Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Museum Trip

Episode Date: February 5, 2024

Our story tonight is called Museum Trip, and it’s a story about a school bus pulling into the lot at a grand old house where local history is preserved. It’s also about welcoming rooms to explore, fires to warm yourself at, apples and popcorn, and finding yourself on the map. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to The Kangaroo Sanctuary. They rescue, rehabilitate, and release orphaned baby kangaroos back into the wild. Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for NMH Premium channel on Apple podcasts or follow the link below: https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app. https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-villagePurchase 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 Catherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories 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 the Kangaroo Sanctuary. They rescue, rehabilitate, and release orphaned baby kangaroos back into the wild.

Learn more at the link in our show notes. We are working to make your whole day softer and more enjoyable. You can wake up with my 10-minute meditation podcast, First This, de-stress during the day with my new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, and then let me tuck you in for sweet dreams here on Nothing Much Happens. Find them all on any podcast app for free. If you would like to support what we do, as well as get ad-free and bonus episodes of our shows,

we'd love to have you. There is a link in our notes where you can just search NMH Premium on your Apple Podcast app. Now, I have a simple and pleasant way to ease you to sleep. We need to engage your brain just the right amount to keep it from wandering. And just by listening to the sound of my voice, the general shape of our story,

we'll do that. A gently focused brain is one primed for sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, you can play the story again, or just think through any part of it that you can remember. This is conditioning, brain training. It will improve with time, so have a bit of patience if you're new to this. Our story tonight is called Museum Trip, and it's a story about a school bus pulling into the lot

at a grand old house where local history is preserved. It's also about welcoming rooms to explore, fires to warm yourself at, apples and popcorn, and finding yourself on the map. So, let's get comfortable now. Switch off your light, set everything down, you got done today what you got done today, and it is enough, it is, now nothing remains but rest. Let your shoulders and neck relax. Let your limbs soften, your face ease.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Again, fill it up and let it go. Good. Museum trip. Mostly, I didn't worry whether the snow fell or melted. Sure, it could make the ride in a little tricky and slow, but otherwise, the weather report wasn't something I paid much attention to.

But this week, I had been checking the forecast every morning and crossing my fingers that the skies and the roads would stay clear. Because this week at the museum, we would have visitors, at least as long as school wasn't canceled. A third-grade class was scheduled to visit us, and while all of us curators and docents liked to pretend we'd been too busy with serious work to take notice of the star on the calendar, we were likely more excited than the kids.

We all had a love for preserving and conserving the objects in our care, and could sometimes spend an inordinate amount of time doing so alone. And getting to see the museum through the eyes of little ones always seemed to make this great house come alive again. Luckily, today had dawned clear and bright. There was still plenty of snow on the ground, but the roads had all been plowed and salted, and we expected our guests just after lunchtime.

When I arrived at the house this morning, I noticed a few extra cars in the lot. We had called in extra volunteers to help, and were open to the public, and they could certainly just come and enjoy the atmosphere. That seemed to have smoothed things over, and I expected, overall, it would be a busy day here.

In the big entryway where I'd stopped to hang my coat and hat in the closet the winter sunshine was cutting through the 150-year-old windows. The house had about a dozen fireplaces and we'd decided to light them all. First, because it was an old house that was difficult to heat. And second, because we wanted it to glow and be as welcoming as possible for our young guests.

I stepped into the drawing room off the front hall and saw that the logs there were already crackling with a strong fire. I stepped closer and warmed my hands by the glow. While working here, I learned that drawing room to go and withdraw from the world, a place for relaxation and reflection. And though by the time this house was built, they had become nearly the opposite, spaces for entertainment and company. I found the idea a comfort, a common human need recognized, to step back from noise and find privacy. I checked some of the display cases

as I went through the room and into the back hall. We had become the keepers of local history here, and we had books and pocket watches, musical instruments and oil lamps. Practical things that were part of daily life and special pieces that showed off the artistic talent and craftsmanship of their day. I hoped the children would find them as interesting as I did.

I looked in on the study, with its walls of portraits, and the library, where I hoped the sliding shelf ladders would impress. I felt pretty sure they would. And went all the way to the kitchen in the very back of the house. We decided we would serve a snack after the tour and had a fairly involved debate among the staff about what we should offer. There were apple orchards on the property, and they would see for themselves the store of apples we'd put up in the autumn in the loft of the carriage house when they came through. So we thought of making some little apple tarts in the antique pans we had.

There was also a strong contingent for making maple sugar candy in the snow which i personally disagreed with as we didn't have any sap collecting artifacts in our collection it seemed disingenuous, though I knew the kids wouldn't care. We had an antique kettle that we knew from letters in our archive, had been used to pop popcorn, when hung on a chimney crane, a wrought iron arm that swings in and out of the hearth. We thought the kids might not have ever seen something cooked right right in a kitchen fire. So the popcorn, along with apple juice,

and some completely historically inappropriate, but sure to please, chocolate chip cookies were our final choices for afternoon snack. I poked my head in and found a few of my colleagues in aprons, cheerfully making cookies and sliding bottles of apple juice into the fridge. I took the back stairs up to the next floor, just checking that fires were lit and the curtains were open. In the nursery, our collection of antique toys were set out on the dressers and propped in the window seat.

I wondered what the children would make of them. Blocks and the rocking horse were probably still reasonably familiar, but even I didn't understand the potential joy in the hoop and stick game and I gave a wide berth to the marionettes. I loved the mechanical iron banks though and had a pocket full of pennies so we could watch them all move and sweep the change into their various top hats and flower baskets. I went up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor to the map room. This was my favorite spot on the property.

