Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Snow Day in the Village

Episode Date: January 20, 2025

Our story tonight is called Snow Day in the Village, and it follows up on the recent storm that blew threw Nothing Much. It’s about checking on neighbors as the drifts pile up, shovels and thick socks. It’s also about banana bread, puppy paw prints in the snow, books and blankets, and small acts that connect and protect us. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Veganuary. Working to encourage people worldwide to try vegan for January and beyond.  Need an assist with your sleep? Try Bioptimizers Sleep Breakthrough Drink.  Promo code for 10% off: NOTHINGMUCH Order your own NMH weighted pillow now!  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 NMH Premium channel on Apple podcast or follow this link. Listen to our daytime show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favorite podcast app.  Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favourites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners: Eversio Wellness: Chill Now Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle Alice Mushrooms Nightcap Nutrachamps Tart Cherry Gummies A Brighter Year Mini Coloring Book NuStrips Sleep Strips Woolzies Lavender Roll-On

I care about your sleep. It is always my first thought and priority in making this show. And sometimes you need extra help. Sometimes, even when your sleep hygiene is top tier, sleep doesn't come. Some nights, you might struggle to fall asleep, or wake after a few hours and toss and turn. I get it. When paramenopause hit me like a wrecking ball, it threw my sleep cycles so far off course that I felt like a different person. And sleep breakthrough drink from Bioptimizers has really helped. I fall asleep when I want to, and I sleep through the night without that 3am panic wakeup that had been haunting me. When I wake in the morning, I feel good, not groggy. I'm rested. My days are better.

Bioptimizers has flexible dosing, which I really like. My wife needs just a little bit, and I take a little more. And for folks looking for an option without melatonin, this is it. Ready to transform your sleep and wake up feeling refreshed? Visit bioptimizers.com slash nothing much and use code nothingmuch for 10% off any order. Don't settle for another restless night, my friends. Try Sleep Breakthrough Drink risk-free with BiOptimizers 365-day money-back guarantee. And this is all in our show notes if you forget. Visit bioptimizers.com slash nothing much and use code nothingmuch for 10% off any order. 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. With Audio Engineering by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week. And this week we are giving to Veganuary, working to encourage people worldwide to try vegan for January and beyond. Learn more in our show notes.

Let's take care of our housekeeping while you brush your teeth. Shows like ours need a couple of things to continue. And one is ads. And I know no one likes listening, but just by letting them play in a couple of minutes, you'll be supporting our show. We only have ads read in my own voice to make them as least disturbing as possible.

If you ever hear an ad read by someone else, please know it's a mistake. Sometimes mistakes get made along the way. Just let us know if you've heard one and we will fix it as soon as we can. The other thing we need to stay alive is premium subscribers. And if you do that, you'll get our entire catalog

ad-free with bonus and supersized episodes all for about a dime a day. Learn more at the link in our show notes. Now, just by listening to the story I'm about to tell you, we will shift your brain activity from default mode, where it can wander endlessly, to task positive mode, where sleep is accessible. So just follow the sound of my voice. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, sometimes just thinking through the title will put you back to sleep. If not, turn an episode back on. This is habit building, and your body's responses

will improve with time. Our story tonight is called Snow Day in the Village, and it follows up on the recent storm that blew through the Village of Nothing Much. It's about checking on neighbors as the drifts pile up, shovels and thick socks. It's also about banana bread, puppy paw prints in the snow, books and blankets, and small acts that connect and protect us. In the Village of Nothingmuch,

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And sigh. Nice. One more. Breathe in. And out. Good. Snow day in the village. The storm is coming. The wind is blowing.

The rain is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing.

The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. The wind is blowing. Good. Snow day in the village. The storm had been as fierce and thorough as they'd predicted. For two days the wind had blown, and a steady downfall of flakes had blanketed the village. Snow was heaped over sidewalks, blown into sloping mounds at doors, and standing in thick, unbroken swaths on park benches and bird baths. Today, while not yet sunny, per se, was brighter. The thick gray clouds that had brought the storm had blown over, and wispy white ones

replaced them. I spied them from the window seat at the end of the upstairs hall in my house, and a small band of boys and dogs came barreling into the snow. I leaned closer to the pane, my breath fogging up the glass. There hadn't been much entertainment in the last few days, but watching their little family had given me lots of laughs. They'd gotten a new puppy a week or two ago, and their two sons, along with their grown retriever Clover, had been making the most of the days off. While many of us had just let the snow pile up, waiting to clear paths and sidewalks till Mother Nature

was finished with her decorating. The boys had been out every hour or two with their shovels, making paths for the dogs. I imagined the promises they had made about that puppy, that they would walk him every day, that they would be sure to let him out and play with him, and so far they were doing just that. Well, not walking him, really. It was too cold, and the pup too young for walks. But they romped in the snow with him, threw balls which disappeared into snow banks and kept the path from the door shoveled and clear. I had baked some biscuits for the dogs and some banana bread for the boys and their dads, one of the many snowed-in projects I had undertaken in the last day or two. And once my own sidewalk was shoveled,

