Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Pool Day

Episode Date: August 4, 2025

Our story tonight is called Pool Day, and it’s a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day. It’s also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas, and rows of lounge chairs. A book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that swallows you up after a day in the sun and water. Subscribe to our Premium channel. The first month is on us. 💙 We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the Footprint Project. Their work is to provide cleaner energy for communities in crisis. NMH merch, autographed books, and more! Pay it forward subscription  Listen to our daytime show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much.  First This, Kathryn’s guided mediation podcast.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine 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

Footprint Project. Their work is to provide cleaner energy for communities in crisis. You can learn more about them in our show notes. Hey, did you know we recently made an episode of our daytime podcast, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, that featured listeners' voices? They played parts like Marmalade's mom, Crum's dad, the cool aunt, and her nephew. Wish you could have played along? Well give us a follow over on Instagram. We have more community projects in the works and we want to include you. And as always, please consider becoming a premium subscriber. A dime a day, so many benefits. Everything's in our notes at nothingmuchhappens.com. Okay, so here's how this works. And we know it works after nearly 200 million downloads.

We've figured out how to do this. Just by listening to the story I have for you, you'll shift your brain activity away from the constantly spiraling default mode and into the sleep accessible task positive mode. You don't need to understand any of that for it to work. Just relax and listen. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn another story on. It'll help you go right back to sleep.

Our story tonight is called Pool Day, and it's a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day. It's also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas and rows of lounge chairs, a book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that swallows you up after a day in the sun and water. It's time. The day is done and you have done all that you needed to. You are right now just where you are supposed to be. So let go.

It's okay, let go. I'll take the next watch. Draw a hot, late summer day, one with a cloudless sky and almost too much sun. The village pool was calling my name. I walked up the path to the gate. My beach bag slung over my shoulders and my flip-flops slapping against the concrete. I could hear a few voices calling out Marco and Polo, the riffling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze, and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.

The gate creaked a bit as I lifted the latch and walked through, and I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat, clapping it onto my head and sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes. And the sweet sight of the village pool with plenty of open lounge chairs and shady spots to stretch out in. I've been coming here since I was in water wings. In fact, I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end and learned just enough about diving to avoid faded painted lines on the concrete surround. A tall lifeguard's chair, a snack bar and changing rooms that all added up to one of

my favorite places to spend a summer day. I strolled down the side of the pool, watching a few people on floats and inner tubes enjoying the sun and cool water. I've always been tickled by the fact that when we are out in the sun, at the beach, or by the pool, we recognize that we are going to need to lie down. Even folks who struggle to relax and rest will almost always surrender to the urge to be horizontal when under the sun and near the water.

And I was not a person who struggled to relax. I rather hoped we could extend the custom to more places. Loungers at the lanes, trundle beds at the train station, cots at the cafe. I hoped it would be the wave of the future. Speaking of waves, a swimmer breast-stroking through a lane at the far end of the pool was hardly making any when I was impressed. While I could certainly swim a few laps, tread water when needed, and sometimes float stretched out on my back. I didn't have good form. Didn't even know what it was and wasn't.

The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall, pushed off and started another lap. I thought it must be a meditative kind of movement, the rhythm that would build as you worked back and forth across the pool, creating a calm inner space. The lounge chairs were set out in rows, with plenty of umbrellas scattered among them. And I settled my bag onto one in a quiet, empty section. The umbrella nearby was still closed, and I took a few moments to crank found in the little library on my

corner the week before. I'd fallen asleep reading it in bed and planned to do exactly exactly the same thing on this lounge chair. But first I needed a couple of towels. I stashed my flip-flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana. It was a squat, square building with changing rooms on either side, and a towel desk in the front. The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful, and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child. They had high windows and let aqua-colored light in. And along the walls and floors were tile mosaics showing fish and mermaids and fountains overflowing with sparkling water. Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress,

I still poked my head in, just to admire the tiles, and listened to the way the voices from outside echoed against the walls. I grabbed two giant towels from the booth and made my way back around the pool. The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected, but I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my soles. I dropped my towels off on my chair and slipped out of my dress, hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella. My steps grew more hurried on the hot walkway. hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella. My steps grew more hurried on the hot walkways as I made my way back to the pool.

And I heard a voice in my head that had been well planted from childhood say, no running by the pool. I chuckled and went carefully. The pool had a sun shelf with a series of wide steps leading in at one corner and several ladders here and there. I decided on the stairs, and that first step in was heavenly. The water was cool and refreshing, and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it.

