Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Return to the Chalet

Episode Date: December 29, 2025

Our story tonight is called Return to the Chalet, and it is a sort of "season two" of a fan-favorite series from a few winter’s back called Winter Getaway though you don’t need to listen to that three-parter to find your place in this one. It’s a story about a trip out of town after the bustle of the holidays settles down. It’s also about landmarks spotted from the highway, a plate of black and white cookies made with love, the moment the sun dips below the cloud cover on its way to setting, and the cumulative effect of giving yourself what you need when you need it. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠⁠⁠Premium channel.⁠⁠ ⁠The first two months are on us. 💙 Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠curednutrition.com/NOTHINGMUCH⁠⁠⁠⁠ and use code NOTHINGMUCH at checkout to receive 20% off your order. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to ⁠Lighthouse of Oakland County⁠. Lighthouse endeavors to build equitable communities that alleviate poverty in partnership with and in service to individuals, families, and organizations. ⁠⁠⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! More coziness at The Inn! 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. If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest. But sometimes what you need isn't a story. Maybe it's something a little different,

and that's where sleep magic comes in. Sleep Magic is a sleep hypnosis podcast, hosted by hypnotherapist Jessica Porter. Instead of storytelling, Jessica uses a hypnotic voice that gradually slows down, weaving in gentle suggestions to help your mind, let go. It's designed so that by the end, you're not just calmer, you're already asleep. And what's unique is that she doesn't only talk about sleep. Jessica threads in themes like dealing with heartbreak, easing anxiety, and building confidence. So the work you do while drifting off actually carries into your waking life.

There are more than 300 episodes, and listeners call the show Life Changing and a Real Gift. Over 5 million people have tuned in, and I can see why. So if you're curious to try a different approach, one that complements what you already get here, subscribe to Sleep Magic, wherever you listen to podcasts. Just search Sleep Magic and start listening for free today. You know how lots of sleep aides feel like they're doing something to you? You get knocked out and then you wake up groggy, maybe a little fogged, and somehow still tired?

That's the problem with so many over-the-counter sleep products. They override your system instead of working with it. The new dream gummies from cured nutrition take a different approach. They blend cannabinoids and botanicals, CBD, CBN,

and a microdose of THC with Valerian, passion flour, and chamomile to teach your body how to rest again. It's not sedation, It's restoration. Dream completes cured's 24-hour rhythm. Flow for focus, serenity for calm, and dream for true recovery. It's clean, plant-based, third-party tested, and made to help your sleep actually work without melatonin and without the next day haze. I tried one last night. I slept great,

slept longer than I usually managed to, and felt really, really good when I woke up. You can Try dream now at curednutrition.com slash nothing much and use code nothing much for 20% off your order. That's c-U-R-E-D nutrition.com slash nothing much. coupon code nothing much. Because you already know the value of rest. Dream just helps you find the deep part again. Welcome to Bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear and nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and now with the last episode of the year, I can proudly say that we've been able to donate over

$10,000 in 2025. This week we are giving to Lighthouse of Oakland County right in my backyard. Lighthouse endeavors to build equitable communities that alleviate poverty in partnership with and in service to individuals, families, and organizations. You can learn more about them in our show notes. Do you need a Nothing Much Happens hoodie? I feel like you might. Or an art print of the map of the village. Check out our new merch.

Sign up for ad-free, premium access, and connect to our community. All at Nothing Much Happens.com. Now let me say a bit about how and why this work. I think understanding it helps it to work even better. Besides the shifts in brain activity, following along with a calm story, centered around compassion and ease,

allows you to experience something called restorative witnessing. You regulate by listening to someone else, regulate. And the more often, you listen, the more your body learns to follow that familiar path back to rest. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you find yourself awake later on, feel free to start an episode again. Our story tonight is called Return to the Chalet and it is a sort of season two of a fan favorite series

from a few winters back called Winter Getaway though you don't need to listen to that three-parter to find your place in this one. It's a story about a trip out of town after the bustle of the holidays settles down it's also about landmarks spotted from the highway a plate of black and white cookies made with love the moment the sun dips below the cloud cover

on its way to setting and the cumulative effect of giving yourself what you need when you need it so turn out the light my dear it's time Make yourself as comfortable as you can. Whatever happened today is what happened today. And now we are here.

