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

Episode Date: May 23, 2022

Our story tonight is called Road Trip and it’s a story about riding down the interstate with the windows down on a sunny day. It’s also about a little town down the road to explore, a plaque on a park bench, and the first of the summer strawberries. Order the book now! Get our ad-free and bonus episodes.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear, and nothing much happens. With audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. If you're ending the day with me, I invite you to start tomorrow with me too, with my new 10-minute meditation podcast. It's called First This, and it's a simple way to get focused

and mindful. Find it for free on any podcast app. Just search First This. You can also get cozy, nothing much happens gear, subscribe to our ad-free and bonus episodes, and buy a beautifully illustrated signed copy of my book, all at nothingmuchappens.com. Since every episode is someone's first, I like to say a little about how this works. When we struggle to fall asleep or return to sleep, it's usually because the mind is too active. When your brain is active in its default mode network, sleep can feel pretty impossible. We need to shift your brain activity to the task positive network, where drifting off is fast and easy. And to do, something to focus on. So your job is just to follow along with the

sound of my voice and the simple story I have to tell you. I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake in the night, you can switch back to task mode by thinking through any parts of the story you can remember, or even just the details of a pleasant memory. This is brain training, and it takes practice, so be patient if you are new to this.

Now, it's time to get comfortable. Adjust your pillow and blankets till you feel completely at ease. Let your muscles relax. Unclench your jaw. And let your body be heavy. You have done enough for the day. Whatever you did,

it was enough. And I'll be here, watching over as you drift off. You're safe. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose. And out through your mouth. Nice.

Do that one more time. Breathe in, and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Road Trip, and it's a story about riding down the interstate with the windows down on a sunny day. It's also about a little town down the road wanting to be explored, a plaque on a park bench, and the first of the summer strawberries. Road trip.

We were giddy as we loaded up the car. The summer makes us young. It was the ease of stepping out of the house in my t-shirt and shorts. The lure of green grass wanting to be walked on with bare feet. The natural boost to my mood from the sunshine and blue skies. I felt carefree, like a kid again.

And like a kid, I wanted to do it all. I wanted to bring our bikes, our flippers for swimming in the lake, and every kind of food that could be cooked on a stick over a bonfire. I was piling stuff up near the rear bumper, adding more fun summer things as I discovered them in the garage. Ooh, a pail of sidewalk chalk? That would be fun. And that ball toss game with the Velcro mitts that the ball sticks to. We could play that in the yard. I heard a throat being cleared from the depths of the hatchback. Um, babe, this isn't all going to fit. I laughed at the size of the pile I'd made, and compromised by returning a few things to the garage and slotting the rest, Tetris-style, into the backseat footwells,

and even wedging the ball-toss game into the glove compartment. It was mid-morning, and the day was getting warmer. It was time to get on the road. Soon, we were tucked into the front seat. The windows rolled down, and cold drinks sweating in the cup holders between us. We both had big smiles on our faces as I turned our packed car out of the driveway and toward the week of rest and play ahead of us. You have to get a little outside of your town before you feel the road trip energy kick in. We went through downtown, across the railroad tracks,

past the fields and orchards on the outskirts of town, and then turned on to the two-lane interstate that would take us most of the way to the lake before I felt it. A song came on the radio. A new song of the summer that, in a few months, we'd be pretty tired of. But right now, we were so happy to sing along to, at the top of our voices. I'd flown to other countries,

the far-flung corners of the globe, walked the cobblestones of ancient cities and ridden trains through foreign landscapes, seen astonishing man-made monuments and breathtaking natural formations. But none of it beat a simple summer road trip, just the two of us, to the lake. We didn't have any plans.

We'd make them up as we went. As the miles rolled out behind us, we looked for a place to stop for lunch. We saw signs for a little town off the interstate that we'd never been to before and decided to see what they had. This is the best part of road tripping, isn't it? The random left turn that takes you someplace new. The little discoveries along the way. The town was only a half dozen blocks, and we drove slowly through them, reading out the names of shops to each other. It was strawberry season,

and their corner grocery had a table full of them outside their door. We decided to start there. We parked the car and strolled down the sidewalk. I wondered what their bookshop had that ours might not, and peered in their front window till I remembered that I'd already overpacked. Oh well.

Maybe on the way home, after we'd eaten through some of our groceries, and had room in the car, we could stop again. I picked out a couple quarts of strawberries and carried them into the shop. As the woman at the checkout rang me up, I asked her where we should go to find some sandwiches, and she stepped with me over to the window and pointed out a deli two blocks down and across the street. Not the one with the yellow sign, she said in a low voice.