Step by step, I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders. The way the coolness spread through my whole body. Coolness spread through my whole body. From my first swim as a kid to this one and every dip in between, it never got old. It always felt so good. I sighed, happy and grateful for this resource I knew not every community had. I dove under and pulled myself through the water, broke the surface, and flipped onto my back, kicking my feet and taking lazy backstrokes. I remembered staying in the water so long when I was young that my fingers turned pruney,

my hair turned green at the tips, and when I'd finally been pried out for the night, I could feel a bit of water in my chest with every deep breath. For now, I'd had enough. I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair. and reached up, feeling the warm aluminum under my hands. I pulled myself up and climbed out onto the pool deck. There is a scent, pool water on concrete, and it bloomed under me as I walked. At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more sunscreen and arrange my towels, one long under my body, and one rolled to support my head and settle down in the shade.

What a feeling. That pleasant fatigue from the heat. The coolness of the droplets still on my skin. The scent of my sunscreen and the sound of the water lapping at the pool's edge. I set my book at my side, let my damp palm rest on the cover, and closed my eyes. I knew I momentum about to carry me off. I had a fleeting thought of going to the snack bar when I woke up, sliding open the door on their big ice cream cooler and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle. Later. later. Right now, I would just drift away. Pool Day It was the place to be today.

On a hot, late summer day. One with a cloudless sky and almost too much sun. The village pool was calling my name. I walked up the path to the gate. My beach bag slung over my shoulder and my flip-flops slapping against the concrete. I could hear a few voices calling out Marco and Polo, the riffling sound fabric in the breeze and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere. The gate creaked a bit as I lifted the latch and walked through, and I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat, clapping it onto my head and sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes. And the sweet sight of the village pool with plenty of open lounge chairs and shady spots to stretch out in.

I've been coming here since I was in water wings. In fact, I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end and learned just enough about diving to avoid belly flops on the board. It was a large rectangular pool with faded painted lines on the concrete surround. a snack bar, and changing rooms that added up to one of my favorite places to spend a summer day. down the side of the pool, watching a few people on floats and inner tubes, enjoying the sun and at the beach, We all recognize that we are going to need to lie down. Even folks who struggle to relax and rest will almost always surrender to the urge to be horizontal when under the sun and near the water. And I was not a person who struggled to relax. We could extend the custom to more places. Loungers at the lanes. Drundle beds at the train station.

Cots at the cafe. I hoped it would be the wave of the future. Speaking of waves, a swimmer breast-stroking through a lane at the far end of the pool was hardly making any, and I was impressed. While I could certainly swim a few laps, tread water when needed, and sometimes float stretched out on my back. I didn't have good form, didn't even know what it was and wasn't. The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall, pushed off and started another lap. I thought it must be a meditative kind of movement. The rhythm that would build up as you worked back and forth

across the pool, creating a calm inner space. The lounge chairs were set out in rows with plenty of umbrellas scattered among them. And I settled my bag onto one in a quiet, empty section. The umbrella nearby was still closed, and it took a few moments to crank it open and tilt it until my chair was well shaded. My bag held a paperback, a mystery that I'd found in reading it in bed and planned to do exactly the same thing on this lounge chair. But first, I needed a couple of towels. I stashed my flip-flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana. It was a squat, square building, with changing rooms on either side, and a towel desk in the front.

The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful, and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child. when I was a child. They had high windows that let aqua-colored light in. And along the walls and floors were tile mosaics showing fish and mermaids and fountains overflowing with sparkling water. Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress, I still poked my head in just to admire the tiles and listen to the way the voices from outside echoed against the pool.

The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected, but I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my soles. It tingled against my soles. The idea of a swim was sounding better by the minute. I dropped my towels off on my chair and slipped out of my dress, hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella. My steps grow more hurried on the hot walkways, and I heard a voice in my head that had been planted from childhood, saying, No running by the pool.

I chuckled and went carefully. carefully. The water was And suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it. Step by step I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders. The way the coolness spread through my body, from my first swim as a kid to this one, and every dip in between, it never got old. It always felt so good. I sighed, happy and grateful for this resource I knew not every community had. and pulled myself through the water, broke the surface, and flipped onto my back, kicking my feet and taking lazy backstrokes. I thought of the times when I was young that I'd stayed in the water so long that my fingers turned pruney, my hair turned green at the tips, and when I'd finally been pried out for the night,

I could feel a bit of water rattling in my chest with every breath. For now, I'd had enough. I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair. I swam to a ladder and reached up, feeling out onto the pool deck. There's a scent, so familiar, pool water on concrete, and it bloomed under me as I walked. At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more sunscreen and arrange my and one rolled to support my head and settled down in the shade. Hmm, what a feeling. That pleasant fatigue from the heat. The coolness of the droplets still on my skin, the scent of my

sunscreen, and the sound of the water lapping at the pool's edge. I set my book coming. Like a ball rolling downhill, picking up momentum about to carry me off. I had a fleeting thought of going to the snack bar when I woke up, sliding open the door on their big ice cream cooler, and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle. Later, right now, I would just drift away. Sweet dreams.