Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Pass it Along

Episode Date: January 22, 2024

Our story tonight is called Pass it Along, and it’s a story about a good deed passed from one person to another in the Village on Nothing Much. It’s also about a cardinal on a branch, a cup of tea served up by a friend, and sharing the feeling that there are others out there eager to help. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Operation Warm. Providing warmth, confidence, and hope through basic need programs that connect underserved kids to community resources needed to thrive. http:// www.operationwarm.org/ 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 the 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. Housekeeping first. Just letting you know, if you haven't heard,

that the order of this intro has shifted a bit. It's a move we made out of necessity, so that we can afford to keep bringing you the podcast. I'll talk you through the usual opening, then how to use the show, and the story summary. Then we'll take a short ad break, and all ads should be only in my voice. If something else pops up, please know we are working to fix it. Then, when we come back, I'll tuck you in, and we'll take our two deep breaths, and head into the village together. On with the show.

Now, I have a story to tell you, and it will help you to sleep just by listening. Listening gives your brain a job to do, and that keeps it from wandering. It's the wandering that can keep you up. 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. It's brain training. And it will improve with time and practice. Most folks tell us that after a few weeks of listening, they are asleep before the story even starts. They're probably already asleep right now. Our story tonight is called Pass It Along,

and it's a story about a good deed passed from one person to another in the village of Nothing Much. It's also about a cardinal on a branch, a cup of tea served up by a friend, and sharing the feeling that there are others out there eager to help. So please get comfortable. 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. And draw a deep breath in through your nose. Out from your mouth. Again, fill it up. And let it go.

Good. Pass it along. At the end of last year, just before Christmas, I'd been sitting in my office, watching the snow come down thick and fast. It had been a nice feeling to see downtown lit up and bustling below me. Folks walking through the snow, the shops busy,

as customers did their shopping. And as the afternoon wore on, and the flakes kept falling, I noticed the cars on the street, with several inches of fresh snow on their windshield. I grimaced, remembering that my old scraper had snapped in two the last time I'd used it. I'd tossed it in the garbage can, saying to myself, now don't forget to pick up a new one, or you'll be in trouble next snow. Had I remembered?

Had that note to self stuck in my mind? No, not until the exact moment when I looked down at the street. Oh man, I started to strategize. Surely I could borrow one. The office was nearly deserted, so close to the holiday, and I walked through the halls, looking for someone to appeal to. I stuck my head into the break room and spotted my colleague, filling his teacup at the kettle.

Do you have a scraper in your car? I do, he said back. And I sighed in relief. But, he went on, and I have a feeling that this detail is pertinent. I lent my car to my mom for the day. I'm walking. I chuckled as, yeah, that detail was indeed pertinent. Right, well, if I can get my car dug out of the snow, do you want to ride home? It's coming

down pretty fast out there. We both looked out through the windows, me with a bit of nervousness for my now nearly covered car, and him with excitement. No thanks, he said. I wore my boots, and I'm kind of looking forward to it. I like getting all bundled up and trekking home. Well, let me know if you change your mind, I said, as I headed back into the hall, this time making my way to the broom closet.

If worse came to worse, I figured I could use the little whisk broom we had in there to brush the snow off. The ice would eventually melt if I had my defroster up to high. It would take some time, but I could do it. I had another half hour of work to take care of, and I leaned the broom against my desk and went back to closing the loops on any unfinished business. We'd be off for a couple of weeks

and it felt satisfying to tidy up my desk file away the last few papers and finally close my calendar for the year the light was dimming outside as I started to layer on my coat and hat, my gloves and scarf. I found my colleague in the hall, tying up his boots, excited to start out on his walk home, and we took the elevator down together. More folks joined us as we crept toward ground level, and that giddy feeling of closing up for the holidays was tangible.

We all wished each other a good break as we stepped out onto the street. I turned toward my car, clutching the broom, expecting to find just a car-shaped mound of white, but instead saw that it had been dug out, completely cleaned off, and the windshield scraped free of ice. And so was the car next to it, and the one after that, and so on down the block. A half dozen or so of us had been given this gift, and I looked up and down the street trying to ankle deep in the snow shoveling around the tires

of a nearly buried car and i called out to him he was wrapped up tight in a scarf that covered almost all of his face, dusted all over with snow. But I could see, even from across the street, the brightness of his eyes. He seemed lit up from what he was doing. Thank you. I forgot my scraper today. I would have been out here all night.

Then I picked the right car. He called back. Traffic passed slowly between us, and I felt like I owed him something more. Saying thank you didn't quite feel like enough. I, uh, I started and stopped, not sure what to say. He waved his hand at me, seeming to understand what I felt, then pulled down his scarf so I could hear him clearly.

Just pass it along. Someone passed it to me, that's all. Just don't let it drop I smiled and nodded And headed back to my car A good deed for good deed's sake Challenge accepted I could do that

That night, I'd driven slowly home through the snow and stopped at a gas station to buy not one, but two scrapers. That way I'd have a spare in case I came across someone else who needed one. And that felt like a good start on my mission. But what if I didn't find another scraperless soul for a bit? I needed to do something a bit more impactful. And that brings me to today. I'd been keeping my ears and eyes open, looking for some need that I could fill. And while I'd returned my shopping cart at the grocery store and picked up some trash in the parking lot,

I'd still felt that I hadn't quite passed it along. That favor was stuck in my pocket, and it was starting to wear through the seams. I'd been peering out my front window, watching a cardinal on a branch in the rowan tree, when a delivery van came trundling down the road. It stopped at the house kitty corner to mine, and the driver got out and started carrying bags up to the front porch.