Well, this and the solarium on the ground floor with all the blooming tropical plants. Oh, and the labyrinth in the grounds, so relaxing to walk its paths on a spring day. I guess I had a lot of favorite spots here. The map room caught copious light this high up, and as I stepped in, I drew a deep breath

of the library smell that pervaded the space. We'd brought out the maps that showed the neighborhoods our visitors were coming from, and they'd each get to find where their house and school stood in the nearly empty farmland shown on the drawings. I lost myself for a bit, looking through the maps. I wanted to find a few landmarks they would know.

The windmill, Main Street, the inn on the lake. I heard the gravel crunching under bus tires down in our parking lot, and I rushed to the window. I could see them bouncing in their seats through the fogged-up windows. I laid out the maps again on the big library table

and tidied away the notebook I'd been making notes in. I stopped back at the window once more before rushing down to greet them. I could see a wobbly line of young ones, with extra grown-ups scattered among them, making their way to our door. I couldn't wait to show them around. Museum Trip to show them around. Museum trip.

Mostly, I didn't worry whether the snow fell or melted. Sure, it could make the ride in a little tricky and slow. But otherwise, the weather report wasn't something I paid much attention to. But this week, I had been checking the forecast every morning and crossing my fingers that the skies and the roads would stay clear. Because this week at the museum, we would have visitors, at least as long as school wasn't canceled. A third-grade class was scheduled to visit us, and while all of us curators and docents

liked to pretend we had been too busy with serious work to take notice of the star on the calendar, we were likely more excited than the kids. We all had a love for preserving and conserving the objects in our care, and could sometimes spend an inordinate amount of time doing so alone. Getting to see the museum through the eyes of little ones always seemed to make this great house come alive again. Luckily, today had dawned clear and bright.

There was still plenty of snow on the ground, but the roads had all been plowed and salted, and we expected our guests just after lunchtime. When I arrived at the house this morning, I'd noticed a few extra cars in the lot. We had called in extra volunteers to help, and from what I'd heard, there had even been a little squabble among them, as just about all of them had wanted to come. They were reminded that even if they weren't working, we were open to the public, and they could certainly just come and enjoy the atmosphere.

That seemed to have smoothed things over, and I expected overall it would be a busy day here. In the big entryway, where I stopped to hang my coat and hat in the closet, the winter sunshine was cutting through the 150-year-old windows. The house had about a dozen fireplaces, and we had decided to light them all. First, because it was an old house that was difficult to heat. And second, because we wanted it to glow and be as welcoming as possible for our young guests. I stepped into the drawing room off the front hall and saw that the logs there were already crackling

with a strong fire. I stepped closer and warmed my hands by the glow. While working here, I learned that drawing room was a shortened version of the original term for such a space. They were first known as withdrawing rooms, as in a room to go and withdraw from the world, a place for relaxation and reflection. And though by the time this house was built, they had become nearly the opposite, spaces for entertainment and company. I found the idea a comfort, a common human need recognized, to step back from noise and find privacy.

I checked some of the display cases as I went through the room and into the back hall. We had become the keepers of local history here. And we had become the keepers of local history here. And we had books and pocket watches, musical instruments and oil lamps, practical things that were part of daily life

and special pieces that showed off the artistic talent and craftsmanship of their day. I hoped the children would find them as interesting as I did. I looked in on the study with its walls of portraits and the library where I hoped the sliding shelf ladders would impress. I felt pretty sure they would and went all the way to the kitchen in the very back of the house. We decided we would serve a snack after their tour

and had a fairly involved debate among the staff about what we should offer. There were apple orchards on the property, and they would see for themselves the store of apples we'd put up in the autumn, in the loft of the carriage house, when they came through. So we'd thought of making some little apple tarts in the antique antique pans we had. There was also a strong contingent for making maple sugar candy in the snow, which I personally disagreed with, as we didn't have any sap-collecting artifacts in our collection. It seemed disingenuous, though I knew the kids wouldn't care. We had an antique cattle that we knew from letters in our archive, had been used to pop popcorn when hung on a chimney crane, a wrought iron arm that swings in and out of the hearth. We thought the kids might not have ever seen something cooked right in a kitchen fire.

So, the popcorn, along with apple juice, and some completely historically inappropriate, but sure to please, chocolate chip cookies were our final choices for afternoon snack. I poked my head in and found a few of my colleagues in aprons, cheerfully making cookies and sliding bottles of apple juice into the fridge. I took the back stairs up to the next floor, just checking that fires were lit and the curtains were open. In the nursery, our collection of antique toys

were sat out on the dressers and propped in the window seat. I wondered what the children would make of them. Blocks and the rocking horse were probably still reasonably familiar. But even I didn't understand the potential joy in the hoop and stick game. And I gave a wide berth to the marionettes. I loved the mechanical iron banks, though, and had a pocket full of pennies so we could watch them all move and sweep the change into their various top hats and flower baskets.

I went up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor to the map room. This was my favorite spot on the property. Well, this and the solarium on the ground floorth in the grounds. So relaxing to walk its paths on a spring day. I guess I had a lot of favorites here. The map room caught copious light this high up. And as I stepped in, I drew in a deep breath of the library smell that pervaded the space.

We'd brought out the maps that showed the neighborhoods our visitors were coming from. And they'd each get to find where their house and school stood in the nearly empty farmland shown on the drawings. I lost myself for a bit, looking through the maps. I wanted to find a few landmarks they would know.

The windmill, Main Street, the inn on the lake. I heard the gravel crunching under bus tires down in our parking lot, and I rushed to the window. I could see them bouncing in their seats through the fogged-up windows. I laid out the maps again on the big library table and tidied away the notebook I'd been making notes in. I stopped back at the window once more before rushing down to greet them. I could see a wobbly line of young ones, with extra grown-ups scattered among them, making their way to our door.

I couldn't wait to show them around. Sweet dreams.