third floor and spent her afternoons monitoring the situation in the branches.

A family of warblers were moving in, twig by twig, just outside the window. Crumb, the most energetic of the trio, had been jumping on and off the bed as I made it. He had a wonderful way of making everything into play, and it had been a good influence on me. So I didn't mind tugging the blankets back and forth with him. When the doorbell rang out, he stopped short, the corner of a pillow in his mouth, and stared in the direction of the chime. Then, like he'd been shot from a cannon, he raced out of the room and down the stairs. I followed him and found Birdie on the second floor landing, stretched out in a shaft of sunlight.

Apparently coming all the way up to the third floor had proved too exhausting for the greyhound, and he'd stopped to nap. Crumb leapt over him, and Birdie didn't even raise his head. Excuse us, I said as I stepped around him. He opened one eye and then closed it again. Down another flight of stairs, I paused to look out through the landing window

and spotted the mail truck parked in our circle drive. Excited as a kid getting a present, I rushed down the last flight and to the door. I scooped crumb up before I opened it, as I still didn't trust him to behave.

I found our mail carrier on the stoop with a package in her hand and one finger about to press the doorbell again. We laughed as we caught each other's eye. Go ahead, I said. It likes to be pushed. She pressed her finger to the button, and we all listened to the melody ringing through the entryway. She handed me the package, which rattled when I shook it.

Not that it's any of my business, she teased, but that looks like it came from the chalet where Chef is. Maybe they made you cookies. I hoisted crumb a bit higher on my hip and said, dog cookies, I expect. I thanked her for bringing the package, and she waved as she climbed into her truck. Inside, with the door closed behind us,

I sat crumb down and shook the box again. I heard the tinkle of a tiny bell and looked up to see Marmalade on the first floor landing, with Birdie at her side. Come on down then, and we'll see what Chef sent you. I called and watched them amble down the stairs. This old house felt happy to have these guests, and so was I. Marmalade

at the Inn Part 3 We were all up on the third floor when the doorbell rang. I'd been making my bed up with fresh sheets and was just tucking the duvet in around the side rail when we heard it toll. In a house as big as the inn, a sweet little chime just wouldn't do. And it wasn't just the size that made that a bad fit. This was a grand old house that had, in its life, been a stately family mansion, and then a prestigious school,

and eventually a beloved inn where folks come to spend long summer days beside the lake. And it had been an inn twice now, open for decades, and then closed for decades more. When I was a child, I'd gotten to come a few times before the place was shuttered. And even then it seemed magical to me, seemed to whisper to me when I'd climbed the great staircase or looked out of her triple-hung windows

to whisper about all that she had seen and what more might come in the future. Years later, when I was at a crossroads, unsure of what direction to turn, I'd found myself back here at the inn tromping through her overgrown gardens pressing my nose up against the windows

to stare in at the furniture draped in sheets and feeling down deep in my bones that this lovely old place needed me. And boy, did it. Bringing the house back to life took more than a little elbow grease. It needed serious renovation. And I did a lot of it with my own two hands.

I learned to patch plaster, to sand floors, and lay tile. One day, when we were opening up a stretch of wall that had been added in awkwardly by a previous owner, we found, still hanging between the boards a collection of long chimes. I hadn't known what I was looking at at first. In fact, I worried that I'd stumbled upon a particularly nasty plumbing problem. What were these pipes meant to be connected to? Then, a friend who'd been helping me took a wrench from his pocket and gently tapped it to one of the pipes. A lovely, clear tone resounded through the room, and I smiled. We've found the doorbell, he said. I'd been so excited to unearth it.

Undoubtedly, it was original to the house, and I wondered how long it had been since anyone had heard its tone. Rewiring it had been a big job and one I'd needed help from an electrician on while he was doing the difficult work I'd snuck into town and wandered through the antique store, looking for just the right button to go beside the front door. I've always gotten in trouble around buttons.

If I see one, I want to push it. Even if I know I shouldn't, I mustn't. Still, the pull is too strong to resist. My mother still told the story of me setting off the burglar alarm at the dentist's office when I was five. Why they'd had the button anywhere near the toy chest was still a puzzle to me. And even though I hadn't enjoyed the chaos I'd caused that day, it hadn't stopped me pushing buttons my whole life. And so I wanted the doorbell to be one that would invite my guests to press it, to enjoy the feeling of the mechanical buzz behind the switch, and then to hear the melodic song of the chimes. I'd seen a few that were age-appropriate for the house, and were very pretty, but just

weren't right. Then I'd spotted it on a shelf. A tarnished brass button that said in large letters, PRESS. That's the one I'd said to myself and bought it on the spot. And it did look perfect on the front door frame. I'd polished it up till it shone, and many of my guests, especially those of the younger persuasion, followed the instruction on its plate.

But this was off-season. season. We were still more than a month away from welcoming the first guests of the year. So when it rang today, I knew it had to be a package. And while we weren't hosting official guests, I wasn't alone in the inn. Marmalade, the cat,

and Crumb and Birdie, both dogs, had been keeping me company for the past few days while their parents were enjoying a short and tropical vacation. Marmee loved the view from the third floor and spent her afternoons monitoring the situation in the branches. A family of warblers were moving in,

twig by twig, just outside the window. Crumb, the most energetic of the trio had been jumping on and off the bed as I made it he had a wonderful way of making everything into play and it had been a good influence on me. So I didn't mind tugging the blankets back and forth with him.

When the doorbell rang out, he'd stopped short the corner of a pillow in his mouth and stared in the direction of the chime. Then, like he'd been shot from a cannon, he raced out of the room and down the stairs. I followed him and found Birdie on the second floor landing, stretched out in a shaft of sunlight. Apparently, coming all the way up to the third floor had proved too exhausting for the greyhound, and he'd stopped to nap. Crumb leapt over him, and Birdie didn't even raise his head.

Excuse us, I said as I stepped around him. He opened one eye and then closed it again. Down another flight of stairs, and I paused to look out through the landing window and spotted the mail truck parked in our circle drive. Excited as a kid getting a present, I rushed down the last flight into the door. I scooped crumb up before I opened it,

as I still didn't trust him to behave. I found our mail carrier on the stoop with a package in her hand and one finger about to press the doorbell again. We laughed as we caught each other's eye. Go ahead, I said.

It likes to be pushed. She pressed her finger to the button, and we all listened to the melody ringing through the entryway. She handed me the package, which rattled when I shook it. Not that it's any of my business, she teased, but that looks like it came from the chalet where Chef is.

Maybe they made you cookies. It looks like it came from the chalet where Chef is. Maybe they made you cookies. I hoisted Crumb a bit higher on my hip and said, Dog cookies, I expect. I thanked her for bringing the package, and she waved as she climbed into her truck. Inside, with the door closed behind us, I sat crumbed down and shook the box again. I heard the tinkle of a tiny bell and looked up to see Marmalade on the first floor landing

with Bertie at her side. Come on down then, and we'll see what Chef sent you, I called, and watched them amble down the stairs. The old house felt happy to have these guests, and so was I. Sweet dreams.