I remembered hearing that this particular neighbor had taken a bad spill a few days back while ice skating. She'd sprained her ankle and would be on crutches for a week or two. I saw her at the door as the delivery van drove away, looking down at the bags of groceries with a stumped look on her face. Finally, it was my time to shine.

I slipped into my boots and went through the front door, calling to her as I paused to look both ways. The relief on her face as she spotted me, it reminded me of my own when I'd found my car shoveled out and scraped. This was the gift, getting to give someone that feeling, that they aren't alone and that there are others willing to help. She shuffled back as I slipped in with the bags and didn't protest when I offered to put her groceries away. I made her a cup of tea while I was at it, took out the garbage and carried a pail of scraps to her compost bin in the backyard.

When I handed her the cup, she sat on the couch with her ankle propped up on a pillow. She started to thank me, and I said, just pass it along. Pass it along. At the end of last year, just before Christmas. I'd been sitting in my office

watching the snow come down thick and fast. It had been a nice feeling to see downtown lit up and bustling below me, folks walking through the snow, the shops busy as customers did their shopping. As the afternoon wore on and the flakes kept falling, I noticed the cars on the street with several inches of fresh snow on their windshields. I grimaced, remembering that my old scraper had snapped into the last time I'd used it.

I'd tossed it in the garbage can, saying to myself, Now, don't forget to pick up a new one or you'll be in trouble next snow. Had I remembered? Had that note to self stuck in my mind? No. Not until the exact moment when I looked down at the street. Oh man, I started to strategize.

Surely I could borrow one. The office was nearly deserted, so close to the holiday. And I walked through the halls, looking for someone to appeal to. I stuck my head into the break room and spotted my colleague filling his teacup at the kettle. Do you have a scraper in your car?

I do, he said back, and I sighed in relief. But, he went on, and I have a feeling that this detail is pertinent. I lent my car to my mom for the day. I'm walking. I chuckled as, yes, that detail was indeed pertinent. Right. Well, if I can get my car dug out of the snow, do you want to ride home? It's coming down fast out there. We both looked out through the windows,

me with a bit of nervousness for my now nearly covered car, and him with excitement. No thanks. I wore my boots, and I'm kind of looking forward to it. I like getting all bundled up and trekking home. Well, let me know if you change your mind i said as i headed back into the hall

this time making my way to the broom closet if worse came to worse i figured i could use the little whisk broom we had in there to brush the snow off. The ice would eventually melt if I had my defroster up to high. It would take some time, but I could do it. I had another half hour of work to take care of, and I leaned the broom against my desk and went back to closing the loops on any unfinished business. We'd be off for a couple of weeks

and it felt satisfying to tidy up my desk file away the last few papers and finally close my calendar for the year the light was dimming outside as I started to layer on my coat and hat, my gloves and scarf. I found my colleague in the hall, tying up his boots, excited to start out on his walk home.

And we took the elevator down together. More folks joined us as we crept toward ground level. And that giddy feeling of closing up for the holidays was tangible. We all wished each other a good break as we stepped out onto the straight. I turned toward my car, clutching the broom, expecting to find just a car-shaped mound of white. But instead,

I saw that it had been dug out, completely cleaned off, and the windshield scraped free of ice. And so was the car next to it, and the one after that, and so on down the block. A half dozen or so of us had been given this gift, and I looked up and down the street, trying to see who had done the giving. A man across the street was standing ankle-deep in the snow, shoveling around the tires of a nearly buried car, and I called out to him. He was wrapped up tight in a scarf that covered almost

all of his face, dusted over with snow, but I could see, even from across the street, the brightness of his eyes. He seemed lit up from what he was doing. Thank you. I forgot my scraper today. I would have been out here all night. Then I picked the right car, he called back. Traffic passed slowly between us, and I felt like I owed him something more.

Saying thank you didn't quite feel like enough. I, um, I started and stopped, not sure what to say. He waved his hand at me, seeming to understand what I felt. Then he pulled down his scarf so I could hear him clearly. Just pass it along. Someone passed it to me, that's all.

Just don't let it drop. I smiled and nodded and headed back to my car. A good deed for good deed's sake? Challenge accepted. I could do that. That night, I'd driven slowly home through the snow and stopped at a gas station to buy not one, but two scrapers. That way I'd have a spare in case I came across someone else

who needed one and that felt like a good start on my mission but what if I didn't find another scraperless soul for a bit I needed to find something a bit more impactful. And that brings me to today. I'd been keeping my ears and eyes open, looking for some need that I could fill.

And while I'd returned my shopping cart at the grocery store and picked up some trash in the parking lot. I still felt that I hadn't quite passed it along. That favor was stuck in my pocket, and it was starting to wear through the seams. I'd been peering out my front window, watching a cardinal on a branch in the rowan tree when a delivery van came trundling down the road. It stopped at the house kitty corner to mine, and the driver got out and started carrying bags up to the front porch. I remembered hearing that this particular neighbor had taken a bad spill a few days back while ice skating.

She'd sprained her ankle and would be on crutches for a week or two. I saw her at the door as the delivery van drove away, looking down at the bags of groceries with a stumped look on her face. Finally, it was my time to shine. I slipped into my boots and went through the front door, calling to her as I paused to look both ways. The relief on her face as she spotted me reminded me of my own when I'd found my car shoveled out and scraped. This was the gift. Getting to give someone that feeling that they aren't alone and that there are others willing to help. She shuffled back as I slipped in with the bags

and didn't protest when I offered to put her groceries away. I made her a cup of tea while I was at it, took out the garbage, and carried a pail of scraps to her compost bin in the backyard. When I handed her the cup, as she sat on the couch with her ankle propped up on a pillow, she started to thank me, And I said, just pass it along. Sweet dreams.