Take a deep breath in through your nose. And sigh from your mouth. One more time, breathe in. And out. Good. Return to the chalet. My bags were packed, and the car was gassed up and ready.

All that was left to do was to close up the bookshop for the year and get on the road. The first time I'd made this trip a few winters back, I'd been worn thin from too many days without a break, too much to do and not enough time to do it in. But knowing that this getaway was coming up, had me moving through the busy days before the holiday with a spring in my step, an excitement in my heart.

A friend had described it once, like running a race, when seeing someone holding out a cup of water along the route for you. You see it there. coming in just a few more steps and it keeps you going helps you know you'll make it to the finish line Alfie

my dog alphabet and I had made it we sold books and magazines classics and new releases blank journals and yearly almanacs. And now the busy season was behind us, and it was time to slow down

and refill our cups. I tidied up the desk, locked the register, and double-checked the back door. I'd made a sign for the front window, reminding our cup, customers that we would be closed for the week. Back again after the new year.

And as I hung it up, I felt my shoulders drifting down my back. A slow sigh rolling out through my lips. Alphabet watched me from his bed by the register. and he mimicked my sigh. It made me laugh. For someone who spent pretty much the whole day lying down, he sighed like he just worked a double down at the cafe. This was the first time I was taking Elfie with me.

That first year, I didn't know what to expect, if it would be a good spot for him, accessible for his short, bassety, corgish legs. And, if I was honest, the kind of exhausted I'd been, the sort of break I'd needed, well, it excluded any kind of caregiving that wasn't directly aimed at myself. This year, probably because of these more regular breaks, I had more space to work with when I was happy to bring him along. I knew he would love sleeping by the fire and watching the skiers carve their way down the mountain. I switched on a few lamps

so the shop wouldn't sit completely dark while we were away, and maneuvered Alfie into his sweater. He had short, white fur, with black spots. I always teased him that one of his grandfathers must have been a Dalmatian, or possibly a cow, and he would get cold on a day like today without a sweater. He grunted a bit as I pulled the red-knit fabric

with designs of snowflakes and reindeer over his head and down his long body. you'll thank me later the finicular can be cold i told him and he shook his body out like he'd just getting out of the bath i zipped up my own coat and took one last look around the shop all was in its place see you next year i whispered and reached for Alfie's leash. He sniffed around on the sidewalk as I locked the front door, and I noticed how quiet the street was. For a lot of us shopkeepers and small businesses, this was a week to regroup. Most of the storefronts were. lit like mine, just a dim glow to keep the darkness at bay, and with a see you in January sign

hanging in a window. I helped Elfi into his car seat when we buckled in for the drive. When I started the car, the radio came on. I immediately reached out and switched it off. The quiet was better. I backed out into Main Street, and we headed for the cabin on the mountain, for the chalet, and the finicular, and the main hotel lobby

that would still be decorated for the holiday. but blissfully calm and restrained. It was gray out, low clouds, but clear roads. And as we drove, I laid my hand on Elfie beside me. His steady, sleepy breaths slowed my own. I recognized a few little. landmarks along the way, and with each one, the windmill off the interstate, the bridge over the frozen river. I was calmer, the year unwinding like the tail of a kite, floating up and away into the

clouds. At the hotel, I juggled my bags, an elf's leash for a moment, when a porter met me in the lot, and began loading the luggage onto his rolling rack. Welcome back, he said, when I was a bit surprised by how good it felt to be remembered. Gosh, I said shyly. I don't know how you could remember me. You must see so many people over the course of a year. He just assured for me to go first on the path and followed with the cart.

You're a chef's friend, I remember. Another sweet spot in this trip An old friend who spent their summers Cooking at the Village Inn And their winters running the kitchen here Who always made me A few special treats And meals over my stay

They were busy But looked after me from a distant while I was here. And that loving act of friendship made my eyes brim in the late afternoon light. We moved through the lobby, alphabet drawing smiles and waves from staff and fellow guests alike.