Keep going till you see the geranium pots with the pinwheels in them. That's the spot. That sounded like a recommendation we could trust. So we dropped our strawberries off at the car and walked down the block till we spotted the pinwheels spinning in the flowerpots. The place was busy,

even though it was a sleepy little town. Another good sign. And we ordered sandwiches and took a couple of cold ginger ales from the fridge. As my sandwich was being cut in half and wrapped in butcher's paper behind the counter. I asked for another recommendation. The first one had clearly been a good one. If you were in no hurry, where would you go around here to eat that? I asked, pointing my chin at the sandwich. The person wrapping it up

taped the paper closed and reached for a marker from their pocket and drew a little map on a napkin. It's just a few blocks away, they said. They handed us our sandwiches over the counter, and off we went to the next adventure. We followed the map down the street to the edge of downtown to a little park

with trumpet vines and plumeria growing up a wrought iron fence it was shady and full of rose bushes, and we found a bench in a corner with a plaque screwed into the wooden slats of its back. I read the name of the person it was dedicated to

and thought it was a lovely spot to be remembered in. We balanced our soda bottles on the brick pavers at our feet and unwrapped our sandwiches. Mine was full of crunchy slaw roasted vegetables and a spicy creamy sauce

and to sit there in the summer shade eating and listening to the wind blow in the trees above us, to smell the flowers on the vine and think of the week ahead. I was giddy again, a kid on the first day of vacation. It would be my turn in the passenger seat after lunch,

and I could already feel the nap that would come with my seat tipped back and the fresh air coming in through the window as we made our way closer to the lake. Road trip. We were giddy as we loaded up the car. The summer makes us young.

It was the ease of stepping out of the house in my t-shirt and shorts. The lure of green grass wanting to be walked on with bare feet. The natural boost to my mood from the sunshine and blue skies. I felt carefree like a kid again. And like a kid, I wanted to do it all. I wanted to bring our bikes, our flippers for swimming in the lake,

and every kind of food that could be cooked on a stick over a bonfire. I was piling stuff up near the rear bumper, adding more fun summer things as I discovered them in the garage. Ooh, a pail of sidewalk chalk. That would be fun. And that ball toss game with the Velcro mitts that the ball stuck to. We could play that in the yard. I heard a throat being cleared from the depths of the hatchback. Um, babe, this isn't all going to fit.

I laughed at the size of the pile I'd made and compromised by returning a few things to the garage and slotting the rest Tetris-style into the backseat footwells and even wedging the ball-toss game into the glove compartment. It was mid-morning, and the day was getting warmer. It was time to get on the road. Soon, we were tucked into the front seat. The windows rolled down and cold drinks sweating in the cup holders

between us. We both had big smiles on our faces as I turned our parked car out of the driveway and toward the week of rest and play ahead of us. You have to get a little outside of your town before you feel the road trip energy kick in.

We went through downtown, across the railroad tracks, past the fields and orchards on the outskirts of town, and then turned on to the two-lane interstate that would take us most of the way to the lake before I felt it. A song came on the radio, a new song of the summer that in a few months we'd be pretty tired of.

But right now, we were so happy to sing along to at the top of our voices. I'd flown to other countries, the far-flung corners of the globe, walked the cobblestones of ancient cities, and ridden trains through foreign landscapes, seen astonishing man-made monuments and breathtaking natural formations. But none of it beat a simple summer road trip.

Just the two of us to the lake. We didn't have any plans. We'd make them up as we went. As the miles rolled out behind us, we looked out for a place to stop for lunch. We saw signs for a little town off the interstate that we'd never been to before and decided to see what they had. This is the best part of road tripping, isn't it?

The random left turn that takes you someplace new. The little discoveries along the way. The town was only a half dozen blocks, and we drove slowly through them, reading out the names of shops to each other. It was strawberry season, and their corner grocery had a table full of them outside their door. We decided to start there. We parked the car and strolled down the sidewalk. I wondered what their bookshop had that ours might not, and peered in their front window till I remembered that I'd already overpacked.

Oh well. Maybe on the way home, after we'd eaten through some of our groceries and had room in the car, we could stop again. I picked out a couple quarts of strawberries and carried them into the shop. As the woman at the checkout rang me up, I asked her where we should go to find some sandwiches. And she stepped with me over to the window and pointed out a deli two blocks down

and across the street. Not the one with the yellow sign, she said in a low voice. Keep going till you see the geranium pots with the pinwheels in them. That's the spot. That sounded like a recommendation we could trust. So we dropped our strawberries off at the car and walked down the block till we spotted the pinwheels spinning in the flowerpots. The place was busy, even though it was a sleepy little

town. Another good sign. And we ordered sandwiches and took a couple of cold ginger ales from the fridge. As my sandwich was being cut in half and wrapped in butcher's paper behind the counter, I asked for another recommendation. The first one had clearly been a good one. If you were in no hurry, where would you go around here to eat that? I asked, pointing my chin at the sandwich.

The person wrapping it up taped the paper closed and reached for a marker from their pocket and drew a little map on a napkin. It's just a few blocks away, they said. They handed us our sandwiches over the counter, and off we went to the next adventure. We followed the map down the street to the edge of the downtown, to a little park with trumpet vines and plumeria growing up a wrought iron fence. It was shady and full of rose bushes, and we found a bench in a corner with a plaque screwed into the wooden slats of its back. I read the name of the person it was dedicated to.

I thought it was a lovely spot to be remembered in. We balanced our soda bottles on the brick pavers at our feet and unwrapped our sandwiches. Mine was full of crunchy slaw, roasted vegetables, and a spicy, creamy sauce, and to sit there in the summer shade, eating and listening to the wind blow in the trees above us, to smell the flowers on the vine and think of the week

ahead. I was giddy again, a kid on the first day of vacation. It would be my turn in the passenger seat after lunch, and I could already feel the nap that would come. with my seat tipped back and the fresh air coming in through the windows as we made our way closer to the lake. Sweet dreams.