Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Shooting Stars

Episode Date: December 26, 2022

Our story tonight is called Shooting Stars and it’s a story about a wish made in the quiet of the new year. It’s also about shaking off the chill of winter, a soft towel fresh from the laundry, and the deep peace of being at home with yourself.Purchase 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 write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Connect with us on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter for some extra coziness. I have a story to tell you to help you relax and drop off into sleep.

I'll tell it twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. The story is like a landing pad for your mind, a soft place for it to rest. If you find yourself still awake at the end of the first or second telling don't worry take your mind back to the beginning of the story and walk yourself back through the details that you remember especially any bit that felt particularly cozy

you're training your brain and body to wind down. And the more regularly you do it, the faster you will fall asleep. So have a bit of patience at the beginning. Now, lights out, campers. It's time to snuggle yourself down into the most comfortable position you can find. Notice how the sheets feel, how good it is to be in your bed and about to fall asleep. I'll be here, keeping watch with my voice,

so please, let go. Relax. Let's take a slow breath in through the nose, and a soft sigh from the mouth. One more like that. Breathe in, and let it go. Our story tonight is called Shooting Stars,

and it's a story about a wish made in the quiet of the new year. It's also about shaking off the chill of winter, a soft towel fresh from the laundry, and the deep peace of being at home with yourself. Shooting Stars and the deep peace of being at home with yourself. Shooting stars. There was just a bit of daylight left when I started getting all my things in order.

It was part of the ritual, in fact. There were things I did to prepare for this part of my day, and they became a way to decompress in and of themselves. First I shoveled the path from the back door out onto the patio. I'd needed a hat and coat and mittens for that. It was a cold, still afternoon, and when I scooped shovelfuls of snow from the path, It was a cold, still afternoon. And when I scooped shovelfuls of snow from the path, I noticed it was the powdery, dry sort that doesn't pack together into a ball. It fell like shimmering dust from my shovel.

It's a good kind for skiing, I thought. But I wasn't skiing today. I was getting ready for a nice long sit in my sauna. That was something younger me never would have thought she would do. Before I bought this house, I didn't even really know what a sauna was. Maybe I'd seen them in movies, and there was the one at my gym that was perpetually closed for maintenance. In fact, I remember being taken through my house and yard by my realtor and spotting the little building

tucked under the eaves and asking what on earth it was. A potting shed? A kind of clubhouse? My realtor had laughed and pushed open the door, and the smell of cedar and warm air had rolled out and wrapped around me.

In fact, that may have been the moment I decided I wanted this to be my home. And now, a few years later, this was part of my routine. Most cold days of the year. With the path shoveled, I went inside to fix myself a big glass of water and get into my robe and towel. I took a quart-sized jar from the cupboard and peeked into the fruit bowl on the counter.

Citrus was in season, and I had been gifted a large bag of red grapefruit at the holidays. I took one and washed its skin carefully at the sink, then sliced it into thin rounds and slid them down into my jar. It didn't change the taste, but just because I liked the way it looked, I spent a couple minutes getting the slices to stick to the inside edges of the jar so that the pretty star shape and ruby fruit showed through. I poured in fresh water and took a few sprigs of mint from the fridge to drop into the top. Then I went upstairs and took a giant fluffy towel from the linen closet

I pressed it to my nose and breathed in the scent of clean laundry I shed my clothes from the day and wrapped myself up in my robe. A holiday gift I'd gotten from an attentive friend who'd heard me complain about the holes in my last one. This one went all the way down to my ankles and was made with a soft waffle weave fabric. I tied the belt and stepped into my slippers

and headed back downstairs. It had begun to snow again while I was getting into my robe, and I stopped at the back door with my towel and water to look out. It was fully dark now. I'd read in the paper today that shooting stars might be visible tonight. But for now, the skies were crowded with low clouds. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door. I felt the cold at my throat and hurried over the patio and to the sauna. The little hut was barrel-shaped and had a small window in the door. I pushed it open and was immediately surrounded by warmth. I stepped in and left my slippers on a mat inside the door. I sighed. It was an automatic reaction.

There was a hook for my robe and a broad bench where I laid my towel. Before I stretched out on it, I reached for the ladle floating in a deep pail of water and spooned some onto the hot stones that heated the room what a lovely sound that sizzle was and the moist air felt soft as I breathed it in What a lovely sound that sizzle was,

and the moist air felt soft as I breathed it in. Sometimes I brought a book in to read while I laid, or played music through the speakers. But today, I'd had enough of sounds and thinking. The most therapeutic approach for me right now was quiet and stillness. So I laid on my towel and let the heat work its way into my body. I'd had a childhood friend whose family used a sauna almost every day. It was part of their culture and seen as a necessary component to their health and hygiene. I remembered her saying that she didn't really feel clean until she'd had a good sweat.

And now, I understood her completely. As my body warmed up, I felt myself relaxing deeper and deeper. A soft shiver ran through me as the last bit of chill let go and dissolved. I thought about the dark skies above me, about the shooting stars that might, right now, be tracing their way through the firmament. In the newspaper, I'd read that they were tiny specks of space dust, burning as they plunged through the upper atmosphere. And for a few moments, I let my mind wander

at the idea of space and far-off galaxies and what it might be like to live on a planet with more than one sun, with rings, or a different colored sky. The heat in my body brought me back to earth, and I sat up slowly and drank from my water. I could taste the faint hint of citrus and fresh mint.