He was so used to spending his days in the bookshop, being petted by strangers and regulars. Navigating a busy space didn't faze him. He wagged his tail and accepted a biscuit at the check-in desk, and soon we were following the porter out to the finicular stop. The hotel sat at the base of a mountain range. And as well as the accommodations in the main building, there were private cabins, arranged higher up,

tucked into the woods at the feet of several of the peaks. To get back and forth, a conveyance, like a diagonal outdoor elevator had been built. It ran on tracks like a train, and we boarded a gondola with soft upholstered seats and lots of glass to look out at the view. I'd aimed for us to arrive just before sunset. It had happened that way by chance on my first trip. And I remembered how the sun had dipped below the cloud cover and lit the landscape in astonishing orange light.

It felt like the light had gone inside me on the way up the mountain, and that I'd been able to carry it with me into the rest of the world. of the winter. So on my return trip, I'd wanted to repeat the experience. This year the glow was softer, more like being close to a fire than being struck by lightning. And that seemed fitting. I wasn't in the same place I'd been that first time. I didn't need to be rebuilt, just topped up.

And as we rose, Alfie at my side, and the porter quietly looking out with us, I felt the glow and closed my eyes to let it absorb into my skin and spirit. I still had my eyes closed when we rocked to a stop, and the doors lit open. Alphabet jumped down and tugged at the leash, and I followed. My breath fogged in the air, and there was a crackle to the cold, not something I could actually hear but something I felt in the air between the pines and the slopes

the wheels of the luggage cart bumped along the wood planks of the path an Alfie sniffed in a steady rhythm along the edge of the cleared snow even before the door of the cabin was unlocked. I could smell the wood smoke. See it rising from the chimney against the last rays of daylight. Inside, the fire crackled, and the air was warm and welcoming.

As I unclipped Alf's leash, and pulled at the fingers of my gloves. Our bags were set out, and the cart pushed back through the door. I turned to say thank you, just as it was closing, and got a wink back from the porter. I let out a deep sigh,

and looked around at this familiar room with its large, comfortable bed, fluffy rugs, and small kitchenette. I smiled at what I saw on the counter. Last time, chef had left me homemade cookies, and I'd made them last all week. There they were. They're famous black and whites under a pretty glass dome.

And beside them, some freshly made biscuits for health. And a note with a simple X-O. My mind settled deep into my body. And I felt safe and calm. and ready for sleep. Return to the chalet. My bags were packed, and the car was gassed up and ready.

All that was left to do was to close up the bookshop for the, year and get on the road. The first time I'd made this trip, a few winters back, I'd been worn thin from too many days without a break. Too much to do and not enough time to do it in. But knowing that this getaway was coming up had me moving through the busy days before the holiday with a spring in my step,

an excitement in my heart. A friend had described it once, like running a race, and seeing someone holding out a cup of water along the route for you. You see it there. coming in just a few more steps. And it keeps you going.

Helps you know you'll make it to the finish line. Well, Alfie, my dog, Alphabet, and I, had made it. We'd sold books and magazines, classics and new releases, blank journals, and yearly almanacs. And now the busy season was behind us. And it was time to slow down. and refill our cups.

I tidied up the desk, locked the register, and double-checked to the back door. I'd made a sign for the front window, reminding our customers that we would be closed, for the week, back again after the new year. And as I hung it up, I felt my shoulders drifting down my back. A slow sigh rolling out through my lips.

Alphabet watched me from his bed by the register and he mimicked my sigh it made me laugh for someone who spent pretty much the whole day lying down he sighed like he'd just worked a double down at the cafe. This was the first time I was taking Alfie with me.

The first year, I didn't know what to expect, if it would be a good spot for him, accessible for his short, basity, corgish legs. And if I was honest, the kind of exhausted I'd been then, the sort of break I'd needed. Well, it excluded any kind of caregiving

that wasn't directly aimed at myself. This year, probably because of these regular breaks, I had more space to work with, and I was happy to bring him along. I knew he would love sleeping by the fire and watching the skiers carve their way down the mountain. I switched on a few lamps So the shop wouldn't sit completely dark While we were away And maneuvered Elfie into his sweater He had short white fur

With black spots I always teased him that one of his grandfathers must have been a Dalmatian or possibly a cow and he would get cold on a day like today without a sweater he grunted a bit

as I pulled the red-knit fabric with designs of snowflakes and reindeer over his head and down his long body. You'll think me later. The finicular can be cold, I told him. And he shook his body out. Like he'd just gotten out of the bath.