I'd sneak over to their house to visit. I smiled to myself, thinking about the wild puppy kisses I'd be gifted and the happy, excited energy of their household. I shuffled down the long hall, a sweater around my shoulders and thick socks on my feet. feet. While the snow had finished falling, the temperature hadn't, and my old house had chilly, drafty spots that I dodged in the winter. It also had cozy, warmer corners, and I stepped into one at the top of the stairs. Here, another window let me look out at the winter wonderland around me. This time out to the street,

where a few neighbors were beginning to dig out from the snow. One was standing, her hands on her hips, knee deep in the stuff, with the discarded shovel tossed down beside her. She was waving at another neighbor, a few houses down, who had a massive snowblower fired up. I smiled when I saw him. He would be our collective hero today, I had no doubt. He loved that snowblower, and he was the type of guy that thrilled at a task like the one now set before him. He often did everyone's sidewalks and driveways, and was known on the block as the person to go to when you needed to borrow a tool or get some advice, possibly too much advice on fence repair or gutter cleaning. He taught history at the high school, and his penchant for the ancient world led him

to dub his beloved snowblower, clear Opatra. He looked up from the slow, clear path he was now making and spotted the waving neighbor. He lifted an arm above his head, a thumbs up signaling he understood the assignment and went right back to focusing on the snow. The waving neighbor clapped her hands happily, reached for her discarded shovel, and began trudging back to her garage. Having neighbors who take care of each other, who look out for each other, it is no small thing in this world.

And even on this cold day, as I descended the stairs, I felt it warming me through. And it made me think, if shoveling was no longer on my chore list, how else might I be helpful to my neighbors? In the kitchen, as I packed up the treats for the boys next door, I thought that while our block was checking in on one another, there were folks who lived further out who might need a call. I picked up the phone and dialed the inn out on the lake. As I listened to it ring, I imagined the innkeeper

racing through the halls to reach it in the front office where guests checked in. And in fact, when she answered, she was a bit out of breath, but laughing and happy to hear from a friend. She confirmed that they had plenty of firewood, that she and her cat Sycamore were camping out in the library in front of the fire, looking through old photo albums and books, and eating their way through the well-stocked kitchen pantry. They didn't have any guests right now. Chef was away, working at a ski resort for most of the winter, but they had called to check in as well. Snowplow was expected today to clear their long drive, and even once it had, she didn't anticipate leaving the inn for a few more days.

Next, I called a friend who lived in an apartment in downtown. He worked at the bakery and I realized I had no idea if anything was even open on Main Street. He told me that as far as he could see from his window, nearly everything was closed. He'd gone out just once, at the urging of the baker herself, to help himself to any of the cookies or loaves of bread still on their shelves. And since then had just been eating sandwiches and reading books while wrapped up in blankets in his favorite chair. He thought today would be the last day of his snow-cation, that the roads and sidewalks would be clear tomorrow and that the rest had been lovely, but he was excited to make bagels in the morning.

Finally, I called a friend who lived in an old farmhouse in the countryside out of town. I'd met her when I'd stopped to pick some lilacs from the bushes that ran along the front of her property, where she'd posted signs encouraging folks to take as many blooms as they liked. She'd been fixing the house up for the last few years, and I wondered if, like my own old house, it would be drafty in the winter. She told me it was actually quite snug, that her boiler was working perfectly, and that she'd even cracked a window in the kitchen this morning, because it might be working

too well. She said she'd been out to feed the birds, and that the forest was full of their calls and songs. When we hung up and I began to bundle into my boots and coat to go next door, I thought of how sweet it was to be connected here on my street through banana bread and snow blowers, but also to those farther away, through a thought or a word, that all of it wove together and warmed me like a quilt on this icy winter day. Snow Day in the Village The storm had been as fierce and thorough as they'd predicted. For two days the wind had blown and a steady downfall of flakes had blanketed the village. Snow was heaped over sidewalks, blown into sloping mounds at doors, and standing in thick,