And, though I thought this most every trip to the sauna, I believed I'd never tasted anything as good. I tossed another ladle of water onto the stones and wrapped the towel around me, sitting on the bench and taking slow, relaxed breaths. As a little girl, I'd wished on shooting stars, and I thought a New Year's wish might be better than a resolution. With my robe and slippers on, I stepped out and saw that the skies had cleared.

I could see the stars and moon and suddenly the flash of a shooting star. What did I wish for the new year? I looked up and stood still in the quiet. I wished that the winter would go on and on. Shooting stars. There was just a bit of daylight left.

When I started getting all of my things in order. It was part of the ritual, in fact. There were things I did to prepare for this part of my day, And they became a way to decompress in and of themselves. First, I shoveled the path from the back door out onto the patio. I'd needed a hat and coat and mittens for that. It was a cold, still afternoon, and when I scooped shovelfuls of snow from the path, I noticed that it was the powdery drysort that doesn't pack together into a ball.

It fell like shimmering dust from my shovel. It was a good kind for skiing, I thought. But I wasn't skiing today. I was getting ready for a nice long sit in my sauna. That was something younger me never would have thought she would do. Before I bought this house, I didn't even really know what a sauna was. Maybe I'd seen them in movies, and there was the one at my gym that was perpetually closed for maintenance. In fact, I remember being taken through the house and yard by my realtor and spotting the little building tucked under the eaves and asking what on earth it was. A potting shed? A kind of clubhouse?

My realtor had laughed and pushed open the door, and the smell of cedar and warm air had rolled out and wrapped around me. That, in fact, may have been the moment I decided I wanted this to be my home. And now, a few years later, this was part of my routine, most cold days of the year. With the path shoveled, I went inside to fix myself a big glass of water

and get into my robe and towel. I took a quart-sized glass jar from the cupboard and peeked into the fruit bowl on the counter. Citrus was in season, and I had been gifted a large bag of red grapefruit at the holidays. I took one and washed its skin carefully at the sink, then and slid them down into my jar. It didn't change the taste, but just because I liked the way it looked. I spent a couple minutes getting the slices to stick to the inside edges of the jar so that the pretty star shape and ruby fruit showed through.

I poured in fresh water and took a few sprigs of mint from the fridge to drop into the top. Then I went upstairs and took a giant, fluffy towel from the linen closet. I pressed it to my nose and breathed in the scent of clean laundry. I shed my clothes from the day and wrapped myself up in my robe. A holiday gift I'd gotten from an attentive friend

who had heard me complain about the holes in my last one. This one went all the way down to my ankles and was made with a soft waffle weave fabric. I tied the belt and stepped into my slippers and headed back downstairs. It had begun to snow again while I was getting into my robe, and I stopped at the back door with my towel and water to look out. It was fully dark now. I'd read in the paper today that shooting stars might be visible tonight. But for now, the skies were crowded with low clouds.

I took a deep breath and stepped out through the door. I felt the cold at my throat and hurried over the patio and to the sauna. The little hut was barrel-shaped and had a small window in the door. I pushed it open and was immediately surrounded by warmth. I stepped in and left I sighed. It was an automatic reaction. There was a hook for my robe and a broad bench where I laid my towel. Before I stretched out on it, I reached for the ladle floating in a deep pail of water and spoon moist air felt soft as I breathed it in. Sometimes I brought a book in to read while I laid, or played music through the speakers. But today, I'd had enough of sounds and thinking.

The most therapeutic approach for me right now was quiet and stillness. So I laid on my towel and let the heat work its way into my body. I'd had a childhood friend whose family used a sauna almost every day. It was part of their culture and seen as a necessary component to their health and hygiene. I remembered her saying that she didn't really feel clean until she'd had a good sweat. And now I understood her completely. As my body warmed up, I felt myself relaxing deeper and deeper. A soft shiver ran through me as the last bit of chill let go and dissolved.

I thought about the dark skies above me, about the shooting stars that might, right now, be tracing their way through the firmament. In the newspaper, I'd read that they were tiny specks of dust burning as they plunged through the upper atmosphere. And for a few moments, I let my mind wonder at the idea of space and far-off galaxies and what it might be like to live on a planet with more than one sun, with rings or a different colored sky.

The heat in my body brought me back to earth, and I sat up slowly and drank from my water. I could taste the faint hint of citrus and fresh mint, and though I thought this most every trip to the sauna, I believed I'd never tasted anything as good. I tossed another ladle of water onto the stones and wrapped the towel around me, sitting on the bench and taking slow, relaxed breaths.

As a little girl I'd wished on shooting stars and I thought a new year's wish might be better than a resolution with my robe and slippers on I stepped out and saw that the skies had cleared.

I could see the moon and suddenly the flash of a shooting star. What did I wish for the new year? I looked up and stood still in the quiet. I wished that the winter would go on and on. Sweet dreams.