I zipped up my own coat and took one last look around the shop. All was in its place. See you next year, I whispered, and reached for Elfie's leash. He sniffed around on the sidewalk as I locked the front door. And I noticed how quiet the street was. For a lot of us shopkeepers and small businesses,

this was a week to regroup. Most of the storefronts, were like mine just a dim glow inside to keep the darkness at bay and with a see you in January sign

hanging in the window I helped Alfie into his car seat and we buckled in for the drive. When I started the car and the radio came on, I immediately reached out and switched it off, the quiet was better. I backed out into Main Street, and we backed out into Main Street, and we headed for the cabin on the mountain, for the chalet, and the finicular, and the main hotel lobby that would still be decorated for the holiday, but blissfully calm and restrained.

It was gray out, low clouds, but clear roads. And as we drove, I laid a hand on Alfie beside me, and his steady, sleepy breaths slowed my own. I recognized a few landmarks. along the way, and with each one, the windmill off the interstate, the bridge over the frozen river, I was calmer, the year unwinding like the tail of a kite, floating up and away into the clouds. At the hotel,

I juggled my bags and elf's leash until a porter met me in the lot, and began loading the luggage onto his rack. Welcome back, he said. And I was a bit surprised by how good it felt to be remembered. Gosh, I said shyly. I don't know how you could remember me. You must see so many people over the course of a year.

He gestured for me to go first on the path. and followed with the cart. Your chef's friend, I remember. Another sweet spot in this trip. An old friend who spent their summers cooking at the village inn and their winters running the kitchen here. who always made me a few special treats and meals over my stay. They were busy, but looked after me from a distance while I was here.

And that loving act of friendship made my eyes brim in the late afternoon light. We moved through the lobby, alphabet drawing smiles and waves from staff and fellow guests alike. He was so used to spending his days in the bookshop, being petted by strangers and regulars. Navigating a busy space didn't face him. He wagged his tail and accepted a biscuit at the check-in desk. And soon we were following the porter out to the finicular stop.

The hotel sat. at the base of a mountain range. And as well as the accommodations in the main building, there were private cabins arranged higher up, tucked into the woods at the feet of several of the peaks. To get back and forth, A conveyance like a diagonal outdoor elevator had been built. It ran on tracks like a train, and we boarded a gondola with soft upholstered seats and lots of glass to look out at the view.

I'd aimed for us to arrive just before sunset. It had happened like that by chance on my first trip, and I remembered how the sun had dipped below the clouds and lit the landscape in astonished. orange light. It had felt like the light had gone inside me on the way up the mountain

and that I'd been able to carry it with me into the rest of the winter. So on this return trip I'd wanted to repeat the experience. This year the glow was softer, more like being close to a fire than being struck by lightning. And that seemed fitting.

I wasn't in the same place I'd been that first time. I didn't need to be rebuilt, just topped up. And as we rose, Alfie at my side, and the porter quietly looking out with us, I felt the glow and closed my eyes to let it absorb into my skin. and spirit. I still had my eyes closed when we rocked to a stop, and I heard the doors slide open.

Alphabet jumped down and tugged at the leash, and I followed. My breath fogged in the air, when there was a crackle to the cold. Not something I could actually hear, but something I felt. In the air between the pines and the slopes.

The wheels of the luggage cart bumped along the wood planks of the path. An Alfie sniffed and a steady rhythm along the edge of the cleared snow. Even before the door of the cabin was unlocked, I could smell the wood smoke. See it rising from the chimney against the last rays of daylight. inside the fire crackled when the air was warm and welcoming as I unclipped Alf's leash and pulled at the fingers of my gloves

our bags were set out and the cart pushed back through the door I turned to say thank you just as the door was closing and got a wink back from the porter I let out a deep sigh and looked around this familiar room

with its large, comfortable bed, fluffy rugs and small kitchenette. I smiled at what I saw on the counter. Last time, chef had left me homemade cookies, and I'd made them last all week. There they were. Their famous black and whites, under a pretty glass dome. And beside them, some freshly made biscuits for Elf, and a note with a simple X-O.

My mind settled deep into my body. And I felt safe and calm and ready for sleep. Sweet dreams.