unbroken swaths on park benches and birdbaths. Today, while not sunny, per se, was brighter. The thick gray clouds that brought the storm, had blown over when wispy white ones replaced them. I spied them from the window seat at the end of the upstairs hall in my house, and thought they looked a bit like the thready, woolly yarn of my scarf. As I peered out, my neighbor's back door opened, and a small band of boys and dogs came barreling into the snow. I leaned closer to the pain, my breath fogging up the glass. There hadn't been much entertainment in the last few days, but watching their little family had given me lots of laughs. They had gotten a new puppy a week or two ago, and their two sons, along with their grown retriever Clover, had been making the most of the days off. While many of us had just let the snow pile up, waiting to clear paths and sidewalks, till Mother Nature was finished with her decorating. The boys had been out every hour or two, with their shovels making paths for the dogs.

I imagined the promises they had made about that puppy. That they would walk him every day. That they would be sure to let him out and play with him. And so far they were doing just that. Well, not walking him, threw balls which disappeared into snow banks and kept the path from the boys and their dads. One of the many snowed-in projects I'd undertaken in the last day or two. And once my own sidewalk was shoveled, I'd sneak over to their house to visit. I smiled to myself, thinking about the wild puppy kisses I'd be gifted, and the happy, excited energy of their household. I shuffled down the long hall, a sweater around my shoulders and socks, on my feet. While the snow had finished falling, the temperature

hadn't, and my old house had chilly, drafty spots that I dodged in the winter. It also had cozy, warmer corners, and I stepped into one at the top of the stairs. Here, another window let me look out at the winter wonderland around me. This, knee deep in the stuff who had a massive snowblower fired up. I smiled when I saw him. He would be our collective hero today, I had no doubt. He loved that snowblower. And he was the type of guy that thrilled at a task like the one now set before him. He often did everyone's sidewalks and driveways,

and was known on the block as the person to go to when you needed to borrow a tool or get some advice. Possibly too much advice on fence repair or gutter cleaning. He taught history at the high school, and his penchant for the ancient world led him to dub his beloved snowblower, Clear O'Pathtra. He looked up from the slow, clear path he was now making, and spotted the waving neighbor. He lifted an arm above his head, a thumbs up, signaling he understood the assignment, and went right back to focusing on the snow. The waving neighbor clapped her hands happily, reached for her discarded shovel, and began trudging back to her garage. Having neighbors who take care of each other, who look out for each other. It is no small thing in this world. And even on this cold day, as I descended the stairs, I felt it warming me through, and it made me think, if shoveling was no longer on my

chore list, how else might I be helpful to my neighbors. In the kitchen, as I packed up the treats for the boys next door, I thought that while our block was checking in on one another, there were folks who lived further out who might need a call. I picked up the phone and dialed the inn on the lake. As I listened to it ring, I imagined the innkeeper racing through the halls to reach it in the front office where guests checked in. And, in fact, when she answered, she was a bit out of breath, but laughing and happy to hear from a friend. She confirmed that they had plenty of firewood, that she and her cat Sycamore were camping out in the library in front of the fire, looking through old photo albums and books and eating their way through the well-stocked kitchen pantry. They didn't have any guests right

now. Chef was away, working at a ski resort for most of the winter. But they had called check-in as I had. The snowplow was expected today to clear their long drive, and even once it had, she didn't anticipate leaving the inn for a few more days. Next, I called a friend who lived in an apartment in downtown. in downtown. He worked at the bakery, and I realized I had no idea if anything was even He told me that, as far as he could see from his window, nearly everything was closed. at the urging of the baker herself to help himself to any of the cookies or loaves of bread still on their shelves. And since then had just been eating sandwiches and reading books while wrapped up in blankets in his favorite chair. He thought today would be the last day of his snowcation. That the roads and sidewalks would be clear tomorrow. That the rest had been lovely, but he was excited to make bagels in the morning. Finally, I called a friend who lived in an old farmhouse in the countryside out of town. I'd met her when I'd stopped to pick some lilacs from the bushes that ran along the front of her property, where she'd posted signs encouraging folks to take as many blooms

as they liked. She'd been fixing up her house for the last few years, and I wondered if, like my own old house, it could be drafty in the winter. She told me it was actually quite snug, that her boiler was working perfectly, and that she'd cracked a window in the kitchen this morning, because it might be working too well. She said she'd been out to feed the birds, and that the forest was full of their calls and songs. When we hung up, but also to those further away through a thought or a word. That all of it wove together and warmed me like a quilt on this icy winter day. Sweet dreams.